ANACREON Done into English Out of the Original Greek.

Nec quicquid olim lusit Anacreon
Delevit aetas—

OXFORD, Printed by L. Lichfield Printer to the University, for Anthony Stephe [...] Bookseller near the Theatre, 1683.

THE PREFACE.

THE Great Inducement that drew on my Genius to this bold at­tempt, was the desire of communicating to the World those hidden Sweets, that pretty Diversion that long time lay un­discover'd in this Author; as also the tempting Pattern set by the unimitable Mr. Cowley: where he has rendred part of this Author so lively in an English dress, that I began to esteem it of allmost equal Beauty with the Original. But when I consider'd the loss of those many Infinua­ting advantages the Author had over the Ears of his Auditors; To whom the Un­accessible Graces of that Language, the [Page] Delicacies of his Wit and Stile, dish'd up with all the Tickling Art of Musick, could not but yield a very pleasant Gust. And now that the same Copied out in a less co­pious Tongue, and without that [...]ddition­ary [...]uty of the Attuning Harp, which was customary in those days, should equally relish with us; I am apt to conclude next of Kin to an Impossibility.

To supply therefore these defects; I have in a Looser Method, but according to the forementioned Pattern▪ English'd this Au­thor with a Parallel fancy of my own here and there interwoven, but as I d [...]re aver, nothing derogatory to the sense of▪ the Au­thor; And however this Method may seem to some to be onely the wanton Sallies of a ranging Fancy, and the too licentious play of a Poetical Mind; yet I can easily satisfy my self that tis nothing but what is authorized by Mr. Cowley nothing but what is adapted to his Model; which who­ever [Page] takes the pains to read will at first sight discover, when he views his Verses here interserted; which at first I design'd to have put in different Characters, but after­wards I recalled those thoughts, knowing that no one could be a pretender to Poetry, who is wholy, Ignorant of his Works, or cannot with a Cursory glance discern his finer strokes from my mean Endeav­ours. I must confess I am willing to Patronize this fluenter kind of Version which I cannot call properly either Imita­tion or Translation but rather impute it to be somewhat which as yet wants a Name.

Neither do I look upon this to indulge too much Liberty, but onely to grant a freer Range to sense and Reason: I profess my self an utter Enemy to the too narrow tye of a verbal Translation, and when I chance to spy an Author of this kind who has sla­vishly confined himself to the least Particle [Page] of his Original; Methinks it looks as if not onely the Motion of the Body (ac­cording to Des-Cartes opinion) but that of the Mind too was performed by Me­chanism; All his uneasie production seems so forc'd, so much strived for, as if his Wit like the Goddess of it could not be produc'd without the Labour of the Brain; And this methinks is the ready way of Burlesquing both himself and the Au­thor.

This gross failure I have made it my business all along to avoid, and have af­fected a decent Naturallness, so that my Love Verses might run as soft and easie as the Subject; my Rants and Drunken Songs might be so far proportionable, as to seem the hectoring Efforts of a Debouchè; in which I am afraid I have been guilty of the most Errata's because being not well ac­quainted with those vices, I was forced to preposses my mind with a debauch'd fan­cy [Page] and then write with all the extravagancy of Thought.

But now lest some Novice in Poetry should pretend to Criticize upon the un­evenness of the Verse, I must be bold [...] to tell him, that I esteem it the greatest Excellency; and am strangely taken with Horace for observing this Idiom in his Sermo's, where his sense is not con­fined to an affected smoothness but seems undesignedly to happen into Verse; * Plat [...] Lib. 3. de Rep. Page 400. and as if he took Plato's Opinion in this case for a Standard, when he tells us, that the Verse ought to observe those Cadencies required by the sense, and to be squared to that; and not the Sense to the Verse. This therefore is sufficient plea for those seeming Errors, which might trapan an unjudieio [...]s Reader into false Criticisms.

And as for the common Expressions I [Page] have made use of in this Piece, they were altogether designed; and not on purpose to help out with unseemly Bodges the de [...]i­cient Rhime, but to avoid that reprehension, the Tragaedians of old lay under according to the sentiments of Ariphra­des, * Aristot. de Ar [...] po. cap. 22. who condemned em for deviating from the usual Di­alect of Speaking. Which indeed in my opni­on is no small failure; and Aristotle himself ownes that they derogated much from his [...] or property belonging to Poe­sie.

As for the licentious gingling of the Rhymes, no one will have reason to judge it an Innovation, if he does with a nice scrutiny examine into some of the Verles in an Ode here imitated by the Auhor of the Satyrs against the Jesuites: and I am very willing to favour this way and could allmost wish blank Verse were much in­vogue, knowing very well it would give [Page] the Fancy fairer play, being not imprisoned withing the narrow limits of Rhyme; thus far I have apologiz [...]d for those licenses I have here indulged my self; and that no one after this might Cavil at the design of this Piece, where vice seems to be so gaw­dily apparalled on purpose to draw over some to be its Proselytes, I would have the Reader know that this is far from the intent of the Author, who onely de­signed it as an innocent recreation to divert the Mind after it has been [...]eized with the long fatigue of Business, and to fill up those vacant hours appropriated to Mirth; and also with insinuating delight to please the Ladies: for whom great part of this Book ( viz. That product, those ena­mou [...]ing features of Love so prettily de­lineated by this Author) was peculiarly intended: in rendring which the onely thing I have to glory in is; that whereas I have had such enticements to use a wan­tonness [Page] of Speech, and in the plainness of Language to display the Ladies Naked; yet I have been so decently Modest, as not to admit of one expression that may adul­terate the chastest thoughts of a Nun, or exact a Blush from the most reserved of that Sex. I shall only now desire the La­dies favourably to accept this, and bless it with their Approbation; then I shall be exempted from the fear of any ill-na­tured Critieks, being well assured that as for the Generality of men they are so much theirs, so much bound in Cmplaisance to Will and Nill the same, that to dislike what the Ladies approve, were in some Measure to contradict themselves. From these therefore I beg that my applause may be uttered with all the Emphasis of a Smile; yet this alas would be too much, and onely render me more unhappy; I should then begin to envy even my own work, and account it my happier Rival; [Page] nor could I propose to my self any other means of satisfaction, then by wishing they would by a kind Metonymie accept the Author for his Book.

S. B.

The Life of ANACREON.

ANACREON was a Poet famous for Lyriques amongst the Graecians, and ac­cording to Strabo an Inhabitant of the City Teios; whence he took the denomination of Te [...]us, and whence we read in Ovid Teia Mu­ [...] about whose Parents the Antiquarians are of different Opinions, and seem dubious on whom to confer that Honour. Some would have his Father to be Scythinus, others Eumelus, others say his name was Parthemus or Aristocri­tus▪ I shall not therefore endeavour to recon­cile these differences, but were I to guess at his Genealogy, byass'd by the delicious Wantonness of his Stile: I should be apt to conjecture, that Bacchus had sometime stoln the Marriage-Sweets of Venus, and palliated his crime with this off­spring.

His life was a continued Scene of Delight, and [Page] his Body seemed, instead of a Soul, to be infor­med with nothing but Love. He was much en­slaved with the Masculin Love of a Beautiful Boy named Bathyllus; as we may easily appre­hend by his often mentioning of him through­out his whole Book, as also by that of Ho­race.

Non aliter Samio dicunt arsisse Bathyllo
Anacreonta Teium.—

Nor was he less enamoured with the powerful charms of his Mistress Eurypile; for whose af­fection he determined his Genious so to Love-Verses, that Cicero says of him, His Poetry is all ore a treatise of Amours. Which I am apt to imagine a mistake, knowing that Bacchus equal­ly shares in it, and he never separated those two chief Ingredients of an Epicurean's happiness, Women and Wine. To the Latter of these he seemed to owe all his Enthusiasm, all the youth­ful vigour of his Old Age: he was so actuated, so enlivened with this, as if, when his own Spir­its decayed, Those of Wine became vital. He was much addicted to the vice of Drinking, whence he was reproachfully entituled by some [...], and the Athenians (as Pansanias re­lates [Page] in his description of Greece) erected his Statue in a Drunken posture. There goes a very pleasant Story of him, that once having took a Cup too much of the Creature, he came staggering homewards through the Market place, and [...]eeling against a Nurse with a Child in her Arms named Cleobulus, he had almost beat her down; nor did he c [...]ave her pardon for this Offence, but injured her as much afterwards wich a scornful, hectoring reply: upon which the Nurse begged that the Justice of Heaven would take it into consideration, and prayed that he might be hereafter with all the Tyranny of af­ [...]ectionate Passion as much endeared to the Child [...]s now he abhorred it.

Now after Cleobulus was past his Infancy, he [...]ecame so strangely beautiful, that Nature seem­ [...]d extravagant in bestowing all her charms upon [...]ne face; and the Gods being mindful of the [...]urse's request inflicted upon Anacreon the sweet [...]evenge of Love, as appears in some of his mai­ [...]ed pieces, where he draws up this Petition to [...]he God of Love.

Tu propitius [...]neras exaudi preces,
Fave Cleobulo, suscipe amorem meum.

[Page]But Athenaeus is of Opinion that this Poet was not so much given to debauchery and seems [...]o clear him from the crime of Drunkenness; when he says, ▪ [...] Lib. 10. Dei [...]: Fol. 429. that he onely played the Counterfeit as much in compo­sing his drunken Songs, as I have in translating them.

As▪ for the other part of his Verses▪ those L [...]es of Love, and b [...]s for delight, they seem by a kind of Sympathy to be co [...]le to his Life, and maintain an equal Correspondence with Mitth and Pleasure: so that by the lusciousness of his Stile, and neatness of Wit, he got himself no small re­pute amongst the Ancients; some of which dig­nified him with the title of the delicious Anacrean, the Honey-Poet; And Plato, though a very nice Philosopher who allows of no pleasure but that in the Abstract; who terms the gross enjoyment of the sensual Appetite a Brute delight, [...]nd ac­counts that refined bliss the Marriage of Souls a property onely entailed on Rationalls; yet he was so overswayed with the Poetical Philtres of of Anacreon, as to sign his approbation of a more substantial delight in gratifying the Senses, and abandon that aerie notion of pleasure, as a sha­dow of Solid joy, a mere creature of [...]ancy; [Page] when he calls this Author the wise Anacreon: Whose Moralls tell us he was a great Abetter of Epicurism, he placed his Summum Bonum in the gross embraces of delight and all his Actions tended to that as to their Centre; he pronoun­ced to his Mind the Poets Requiem, Aetate frue­re, Enjoy thy Life; and if any hour slipped away without Mirth he accounted it mispent, and himself guilty of the crime of Idleness; he aban­doned all gravity and Wisdom as bold Incroachers upon the liberties of Pleasure; Business was a mere stranger to his mind, nor did ever the tur­bulent thoughts of that discompose the calmness of his Breast: Nay what most of all commands our Admiration is, that when he was under the severe Discipline of Age when nothing is becom­ing but to be Morose, and commence a Dissenter in Jollity; to see how Love overpower'd all these Tyrants, and a Smile could pry out some kind cranies to peep through his wrinkled looks, how he could be capable at this Winter of his Life to be inflamed with Love!

As if Nature had priviledg'd in him, a familiar Society, a friendly Neighbourhood betwixt two Contraries, Heat and Cold. I am apt methinks now to credit the theft of Prometheus, or sub­scribe to the tenet os Heraclitus Physicus, that [Page] his Soul owed its being to fire: when I see it so often flash out in wanton sparks of Love, and be­tray the flame within, when he writes with all the heat of Passion: But tis said besides these Love-Songs he composed several Elegies, and Iambicks, and several other Pieces of Poetry, which the World hath not been so happy to retain.

The time he lived in is ambiguons: Eusebius records it in the LXI Olympiad, Suidas in the LXII, and makes him Cotemporary with Poly­crates a Tyrant at Samos; His Verse so mollified the harsh temper of that Prince, and as it were ci­vilized his brutal Disposition, that he became no small favourite of his; But others are of Opini­on, that he flourished under the Reign of Cyrus and Cambyses, and that not being able to suffer the Tyranny of the Persians, he betook himself to Abdera a City in Thrace whose sometime inhabiting there might attone for the Epidemical Disease of that people, Dullness: here he long time enjoyed the sweets of a quiet Life, attended with content and mirth the gay retinue of a Po­et; and in the LXXXV th year of his Age died being choaked with a Grape-stone, upon whose death we have this Elegy out of Caelius.

ATte Sancte Senex a [...]us sub Tartara misit,
Cygneae clausit qui tibi vocit iter:
Vos Hederae tumulum, tumulum vos cingite Lauri
Hoc Rosa perpetuo uernet odora lo [...]o;
At vitis procul hinc, procul hinc odiosa face ssat,
Quae dirae causam protulit una necis;
Creditur ipse minus vitem nunc Bacchus amare
In vatem tantum quae fuit ausa nefas.
English't thus.
HAil Bard triumphant, whose melodious breath
A Grape-stone stopp'd, the Thunder-bolt of death.
Let Ivie now thy envied Tomb surround,
And let it be with thy own Laurels crown'd;
Let grateful Roses od'rous offerings bring,
And here enjoy an everlasting Spring;
But hence, far hence be plac'd the treach'rous Vine,
That made immortal Thee to death re [...]gn;
Bacchus self hates it now, 'tis thought, and grieves
T' has kill'd a Poet in whose Verse it lives.

ANACREON Translated out of the Original Greek.

I. Love.
I'll sing of Heroes, sing of Kings;
In mighty Numbers, mighty things.
Begin my Muse; but lo the strings
To my great Song rebellious prove;
The Strings will sound of nought but Love;
I broke them all, and put on new;
[Page 2]'Tis this or nothing sure will do.
These sure (said I) will me obey;
These sure Heroick Notes will play.
Strait I began with with thundering Jove.
And all the immortal Powers, but Love,
Love smil'd, and from my enfeebled Lyre
Came gentle Airs, such as inspire
Melting Love, soft de [...]re.
Farewell then Heroes, farewell Kings,
And mighty Numbers, mighty Things;
Love tunes my Heart just to my Strings.
II. Beauty.
LIberal Nature did dispense
To all things Arms for their defence;
[Page 3]And some she Arms with sinewy force,
And some with swiftness in the course;
Some with hard Hoofs, or forked Claws,
And some with Horns, or tusked Jaws.
And some with Scales, and some with Wings,
And some with Teeth, and some with Stings.
Wisdom to Man she did afford,
Wisdom for Shield, and Wit for Sword.
What to Beauteous Woman-kind,
What Arms, what Armour has she assign'd?
Beauty is both; for with the Fair
What Arms, what Armour can compare?
What Steel, what Gold, or Diamond,
More Impassible is found?
And what Flame, what Lightning e're
So great and active force did bear?
They are all Weapon, and they dar [...]
Like Porcupines from every part.
[Page 4]Who can alas, their strength express,
Arm'd when they themselves undress,
Cap-a-pe with Nakedness?
III. Cupid or the Cunning Beggar.
ORe all when Night had silence spread,
Chain'd down by sleep and all lay dead,
When Moon and Stars below did rest,
With former watchings much opprest;
When even Thought in peace was lain;
And the Old Nothing seem'd to reign;
A pretty Boy at door did wait,
And me for Lodging much intreat,
Complaining long of cold and wet.
I am says he a fatherless,
And hungry Child in much distress:
[Page 5]My Mother to some neighb'ring Town
To beg relief for us is gone,
Left me and Innocence alone.
Good Sir, if the kind Gods you love,
Let me, poor me your pitty move.
Twas here he stopt; and down his Face
Methought the Tears did flow apace,
His formal Cant I soon believ'd,
And thought that I his Tears perceiv'd.
Compassion came from every part,
And pleaded strongly in my Heart;
My Heart, which its own ills desir'd,
And even I my self conspir'd.
I rose and strook a Light, then strait
With Pious hast unlock'd the Gate;
(So headlong to our Fate we fly,
So fond are we of Misery.)
I saw the Youth, 'twas wondrous fair,
[Page 6]His Eyes did like two Stars appear,
His Limbs upon each other shone,
And made a Constellation;
But heats as yet I must not feel,
With Wings he did himself conceal,
(For know with Pomp and Leisure he
Prepar'd at length to Murder me.)
His Darts and Bow did seem around
To hang, as Play-things newly found;
Destruction then with kind intent
I modishly did Complement,
I warm'd his hands with mine, but see
Two fires did back upon me [...]lie;
For though more cold then Flint he came,
He had like that a secret flame.
His Hair was wet, but even then
Some glimmering beauties did remain;
[Page 7]At length the Curls in order lay,
'Ore which (that led my Soul away)
Millions of little Loves did play:
I call'd him Ganymede, I'de swear
That Cupid was not half so fair:
Nay, that I might my kindness shew,
I think I hugg'd and kist him too.
Cheer'd thus, warm Life came up again,
And all in every part did reign;
All discontent and cares did cease,
His Bow-strings th' onely thing amiss;
So prettily he strait forgot,
Each grave and unbecomming thought.
Lets try says (affecting strait
A meekly look, the greatest cheat)
Lets try; if'gainst my Bow th' unkind
Heav'ns, rage and malice have design'd.
[...]re to the head the Dart was drawn,
[Page 8]And here the mighty God was shewn;
For ( Oh) in my unwary Breast
Death and the Fatal Steel did rest!
Impatient Sense and Nature dies,
And Love alone a Life supplies.
The grinning Boy augments my pain,
With Drolls and Sc [...]ffs he wounds again.
Landlord, he cries, my Bow you see
Is much above an Injury.
All ills against your Heart were meant,
Kind ills which Heavn and Cupid sent.
And you to me that warmth did give,
A double gift do back receive;
I grant (my gratitude to prove)
That thou shall scorch and burn with Love.
IV. The Epicure.
UNderneath this Myrtle shade,
On Flowrie beds supinely laid,
With od'rous oyls my head o'reflowing,
And around it Roses growing,
What should I do but drink away
The heat, and troubles of the Day?
In this more then Kingly state,
Love himself shall on me wait.
Fill to me Love, nay fill it up;
And mingled cast into the Cup
Wit, and Mirth, and noble Fires,
Vigorous Health, and gay Desires.
The Wheel of Life no less will stay.
In a smooth than rugged way.
[Page 10]Since it equally doth flee,
Let the Motion pleas [...]nt be.
Why do we precious Oyntments shower,
Nobler Wines why do we pour,
Beauteous Flowers why do we spread,
Upon the Monuments of the Dead?
Nothing they but Dust can show,
Or Bones that has [...]en to be so.
Crown me with Roses whilest I live,
Now your Wines and Oyntment give,
After death I nothing crave,
Let me Alive my pleasures have,
All are Stoicks in the Grave.
V. The Rose
PRetty Rose, Thou gawdy Flower,
Sacred to Love's mighty power,
Whence there's no Lover ever seeks,
But finds Thee in his Mistres Cheeks,)
Thee thy Red Jolly looks design
The fit Companion of Wine;
Crown'd thus, we'll drink and merry be,
Till we look gay and Red like Thee.
Queen of all the Flowers that wear
The Liv'rie of the painted year.
Thou Lovely Darling of the Spring,
How doest thou short-lived glories bring,
How doest thou vex us, but in this,
That thy Life no longer is.
[Page 12]Thee the Gods love, hence they design
To draw thee fresh with Paint divine,
And in thy Reds strive to display
The blushing Infancy of Day.
The God of Love more lovely now,
Adorns with thee his comely brow,
When with the Graces dauncing, he
Sees nothing there so fair as thee:
Then prithee let me Roses have,
A Rosie Chaplet's all I crave;
For which, Thou God of Wine, each day
I'll thee in Drunken Carols pay;
And when the beauteous Roses spread
Their Ruby lustre round my Head;
How shall one Dear She, and I,
In Mirth and Gallantry comply;
Free from care, free from strife,
We'll daunce the pleasant Maze of Life.
Another.
WHilst Roses round our Temples twine,
The envy of the Rosie Wine,
In which we cares and business bury;
Thus we live, thus live merry;
The Beauteous Virgins dance a round
At the Harps no less charming sound,
Their wanton Ivie wands too they
As Badges of their Mirth display:
(That twining Plant seems to prove
The fittest Emblem of their Love.)
See how each Harmonious Boy
Does sometimes Daunce, and sometimes Play;
They Sing and Daunce away their prime,
And by such Motions measure Time;
Love himself makes up the Quire,
Venus does with soft Airs inspire.
[Page 14]That sprightly God, the God of Wine,
Pours New life through every Vein.
All's Mirth: even now the [...]rave, and Sage
Curse the dull awkerdness of Age.
This the true life, this sure must be,
Since Life it self's but Harmony.
VI. The Wound.
WHen once I did rebellious prove,
Nor own'd the S [...]reingty of Love.
Love smil'd, and strait he took in hand
His all commanding Purple Wand,
Which kindly forc'd me to obey,
And through strange Paths with Love to stray.
We pass'd ore sweetest flowrie Plains,
And through swift Amorous curled Streams,
[Page 15]Where even sensl [...]s [...] things I saw,
Did pay obeysance to Love's Law.
Kind Reeds did to each other move,
The Waters self seem'd warm with Love.
Even Brambles our approach to greet,
Did in kind rough embraces meet.
Thus as I pas'd and well did spy
How all Things, All Things Lov'd but I,
A pretty spangled glittering Foe,
Too gay I thought to wound me so,
A Snake with's Sting did life betray,
My Heart had almost fled away.
But Cupid call'd it back, I see
All Hearts at his disposal be.
Who nodding check'd my stubborn pride,
And thus at length began to chide.
No matter what those fools sustain
Who account Love the greatest pain,
[Page 16]Which but once tried, none e're did wish
That so much dreaded pain to miss.
VII. The Dream.
AS on a Purple Quilt I chofe
By Night to take my sweet repose,
Where dewie Sleep fell on my breast,
And all my cares lay calm'd in Rest,
My wanton Fansie sporting lay,
And call'd my roving Thoughts to play.
Who in their sport and am'rous flight
Made up this Landskip of delight.
Methoughts (but oh 'twas but a Dream)
I wandring spied a spotless train
Of beauteous Virgins, where each face
Provok'd enough to th' amorous chase.
[Page 17]Strait the coy Phantoms fled away,
Not would for my kind Courtship stay.
I follow'd strait, but lo hard by
A Troop of gallant Youths did ly.
Who there would fain have rival'd me,
And forc'd me back with railery,
Yet this alas but fann'd the fire,
And added Wings to my desire.
Methoughts I made the greater hast,
And seiz'd the amorous Prey at last.
And then I proffer'd at a Kiss,
But wak'd in the Interim of bliss.
Curse on my Eys that open'd day,
And chas'd those pleasant Forms away.
My Eyes, that now will useless be,
If I such sights may sleeping see.
Thus raving I lay down, and then
I onely wish'd to Dream ag'en.
VIII, The Dove.
TEll me, Lov's Envoy, prithee do
Whither dost this Journey go
Or whence did'st this sweet voyage take,
Through perfum'd Air which thy Wings make.
Which with their wanton fannings spread,
Such Odours, as embalm the Dead.
Such Odours, as I'de almost Swear
Zephyrus Gales not sweeter are,
When with some Rose he has bin at play,
And kist its fragant Life away.
The Dove reply'd, what's this to Thee?
I carry Anacreon's Embassie;
Which he with courteous kind intent
Has to his Lov'd Bathyllus sent.
[Page 19] Bathyllus whose fair face does prove
The Potent Monarchy of Love.
Tis true I once was Venus slave,
Nor carry'd ought but what She gave,
Who for a Love-Toy, for a Song
Sold me to her Anacreon.
Whom now I serve you see, and bear
These his Love Letters through the Air;
Which soft as mine own Feathers are.
For which good Office kindly he
My hated freedom proffers me.
But all the freedom which I crave
Is that I still may be his Slave.
For why should I, tell me why,
Range through the Desart of the Sky?
Or make some Mountains top my Seat
To fit and moan for want of meat;
Or when the year does bounties yield,
[Page 20]And Fruits enrich each Painted Field,
Why should I course Berries eat,
Rough as the Brambles where I sit?
Where all my Victuals drest must be
By Natures homely Cookery.
When I can here as freely stand,
And peck out of Anacreons hand.
Delicious Crumbs, such as be
The sweet effects of Luxury.
And gulp such Wine, as he himself
Drinks when he names Bathyllus health:
And when I'me drunk with this, I play
And dance and revel all the day.
But when all things do silence keep,
And the still Night invites to [...]leep,
I on his Harp reposingly,
And dream of nought but Harmony.
This Sir is all, this is the brief
Account of my Voluptuous life.
[Page 21]Go with this Narrative content,
Youv'e made me already impertinent.
That you your self will say anon,
[...]'me Dove in all parts, but my Tongue.
IX. Cupid in Wax.
A Friend of mine expos'd to sale
A Waxen piece, wrought wondrous well.
The God of Love was form'd in this
Soft as he by Nature is.
Where Art so much of life did give,
The smiling Image seem'd alive.
Pleas'd at the sight, I ask'd the price
Of this well imitated piece.
My Friend reply'd, Sir what you please,
I'le thank you too for the release.
[Page 22]For I'me no Artist truth to tell,
But Love at any rate I'de sell,
With painted Arrows, painted Bow,
Which make a real dreadful show.
I dare not longer Cupid trust,
Brother to insatiable Lust.
Nay then by your leave Sir, I cry'd,
If you'd be of this torment rid,
Think not to vend the ware, but know
That you must buy your Chapman too.
Come hang't give me a Groat, Il'e take
The Image home, but for Heav'ns sake
Prithee Love my breast inspire,
And kindle vigorous desire.
Or else in flames far above
All the extremities of Love,
Thy stubborn Form shall soon decay,
The Waxen God shall melt away.
[Page 23]And if thou this deniest to me,
The fire shall thy Sole [...]uine be.
X. Age.
OFt am I by the Woman told
Poor Ana [...]reon thou grow'st old.
Look how thy Hairs are falling all,
Poor Anacreon how they fall.
Whether I grow old or no
By th' effects I do not know,
This I can tell without being told,
Tis time to live, if I grow old.
Tis time short pleasures now to take
Of little life the best to make,
And manage wisely the last Stake
XI. The Swallow:
FOolish Prater what [...]'st thou
So early at my Window do,
with thy tuneless Serenade;
Well't had been had Tereus made
Thee, as Dumb as Philomel,
There his Knife had done but well.
In thy undiscovered Nest,
Thou dost all the Winter rest,
And dreamest o're thy Summer joys,
Free from the stormy seasons noise.
Free from th [...] thou'st done to me,
Who disturbs or seeks out Thee?
Had'st thou all the charming notes,
Of the VVoods Poetick Throats
[Page 25]All thy Art could never pay
What thou'st hast ta'ne from me away,
Cruel Bird thou'st ta'ne away,
A Dream out of my arms to day.
A Dream, that ne're must equall'd be,
[...]y all that waking Eyes may see.
Thou this damage to repair
Nothing half so sweet or fair,
Nothing half so good can'st bring,
Though men say, Thou bring'st the Spring.
XII. A Rant.
THat Noble Soul, the Phrygian Boy
Damn'd all Sense, a useless Toy.
When with the Goddess big he reel'd,
And bravely roar'd it in the Field.
[Page 26]Where Mountains listned to his voice,
And Eccho'd back the Drunken noise.
Thus, Thus of old th' inspir'd Men,
Drank Bumpers up of Hypocrene.
Till Frensie-strook they did begin,
To fancy some mad God within,
They soar'd above all common Sense,
Wing'd with a Drunken Excellence.
And all their ventrous rage let fly,
In Dithyrambick Poetry.
Whilst these, these my Examples be,
I'll curse all dull Sobriety.
Fill'd with Wine's delicious charms,
Fill'd with a Mistress in my Arms,
My Passion uncontroul'd shall rove,
Doubly debauch'd with Wine, and Love.
XIII. The Duel.
YEs I will Love then, I will Love,
I will not now Loves Rebel prove.
Though I was once his Enemy,
Thoug ill-advis'd and stubborn I
Did to the Combate him defie.
An Helmet, Spear, and mighty Shield
Like some New Ajax I did wield,
Love in one hand his Bow did take,
In th' other hand a Dart did shake,
But yet in vain the Dart did throw,
In vain he often drew the Bow,
So well my Armour did refist,
So oft by slight the Blow I mist.
[Page 28]But when I thought all danger past,
His Quiver empty'd quite at las [...].
Instead of Arrow or of Dart
He shot Himself into my heart.
The living, and the killing Arrow
Ran through the Skin, the Flesh, the Blood,
And broke the Bones, and scorcht the Marrow;
No Trench, or Work of Life withstood:
In vain I now the Walls maintain,
I set out Guards and Scouts in vain
Since th' Enemy does within remain.
In vain a Breast plate now I wear,
Since in my Breast the Foe I bear:
In vain my Feet their swiftness try,
For from the Body can they fly?
XIV. The Drunkard:
FIll the Bowl with rosie Wine,
Around our Temples Roses twine,
[Page 29]And let us chearfully a while,
Like the Wine and Ro [...]es smile.
Crown'd with Roses we contemn
Gyges wealthy Diadem.
To day is ours, what do we fear,
To day is Ours, we have it here.
Let's treat it kindly, that it may
Wish at least with us to stay.
Lets banish Business, banish Sorrow,
To the Gods belongs To Morrow.
XV. My Fate:
LEt other Poets build their glory,
On the ruin'd Trojans Story
[Page 30]Ill neither Sing of this or that,
Or the mighty Thebans fate,
Though I was sure to Sing withall,
In such sweet Numbers as might call
The stones again into a Wall.
Nobler Themes My Breast inspire,
Nobler Songs provoke my Lyre:
Nobler Wars, such as be
Wag'd by a disdainful she.
Though I should stand where Canons roar,
'Tis She alone can wound me more
I have try'd by Land and Sea enough,
I am all Weapons, but loves proof;
Love, who in Ambuscado lies
All armed in my Mistress eyes.
Each glance of her shoots forth a Dart,
And every look commands a heart.
XVI. The Cup.
MAke me a Bowl, a mighty Bowl
Large as my capacious Soul.
Vast as my thirst is, let it have
Depth enough to be my Grave.
I mean the Grave of all my care,
For I intend to bury't there.
Let it of Silver sashion'd be,
Worthy of Wine, Worthy of me.
Worthy to adorn the Spheres,
As that bright Cup amongst the Stars.
That Cup, which Heav'n deign'd a place
Next the Sun, its greatest grace.
Kind Cup, that to the Stars did go
[Page 32]To light poor Drunkards here below,
Let mine be so and give me light,
That I may drink and revel by't.
Yetdraw no shapes of Armour there,
No Cask, nor Shield nor Sword, nor Spear.
Nor Wars of Thebes▪ nor Wars of Troy,
Nor any other Martial Toy,
For what do I vain Armour prize,
Who mind not such rough exercise,
But gentler Sieges, softer Wars,
Fights that cause no Wounds nor Scars.
I'll have no Battles on my Plate,
Lest sight of them should brawls create,
Lest that provoke to Quarrels too,
Which Wine it self enough can do
Draw me no Constellation [...] there,
No Ram, nor Bull, nor Dog, nor Bear,
[Page 33]Nor any of that monstrous Fry,
Of Animals which stock the Sky.
For what are Stars to my design,
Stars, which I when Drunk out shine
Outshone by every drop of Wine.
I lack no Pole star on the Brink,
To guide in the wide Sea of Drink.
But would for ever there be tost,
Wish no Haven, seek no Coast.
Yet gentle Artist, if thou'lt try
Thy Skil, then draw me, (let me see)
Draw me first a spreading Vine,
Make it's Arms the Bowl entwine.
With kind Embraces such as I,
Twist about my loving She.
Let its Bows o're-spread above
Scenes of Drinking, Scenes of Love.
[Page 34]Draw next the Patron of the Tree,
Draw Bacchus and soft Cupid by,
Draw them both in Toping shapes,
Their Temples crown'd with cluster'd Grapes.
Make them lean against the Cup,
As twere to keep their Figures up.
And when their reeling Forms I view,
I'll think them Drunk, and be so too.
The Gods shall my Examples be,
The Gods thus Drunk in Effigy.
Another.
HEre Artist all thy Skill impart,
With Richest Metal, Richer Art,
Make me a Bowl brighter far,
Then Heav'ns Cup gilt with many a Star,
[Page 35]That Cup to which we'll nothing owe,
Tis This shall influence us below.
In various Colours, various dress,
Here thy rich Workmanship express.
First let the flowrie Spring appear,
The Drinking Season of the year.
When every verdant Rose Tree still
Of dewie-Nectar drinks it's fill.
And when't has long carousing stood,
Breaks out into many a Bud.
Buds, which once op'd, will blush to be
The Effects of Insobriety.
Then let these Infant Roses shine,
As if they borrow'd from the Wine
A Drunken redness, thus to be
The Emblems of good Company.
And to make up the tempting show
[Page 36]Let Wine in Streams seem to flow.
And in feign'd Riv'lets rowl along,
Enough to Fuddle Lookers on.
But prithee Artist, above all
Draw no Aegyptian Festival.
Make no Deaths-heads the Living fright,
Or check their Mirth, curb their delight,
But rather let young Bacchus here
In all his stagg'ring shapes appear.
Draw Venus with hands lifted up
As 'twere to Minister the Cup.
With all her She adorers too,
Where each shall Hebe's office do.
Then draw the lovely amorous Boy,
But make him lay his Arrows by.
He'll here no Bow, no Arrows want
Whilst Wine it self's Praedominant.
[Page 37]Next spread around the Mantling Vine,
And let it the rich Bowl entwine
With cluster'd Grapes, such as may
Call the Birds once more away,
Flattring 'em with a painted Prey.
And underneath the pleasant shade,
(If any by this Tree is made)
Make all the smiling Graces play,
Melting their softer hours away.
Let 'em inspir'd nimbly move,
Some with Wine, some with Love.
Draw last of all good Company,
Such as may Phaebus place supply.
Phaebus who though he above shines bright,
Seemingly drunk with reeling light,
Should he but our Revels know,
Would rather choose his Heav'n below.
[Page 38]Would rather chuse to light us here
And make the circling Bowl his Sphere.
Would rather have, when day is done,
Our Wine, his Western Ocean.
XVII. Drinking.
THe thirsty Earth soaks up the Rain,
And drinks, and gapes for Drink again.
The Plants suck in the Earth and are
With constant drinking fresh and fair.
The Sea it self, which one would think
Should have but little need of Drink
Drinks ten thousand Rivers up,
So fill'd that they o'reflow the Cup.
The busie Sun (and one should guess
By's drunken fiery face no less)
[Page 39]Drinks up the Sea, and when h'as done,
The Moon and Stars drink up the Sun,
They drink and dance by their own light.
They drink and revel all the night,
Nothing in Natures's sober found,
But an Eternal Health goes round.
Fill up the Bowl then, fill it high,
Fill all the Glasses there, for why
Should every Creature drink but I,
Why, Men of Morals, tell me why?
XVIII. The [...]ish to his Mistress.
I'Me told how Bodies change their State
By the shuffling hand of Fate;
Which when once dispos'd to play
Does some strangely convey
And steal 'em from Themselves away.
[Page 40]Here it leaves one, when life is gone,
In wondring postures made a Stone.
Another there stands doubting yet
Whether to trust her Wings or Feet,
Amidst these Scenes of Changes now
Should the Gods my wish allow,
Thy happy Looking-glass I'de be,
That thou might'st always gaze on me,
Where thou might'st spy, (was my Breast clear)
Thy self, thy very self is there.
I'de wish my Thread of Life were spun
Into t [...]y rich and precious Gown.
That I might to Embraces hast,
And clasp my Love about the wast.
Or let me in pure Riv'lets flow,
Which when thou bath'st will brighter show.
Or let me in sweet Essence dy,
[Page 41]And here exhale my O'drous breath
Whilst I thy limbs perfuming lye,
Who could wish a sweeter death?
Or let the Heav'ns to exceed my wish
And urge it on to greater bliss,
Make me your Necklacé, Shape, or Shoe,
Nay any thing that belongs to you.
XIX. Heat.
FIll, kind Misses, fill the Bowl,
And let the Wine refresh my Soul.
For now the thirsty heat of day
Has almost drunk my Life away;
VVhole flouds of sweat will scarce fuffice,
It drinks, and still new flouds arise:
It drinks, till I my self grow dry,
And can no longer flouds supp [...]y.
[Page 42]Now then my Heat, releive,
And now your Cooling Garlands weave,
Cooling Garlands, such as may
Invite refreshing VVinds to play,
And chase the Tyrant Heat away.
But this I doe perhaps youle guess
Because I mean to Love you less;
Or do't because I'de hence remove
All the flames and heat of Love.
Foolish Girls, perhaps you know
This to the Body good may doe;
But Love can no abatement find,
Love's the High-Feaver of the Mind.
XX. Solitude.
GRant me ye Gods the Life I love,
And lend to me a shady Grove:
There let the Trees Verdant Hair
Sport with each kind blast of air.
Let Birds the Choristers of the wood
Sing all that's pleasant, all that's good.
Make some liquid silver stream
In soft whisperings court the Plain.
And let me here Flowers behold
Fringing its banks with native Gold.
Then tell ye Gods, tell if ye can
VVhat Prince, what great unhappy man
VVould not thus a Cell prefer,
And chuse to live an Hermit here.
XXI. Gold.
IF all the sorcerie of Gold,
That which can all things els [...] wi [...]hold,
Could but prorogue the fatal day,
Or cou [...]t one fleeting minutes stay▪
No doubt I should a Miser be,
And hugg the Ore as much as he.
Nor should I count it then amiss
That this his Life, this his all is.
But since there's nought, early or late
Can brib [...] inexorable Fate,
Since all must go one common way,
The ri [...]hest and the poorest Clay.
Why does the Mi [...]d up store,
[Page 45]Why does he drudg for useless Ore?
Tis all at best a gilt deceit,
All but a pleasant life's worst cheat.
Then since tis so, I'll pleasures take,
And of my time the best I'll make.
Smiling Mirth, gay Jollitry
Shall treat each hour that passes by:
Nay I will Love, and then each day
Even Time it self will wish to stay▪
Thus my short life shall pleasant be,
Thus I shall longer live then he.
XXII. Life.
NAture sent us all abroad,
Directing us a narrow Road;
[Page 46]The slippry Road of Life, which men
Once pass, and nere begin ag'en.
O▪re Hedge and Ditch Hope leads e'm on,
And talks of pleasant Fields to come,
But see th' inchanted grounds are gone.
How many years I've passed ore
Tis known, but what remaineth more,
Or when Death takes the Trav'lers in,
Tis hidden, sacred, and u [...]een:
Well then since all things doubtful are
And there are Gods we know not where,
Fill up the Bowl we'll dance and sing
Till Nature does true knowledg bring.
And thus, my Friends we'll joys receive,
And thus we'll [...]nd the way to live.
XXIII. The careless Companion.
WHilst the Cup walks nimbly round,
All my Cares in that lye drown'd.
I banish Business to the great,
Business the great man's Favourite.
Business shall now no more molest
The even temper of my Breast:
For since my Age does downwards bend,
Why should I hasten to my end,
Why should I thinking on my Fate,
Thus my Sorrows Antedate?
Fill then my Boy, come fill it up.
I'll bury all cares in this Cup.
For whilst the Cup walks nimbly round,
All my Cares in that lye drown'd.
Another.
WHilst I carouse, all my cares sink
Into the vast Sea of Drink;
Methinks I Craesus then despise,
With all his useless Treasuries,
Richer far in that bright Coin,
That sparkles in each Glass of Wine;
And what I like better still,
All that Gold is potable.
Tis that has rais'd a precious thought,
And me to fansied Riches brought;
To me thus rich, all things below
Do but meer empty Trifles show.
With Garlands deck'd I roar, and sing,
Greater▪ than the greatest King.
Methinks I laugh at Honour▪s cheat
[Page 49]That so imposes on the Great.
I laugh at all the small renown,
That dimly glimmers on a Crown.
Let others now to Wars repair,
And seek for flutt'ring Honour there.
Charge me a Cup Boy, prime it well,
Tis this shall all my Foes repell:
Charge all the Goblets there, for wh [...]
Death stealing on methinks I spy;
But I'll forestall his great design
And be dead drunk before with Wine.
XXIV. In the Praise of Bacchus.
WHilst Bacchus Temple in my Breast
By the Mighty God's possest,
[Page 50]That God who first from Lightning came,
Now brisk and active as the same,
He does with Mirth my Mind inspire
And tunes my Heart just to his Choir.
My chearful Pulse beat more strong,
My Bloud in Numbers skips along.
Drunk thus methinks I'me in a Trance,
And all my body's but one Dance.
Methinks I hear Venus rehearse
Some charming Song, some dancing Verse.
That kindly moves (methinks I see)
My trembling Nerv's by Sympathy.
Which dance afresh, by Wine and Love,
Thus I like a Machin move.
Now let the Learn'd say what they can,
Musick is the Soul of Man.
XXV. His Mistresses Picture.
DRaw, some Apelles, Draw me here
Her who is the onely fair.
She's fled; but in my breast I find
She has left her self behind.
Thy Colours then make ready all,
And copie thus the Original.
First draw her Hair black as the Night,
In which all Lovers take delight.
And if the Wax will Odours bear
Perfumes, that owe more sweets to her,
Draw her High Forehead (let me see)
Whiter then whitest Ivory.
Then paint each brown declining Brow,
That serve so oft for Cupids Bow:
[Page 52]Who when with killing strives to please,
Will onely then make use of these.
[...]ut lest these comely loving pair
Of Arches, meet into one Fair:
At a small distance let 'em show,
They wou'd be one, and are scarce two:
Below these if thou canst display,
Of her two Eys the double day,
Where dazling Lightning seems to play.
Like Lightning they glide through the Skin,
And wound the Heart that's lodg'd within.
But to add all their Graces too,
Let 'em like Pallas's be Blew,
Which more than ere her Gorgon slew,
Let 'em such charming glances dart,
As Venus when she wounds a Heart.
This being done: her Cheeks next view,
[Page 53]Where (if you'd imitate the true)
Steal Blushes from the Rosie Morn,
( Such even such her Cheeks adorn)
And mingle with the streaming light,
That paints the Milkie way so white.
Mean while her cherry Lips don't miss,
That tempt our tasting in a Kiss;
Lips that like Suada's still dispence,
The sweet Conserv's of Eloquence.
Her Chin and Neck in white array,
Where all the Graces dance and play.
And last of all let her be,
Veil'd in a Dress as gay as she;
But let that Little part be bare,
That where all Woman does appear:
Now the Draught finish'd; now I find
She's drawn so lively to my Mind▪
[Page 54]That what she wo'nt, (le [...]t my heart break,)
The Picture's self, I think, will speak.
XXVI. Bathyllus.
IF Painter thou true Life can'st draw,
Now, now, my fair Bathyllus shew.
On's Hair a charming blackness lyes,
And even thence a light does rise.
Make wandring little Curls to dance
In a well ordered Negligence.
His High Forehead bright as the Morn
Black, narrow, Eye-brows do adorn.
Through which, as from a Bow that's bent▪
Sha [...]p Arrows from his Eyes are sent.
To my Heart let them a passage bore,
And make me love him more.
[Page 55]Make fierce, black eyes, that Thousands slew,
Yet make 'em kind and courteous too.
This Angry part by Mars was sent,
This Mildness here by Venus lent.
That down th' Admirer drives,
And this the Criminal forgives.
His Cheeks with Youth and Blushes drest,
By fairest Apples are exprest.
Let modesty o're all command,
Else the piece will blush to mend your hand.
His Red, plump Lips and little Mouth
Will puzzle and torment us both.
Pretty, Delicious,—oh they've outgone
All Art, and all Description
But let sweet smiles around 'em play,
And there becoming moistures lay,
To them let Eloquence be joyn▪d,
[Page 56]As if for Rhetorick design'd.
They must at least a Motion make,
And even Silence seem to speak.
Like that of the Spheres let it be,
A sweet but unheard Harmony.
And in this charming Face, let all
Be stately and Majestical.
Ore's slender, Ivory Neck I'll pass,
And with more joy do downwards hast.
His Breast is full in every part,
For it contains Anacreon's Heart.
Smooth are his hands, both long and White,
Which Kisses must from all invite.
Here through blew veins pure bloud does glide▪
Here on it of't the Soul does ride.
To this fair place orejoy'd it runs,
Long stays it makes, and quick returns.
[Page 57]His large, big Belly all approve▪
Tis in Drunk'ness graceful and in Love.
His Thighs to Marble I'de compare,
But that they soft and tender are
Loose quivering flesh in Whiteness lies,
And stiff cold Age with fire supplies.
Let there be now a thin slight shade,
Or Anything or Nothing made.
An inward tickling onely draw,
And Love's fi [...]st pleasant Itchings shew,
Even now let flowing Nature try
To pass the bounds of Chastity.
But see your Art is too unkind,
It does not show the Charms behind
Charms, that seem now lovelier far,
[...]cause they hidden are.
On him I will not Feet bestow.
[Page 58]For lovèrs never look so low.
I onely this of you shall claim,
That you'd the piece Apollo name.
And if you e're Apollo see,
Call't Bathyllus in Effigy:
For Both are Gods, both lov'd by me.
XXVII. The Captive.
IN Chains of Flowers made
The Muses Love did lead.
Intreating Beauty that she'de take
The Prisoner which she first did make.
Though Venus su'd for Liberty,
And wish'd that he might all obey,
Admire sometimes Deformity.
[Page 59]For that of Pride had store,
And Aegypt Monsters did adore
Fancy made wrinkled faces fair,
And Hills and Dales fine Prospects are.
But though to Love enlargment's brought,
Dear Captivity he sought.
All salvage Wildness nobly scorn'd,
And to Beauty, Beauty he return'd.
XXVIII. The Jolly Drunkard.
STand of, my Thirst can never cease,
I'll drink it all, though Bottomless.
Heav'n shan't show the Soul, nor Hell
That me in Madness dares excel.
Two Graecian Sparks tis true
Their ill natur'd Mothers slew,
[Page 60]Then stark and raving mad did run,
Because the brave exploit was gone
And never could again be done.
But I that am contented well
With harmless drink and Whoring still,
That ne're an angry Rival kill'd,
Nor prying Cuckolds bloud e're spill'd,
I that in Claret do delight,
And drink such bloud with appetite,
Beyond an Extasie can fly,
And stare and rave more decently.
Let Heav'n then show the Soul, or Hell
That me in Madness dares excel.
A Lovely sight it was,
When Ajax through the Troops did pass,
Through Hills of Wool fierce Anger shot,
And in the Sheep his Graecians sought.
[Page 61]O're Northern Alps he seem'd to fly,
And through the Snow to cut his way.
Of, heavy senses he complains,
And throws down th' useless weight of Brains.
Stout Hercules did mount with pride,
And in his Rage was Deify'd.
He strait shook of the fleshly load,
He first grew mad and then a God.
See then after this draught of Wine,
His Star I'll strait outshine;
A Nature I will have like his,
And thus an Apotheosis.
Here, here Perfection is exprest,
Madness with new madness is possest.
Let Heav'n then show the Soul or Hell,
That dares in Madness me excel.
XXIX. The Account.
WHen all the Stars are by thee told,
(Those endless sums of heav'nly Gold
Or when the Hairs are reckon d all,
From fickly Autums head that fall.
Or when the drops that make the Sea,
Whilst all her Sands thy Counters be,
Thou then, and thou alone must prove
Th' Arithmetician of my Love.
An Hundred Loves at Athens score,
At Corinth write an Hundred more.
Fair Corinth does such Beauties bear,
So few is an escaping there.
Write then at Chios Seventy three,
[Page 63]Write me at Lesbos (let me see)
Write me at Lesbos Ninety down,
Full Ninety Loves and half a one.
And next to these let me present
The fair Jonian Regiment,
And next the Carian Company
Five hundred both Effectively.
Three Hundred more at Rhodes and Crete
Three Hundred 'tis I'me sure complete.
For Arms at Crete each Face does bear▪
And every Ey's an Archer there.
Go on, this stop why dost thou make.
Thou think'st perhaps that I mistake,
Seems this to thee to great a Summ,
Why many Thousands are to come.
The mighty Xerxes could not boast
Such different Nations in his Host.
[Page 64]On, for my love (if thou be'st weary)
Must find some better Secretary.
I have not yet my Persian told
Nor yet my Syrian Loves enroll'd,
Nor Indian nor Arabian
Nor Cyprian Loves nor African,
Nor Scythian nor Italian flames,
There's a whole Map behind of Names.
Of gentle Loves in the temperate Zone,
And cold one's in the Frigid one.
Cold frozen Loves, with which I pine
And parched Loves beneath the Line.
XXX. The Swallow.
BEloved Bird, who as you fly
Our Spring bring up, or lead away:
Whom Swains that doubt if Winter's done
Trust rather then the Sun;
That in the Summer build'st thy Nest,
And many Thou's are strait encreas't;
That when ill—natur'd Colds appear,
Do'st from the stormy World retire,
And then with pleasant Sleep opprest,
I ong with thy Sons and Daughters rest:
See, how unreasonable is Love,
That from my Heart will never move,
[Page 66]That every Minute builds,
With Love and every corner fills.
That Heats or Colds will nere refuse,
Heats or Colds new Births produce.
The young Ones here unfeather'd lye,
And wish for Cupid Wings to fly.
Some in the Egg unformed lay,
Their own warmth to Life works out away.
Half hatched are some, and do receive
But half a Soul, are half alive.
All gape for Food, and All
The Mother Love with chirpings call.
His tuneless Notes each one does try,
And All within is Harmony.
Bred up, they strait together meet,
And each Ten Thousand does beget.
[Page 67]In short so many Loves do rest,
Within my sad tormented Breast,
By one Tongue they can't be all exprest.
XXXI. To his Young Mistriss.
BEcause Forsooth you'r young and [...]air,
And fresher then the Rose appear,
Gray Hairs you treat with scornful Eye,
And leave me most unmannerly.
Sweet-heart, these Ashes do contain
Embers, that strive to flame again.
And Aetna that on's Top has Snow,
Feels warmth and fire below.
With Roses whitehair'd Lillies shine,
And in a Garland joyn,
[Page 68]They lock't in close embraces lye,
And kiss and hugg most decently.
XXXII. Upon Europa.
THis Bull, my Boy▪ sure is some [...]e,
Who in disguise is making Love.
Methinks through his guilt Horns I spy,
The brightness of the Deity.
His Front does no curl▪d fierceness wear,
All Heav'n does in his Looks appear,
His very Looks speak him a God,
Who now has left the blest abode.
Nay whence I more of credit take,
Europa's mounted on his back.
[Page 69] Europa who outshines by far
All his beauteous Harlot's there,
Though each Harlot's made a Star.
Methinks I see him now convey
The Nymph, through the wondring Sea,
Whose Chystal Waves swell here and there,
Seemingly proud of what they bear.
He now like Oars his feet does ply,
And rowes through the watry Sky,
Tis Jov [...] I mean, for sure no Beast
Half so happy, half so blest,
Wafted a Virgin ore the Seas,
And left his Lowing Mistresses.
Nay none of all the Gods above▪
But he, nor he were't not for Love.
XXXIII. The Vain Advice.
TAlk not to me of Schoolmens Rules,
Those Antiquated, pious Fools,
Who gravely preach of this or that,
Of the Stoicks Chain of Fate.
I hate each sober, groveling thought,
That's from their musty Morals brought.
To those whom vice and youthful rage,
Has turn'd ore to decrepit Age,
Perhaps this Talk may Rhetorick be,
But prithee Fool what i'st to me!
Drinking my sole Precept is,
And my Life is link'd to this.
Then teach how I may Drunk commence,
[Page 71]Above the low Intreagues of Sense.
Or to raise the Frensie high,
Bless it with Loves Debauchery.
For since my Head can nothing show,
But aged Frosts or Winter Snow,
Since Life may'nt till to Morrow stay,
Give me the man that lives to day.
Then fill the Glass Boy, fill the Cup
I'le squeeze it to the last drop.
Do'nt this attendance grudging give,
To the small remainds I have to live.
I now have but short time to crave;
All lye silent in the Grave.
XXXIV. The Spring.
SEe how Nature's self a [...]gay
Ushers in the Springs new Day.
At whose approach, the Graces wear
Fresh honours on their flowing Hair,
With Roses deckt, whose Leaves infold
Smiling Crowns of studded Gold.
Nothing now does Mirth annoy,
Nothing stops the coming Joy;
The busie Winds that us'd to stit
The Waves, and raise a watry War;
Unwillingly to Rocks repair,
And wast themselves in murmers there.
The rugged'st Sea it self awhile
Smooths it's rough looks, and seems to smile:
[Page 79]See how the Ducks with wanton play
[...]n their green Lakes sport all the day,
The prudent Crane with full career
Comes sailing through the floating Air.
And with her wish'd return does bring
Tidings of th' approaching Sp [...]ing.
The Sun now all ore Eye delights
Himself, in Natures painted sights.
His bounteous Rays lavishly guild
The lowest Shrubs, the meanest Field:
The sullen Clouds now post away,
Nor interrupt the chearful day:
Or what remain dissolve in Showers,
And bless their fall upon the Flowers.
Tis now, the Country Farmers strive
T' enjoy the Sun-shine of a life.
Here one endeavouring, we see,
[Page 80]With curious Art to prune the Tree▪
Anothet there checks in time
The wanton growth of the spreading Vine.
Tis now the Earth with Herbs is bless'd,
And in it's rich green Mantles dress'd.
The Olive now luxuriant grows,
And all its verdant Riches shows:
Now full blown Roses in their prime
Embrace the Bowl that foams with Wine.
See now some loaded Trees expressing
Th' extravagant Springs over blessi [...]
Each Field, each Garden seems to call
Nature profuse and Prodigal.
XXXV. The Old Man.
OLd as I am I can contain
More Wine than a younger brain.
An Hogshead for a Wand I wave,
And in a newer fashion rave.
I reel into a Dance, while there
My drunken Hickups Musick are.
I fight, twelve in a Hand begins
The Battle, and Anacreon wins:
More honour, more I do desire,
Present again, and still give fire.
Thus Sack, my Boy, will on us wait,
And thus its Souldiers animate.
I'me Old tis true, but see
How Active age can be,
Silenus is a Drone to me.
XXXVI. The Enjoyment:
WHen the Vines pleasant Juice
Into my Mind does Mirth infuse;
With a rage, far beyond all
That ere was term'd Poetical;
My new-rais'd Genius soars up high,
And vents it self in Poetry.
When the Vines pleasant Juice
Into my Mind does Mirth Infuse:
Wisdom that grave Impertinence,
And all the busie thoughts of Sense,
All the Distractions of Wit,
I to the rough Winds commit.
Winds that to Sea my troubles bear,
And leave 'em to raise Tempests there.
[Page 83] When the Vines pleasant Juice,
Into my Mind does Mirth infuse;
Rapt in a Drunken Extasie
Through perfum'd Air I seem to fly;
And by the Journeying of Thought
Am to a strange pleasant Somewhere brought,
When the Vines pleasant Juice,
Into my Mind does mirth infuse,
And when rich Garlands Crown my Hair,
Gemm'd with Flowers here and there;
I lavishly begin to praise
A Quiet Life's Golden days.
When the Vines pleasant Juice
Into my Mind does mirth infuse,
When Essence round my head does flow,
And I hugg a Mistress too;
Venus alone my Lyre does move,
[Page 84]My Song is all employ'd on Love.
When the Vines pleasant Juice
Into my mind does mirth infuse,
And I drink a chearful Cup,
Which Summons all my Spirits up;
How do the Jocund Girls enhance
My joys, in a continued Dance.
When the Vines pleasant Juice
Into my mind does mirth infuse,
To Day is mine, I'll live to day,
Tis what the Gods can't take away.
To Day shan't pass away by stealth,
To Day is all my ready wealth:
For the Remainds of Lifes short date,
Are all but in the gift of Fate.
XXXVII. Cupid wounded.
AS Cupid once with wanton play
Amidst the Rose-trees sporting lay
Nor did the Chymist Bee behold
Extracting there his liquid Gold.
The busie Animal by chance
Stung him with his little Lance.
Wounded thus, th' impatient Child
Orecome by Passion strait grew wild;
He sighing strait fled through the Air,
And scatter'd some vain murmers there.
And when he came to the Paphian Court,
Where's Mother Venus did resort;
I'me kill'd, I'me kill'd faintly (he cry'd)
(And strait his Tears flow'd in a Tide)
[Page 86]Mother (he cry'd) I'me now undone,
See, see my life is almost gone.
A small wing'd Serpent with his Dart
Hath stung me to the very heart;
I know not well its name (let's see)
I think the Plowmen call't a Bee.
The Queen of Love reply'd, my Boy
If such a Sting can Life destroy;
Think but what pain thy Arrows cause,
And how thou doubly kill'st with those.
XXXVIII. An Hymn to the God of Wine.
LEt's drink, let's sing, but with design
In Hymns to praise the God of Wine.
[Page 87]The God, that seated in the head,
First in Numbers taught us how to tread.
That makes the unskilful sing, and be
A Wit, and of't good Company.
The God, that always was design'd
To be to Venus joyn'd.
That heats us in our amorous fights,
And whets our whoring appetites.
Who swearing first did institute,
And Drunkenness as his Attribute.
The God that friends creates,
And drowns all strife, and fierce debates.
Here Sorrow knows not how to weep,
And watchful Grief is rock't asleep.
Wine like a Sea within him spreads,
And like an Island stands his heart,
Care the depth and danger dreads,
[Page 88]And wisely backward does depart.
Purge Sorrows then away; you see,
You see the Sov'reign remedy.
Lets laugh to day, for Life is blind
And to Morrow may not find,
Time's more unconstant then the Wind.
Lead up a dance, and when you make
A Step, then then a brimmer take:
That pretty Toy a Girl seek out,
With her frisk and sport about;
Sigh, smile, kiss, hug, then shew
What well digested Wine can do.
To those our cares we will dispense,
Whom affliction teaches Sense.
We more cheaply know,
Drink, and sing, and reel abroad,
For what else should we do,
[Page 89]But praise the best the greatest God?
XXXIX. Of Himself.
ORecharg'd with Wine a Dance I love,
And that all things may move
In different Figures, as of [...]ld,
The first confused Atoms rowl'd.
The Harp with Wine all over wet,
Its Hearers must intoxicate;
But still the Ladies I would please,
With Riddles, and Cross purposes.
My Heart fierce Anger never tore,
Kind Love had seiz'd it all before;
Scolding and Noise I always fly,
Chief Enemies to good company.
[Page 90]I hate all intestine Jarrs,
All fierce unnatural Wars.
Which rudely Pots, and Flagons raise,
And onely in confusion cease.
Of Heav'n a Handsome Girl I crave,
Good Wine, and Musick; then
(Life gone) into her Lap my Grave
I'll fall the best of men.
And there in peaceful softness lye,
Melted with Love and Harmony.
XL. The Grasshopper.
HAppy Insect, what can be
In happiness compar'd to Thee?
[Page 91]Fed with nourishment divine,
The dewy Morning's gentle Wine;
Nature waits upon thee still,
And thy verdant Cup does fill;
Tis fill'd wherever thou doest tread,
Nature self's thy Ganymede.
Thou dost drink, and dance, and fing;
Happier then the happiest King!
All the Fields which thou dost see,
All the Plants belong to Thee,
All that Summer Hours produce,
Fertile made with early Juice.
Man for Thee does Sow and Plow;
Farmer He and Landlord Thou!
Thou dost innocently joy,
Nor does thy Luxury destroy.
The Shepherd gladly heareth thee
[Page 92]More Harmonious than He.
Thee Countrey Hinds with gladness hear,
Prophet of the ripened year!
Thee Phaebus loves and does inspire;
Phaebus is himself thy Sire.
To thee of all thing▪ upon Earth,
Life is no longer then thy Mirth.
Happy Insect, happy Thou,
Dost nether Age nor Winter know.
But when thou'st drunk, and danc'd, and sung▪
Thy fill, the flowry Leaves among,
( Voluptuous, and wise withal,
Epicurean Animal)
Satiated with thy Summer feast,
Thou retir'est to endless Rest,
XLI. The Dream expounded.
ONce in my Dream I seem'd to fly,
From I know not what, I know not why;
Nor did the Heaviness of Sleep
Constrain my fleeting Thoughts, or keep
My Fancy back, but through the Air
I seem'd to post with full career.
The amorous Boy pursu'd me strait,
Though hinder'd by unusual weight,
He did his flight so contrive,
He soon oretook the Fugitive.
Now what I may deduce from hence,
What Mystical, what hidden Sense
Is couch'd in this, I know not well;
[Page 94]Yet this my Fancy seems to tell:
That I, who admir'd every Face,
Was taken with each little Grace;
With one, because Slender and Pretty,
Another Fair, another Witty;
From all these potent Tyrants free,
Must but by one now conquer'd be;
Nor is it strange, She's All to me.
XLII. Upon Cupid's Darts.
AS Vulcan at his Anvile stood
Forging Love's Darts, gentle and good,
Of red-hot Steel; which did retain
Some Sparks, that use to burn again;
[Page 95] Venus in Hony dip't 'em all.
And Love allay'd the Sweets with Gall.
When furious Mars return'd from fight,
Without the least glimm'ring of delight.
No smiling Looks, no unusual Grace
Disturb'd the Majesty of his face.
In's dreadful hand a Spear he bore
The rougher Instrument of War.
And laughing took up Love's light Dart▪
(But little thought it caus'd such smart)
This is, said h [...], a pret [...]y Toy,
A Play-thing fit for such a Boy;
Cupid at length made this reply,
Sir, if you please, the lightness try;
With that he shot the new-made Arrow,
Which pierc'd him to the Marrow,
And wounded deep: Venus smil'd
[Page 98]To see the God of War beguil'd.
Who vainly pray d; hence, hence remove
The Dart, I feel enough of Love.
No, no, Love cry'd your pain enjoy,
You know my Arrow's but a Toy.
XLIII. Upon Gold.
A mighty pain to Love it is,
And 'tis a pain that pain to miss
But of all pains the greatest pain
It is to Love, but love in vain.
Vertue now, no [...] noble Blood,
Nor Wit by Love is understood,
Gold alone does Passion move,
Gold monoplizes Love.
[Page 97]A Curse on her, and on the man,
Who this Traffick first began.
A Curse on him who found the Ore
A Curse on him who digg'd the store.
A Curse on him who did resine it,
A Curse on him who first did coyn it.
A Curse, all Curses else above,
On him who us'd it first in Love.
Gold begets in Brethren hate,
Gold in Families debate:
Gold does Friendship separate,
Gold does Civil Wars create,
These the smallest harms of it,
Gold, alas does Love beget.
XLIV. Pleasant Old Age.
I Love the man, whom froward Age
Can in its Quarrels nere engage.
Who as merrily to his Evening's come,
As if Life's short Day [...]ere but begun.
I love the Young Gallant, who knows
What to his early years he owes.
Who frequents Balls, and strives t'outdo,
What th' height of Na [...]re prompts him to.
Tis this, tis this pleases the man,
Who has almost ou [...]v'd his span.
Who in a Dance is often old,
And by's gray Hairs he now grows old.
He now grows Old; but when all's done
His Mind is ever, ever Young.
[Page 99]And what his Body can't do then.
His youthful thoughts act o're ag'en.
XLV. The Drunkard's delight.
GIve me Homer's tuneful Lyre,
Let its sound my breast inspire
With no troublesome delight,
Of the Trojans well sung Fight.
I et it play no Conquests here,
But its own Conquests or'e the Ear.
This I'll strike, on this I'll play,
And in soft Musick spend the day.
Bring the Cups, where we receive
What Laws the awful mark does give.
[Page 100]I'll fill 'em fair, I'll drink 'em all,
Till I grow mad, and Whymsical;
Till Nothing's sober in me found,
But I stagg'ring dance around.
My Joyful Harp, in Complaisance,
With trembling Strings shall sing and dance.
Then some new Rant I'll sing; and cry
Defiance to Sobriety.
XLVI. The Effects of Wine.
THe Youth who nobly stands his ground,
Who never baulks A Brimmer round.
Who in Dancing does delight,
Is Bacchus only Favourite.
Patron of each brave design,
Who giv's us Philtres in our Wine,
[Page 101]Who makes us loue in spight of Fate,
And doubly burn with Wine and that;
Wine that to the Grape Tree ows
Its Purple Streams with which it flows;
Wine that keeps its Patients free,
From each daring Maladie.
Wine is our Doctor all the year,
We no assaults of Sickness [...]ear;
But wisely rave with decent rage,
Free from the Disease of Age,
Free from Diseases of the Mind,
Till another year grows kind,
And brings again our health, new Wine.
XLVII. Advice to a Painter.
PRi [...]hee, Painter, do but hear,
How my Lyre courts thine Ear;
[Page 102]How it does all it Charms employ,
And ravishes with speaking Joy!
Let the Bacchae their Pipes blow,
Which to hoarse Air their Musick owe.
Sweeter Accents far rebound
From the Harps smooth tongue'd sound.
Therefore add to my delight,
And draw some pleasant curious sight;
Ore some Countrey, ore some Isle,
I et simpring Colours cast a smile;
Let thy Pencil now outdo
What Peace in all its charms can shew,
(And if the Wax be'nt too unkind
But proves prop [...]ious to my mind)
Let some Love-Intreagues appear
And be the onely Varnish here.
XLVIII. Venus Engrav'd on a Dish.
SEe by some hand Industrious grown,
By some ventrous Art is shown,
In a Dish the Ocean!
Whose Margin counterfeits a Shore,
The well-wrought Sea seems to roar;
So much the Waters seem to flow,
You'd think the Metal running too;
Amidst these Waves I Venus spy,
Some Artist's Fancy mounted high,
Stole the Idea from the Sky.
From whence he drew her Limbs so bright,
Clad but in thin wrought Rays of Light;
She with unwieldy joy does pleas [...]
In her killing Nakedness.
[Page 104]Nor do the happier Waves conceal
But what 'twere impious to reveal;
And but with prudent Secresie
Prevent th' Adul'try of the Eye.
See how she treads the marbl'd way!
And darts around a glorious day,
Like Nymphs that o're the Ocean play.
And when she wantons in the Seas,
And rows ore Chrystal Palaces;
The smitten Waves rowl along.
(Happy's the Foremost in the throng)
With eager joy, meaning no harm
They allmost crowd into a Storm.
And about her Rosie Wast
Their curl'd embraces cast.
Whilst she her various Colours strows,
And Paints the Path where e're she rows;
[Page 105]Such colonrs white-fac'd Lillies spread
Mixt with the Carnation's red;
Such Venus is all-ore. But see
How the bended Dolphins play!
How they dance along the Tide,
On whom the little Cupids ride;
And in their dimpl'd looks express
Their mutual Happiness:
The little Fishes with quick glance
Show their guilt Coats, they skip, and dance;
Thus they speak joy for want of tongue,
Nature in vain has made 'em dumb;
Venus smiles too, and does appear
So Nat'ral, as if born ev'n here.
XLIX. The Grapes:
TO us the Vine its store does give,
And we with eagerness receive▪
Young Men and Maids together come
And bring the weighty Treasures home;
Whole Vineyards in one Vessel lay,
And true Wine from th' Trees is born away,
But if we owe a Birth to Art,
And Midwife force must Act a part,
A Secresy the deed requires,
And every Virgin strait retires.
For Men alone the Grapes do tread,
And Wine's by skilful Drunkards made;
To Song and Dance the God does yield,
And all things are with Bacchus fill'd.
[Page 107]With sparkling fires crown'd he stands,
And all our Eyes commands;
On his Streams like a Sea-God lyes,
That from the Deep did lately rise.
Old men, as they walk along
Do tast, and see, and strait grow young.
Their Crutches gone, they dance, and play;
Whilst Age, and gray Hairs drop away.
The Younger men look Red
With thoughts of Wine, and Love; which feed
Upon each other, and do thrive
With long Enjoyments kept alive.
Under a Myrtle shade
Or'ecome by sleep a Nymph is lay'd;
That nere a proffer'd bliss declin'd,
In Dream, still thoughts to thoughts were kind.
Thus all Women will, but few
[Page 108]Dare act awake what then they'd do.
For now of fierce disdain,
The affronted Youth does long complain,
Is every Minute kill'd.
Sees more than all, because conceal'd,
And strongest struglings seem to yield
But since all Courtship was in vain,
He strove by Storm the Fort to gain,
He plunder'd, ravisht, and lead on
His force, and man'd the Garrison.
He thanked the Grapes that courage sent,
That made him bold and impudent.
L. The Rose.
NAked the Spring would seem, and bear,
If Roses did not dress the year;
[Page 109]The Rose that to the Gods presents
It self, sweeter then Frankincense.
The Joy of man, who gently lay'd
Upon a Rosie Bed;
That and the Graces round him move,
And deck, and bless his hours of Love.
The Rose, where none designs amiss,
If he does that or Venus kiss.
This Plant the Poets strive to praise,
And would for this exchange their Bays.
Through Files of Pikes and Bryars, we
Push on our hands most willingly.
But the Rose when gather'd wounds does heal
And we then onely Roses feel.
Insipid is our Mirth, and flat,
If these our Wits do'nt animate;
At Bacchus feasts for dead though lain,
[Page 110]With these refresh'd we drink again,
All things are in perfection great,
If they the Rose but imitate.
The winged Morning climbs the Sky,
And her Rosie-Fingers does display,
Bright onely by a Simile.
Each Nymph a strict Beholder seeks,
Proud of this Colour in her Cheeks.
Loves Rosie-Goddess he [...]e does sit,
More Lovely by that Epithet.
In short a Med'cine tis,
For all I [...]ls and Sicknesses.
He that its vertues understands,
will beggar all Physitians;
Nay in the Grave 'twill lay,
A [...]d keep hungry Time away:
Perfume the Carkass, and preserve;
[Page 111]Whilst almost Death and Worms do starve.
When Venus first from the Sea's Womb
In Beauty cloath'd did come;
And watry Mountains stop'd to see
The naked newborn Prodigy.
When armed Pallas from the head
Of teeming Jove was lead;
Then sprang the Rose, 'twas then
Our Goddess first did reign;
Strange and wonderful her birth
Amaz'd her Mother Earth.
Of this the Gods did first deb [...]te,
And in Heaven a Council sate.
All did Nectar on a Bramble drop,
And soon the Rose leapt up.
It first on Bacchus smil'd, then strait
Did it self to Bacchus dedicate.
LI. Grown Young.
WHen some brisk, and airy Scene,
Does my Opticks entertain
With frisking Lads who their lives sooth,
And nobly spend th' [...]state of Youth;
The Wantons, Pimps for fond delight,
Provoke my feeble sight,
My sight; which by some magick Art
Scatters Youth thro' ev'ry part.
My cripp [...]'d feet in steps advance,
And wonder why they dance.
And whilst they in these sports engage,
Forget the clumsiness of Age.
Now th [...]n, Cybelle, round my head
Garlands of new-blown Roses spread;
[Page 113]In this Princely posture strait
Let some Boy on me wait,
Let him, to favour my design,
Push it on with lively Wine;
Then let him stand amaz'd, to see
How I young and active be!
How Jollily my Life does pass!
How I'me disposed to take a Glass;
Dispos'd to break a youthful Jest,
Dispos'd to frolick with the best.
LII. The Mark.
NOthing undistinguish'd lies,
Or cheats the sight in false disguise;
A Mark is stamp'd on all, that we
May in each a Dif [...]rence see;
[Page 114]Th [...]wandring Horse does keep
A Superscription on the Hip:
The P [...]thian by his Turbant's known,
A Lover by his Heart is shown;
Nor does the hidden Mark raise doubt,
But oft in blushes Sallies out;
And oft the Flame that brands his Breast,
Is by his Tell-tale Looks exprest.
FINIS.

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