LICENSED,
Rob. Midgley.
Octob. 25. 1688.
POEMS AND TRANSLATIONS, WRITTEN Upon several Occasions, AND To several Persons. By a late Scholar of Eaton.
Et nos ergo manum ferulae subduximus, & nunc
Expectes eadem à summo minimoque Poeta:
Scripsimus, & stulta est clementia, cum tot ubique
Vatibus occurras, periturae parcere chartae.
Juv.
Non illud ipsum quod optimum est desperandum, & in praestantibus rebus, magna sunt ea, quae sunt optimis proxima; prima enim sequentem, honestum est, in secundis, tertiisque consistere.
Tull.
LONDON: Printed for Henry Bonwicke, at the Red Lion in St. Paul's Church-Yard. 1689.
TO The Right Honourable THE Countess of CLARENDON, THESE Rude and Ʋnpolish'd Poems Are Humbly Presented, DEDICATED, and DEVOTED By the Author, Her Ladyship's Most Dutiful and Obedient Servant.
TO THE Worthy M r RODERICK, Upper-Master OF EATON-SCHOOL.
SIR,
THese
Trifles at Your Feet I'd humbly lay,
And gladly these for my vast
Debts repay;
I'd beg the great Protection of Your
Name,
To have that
Altar sanctifie my
Flame:
My
little All, lent
Stock I would resign,
With reason, proud to serve at such a
Shrine;
But that they're
Trifles all, and all those Trifles
mine.
Admit them
moderate: the
Seed that's sown,
At first was
Yours, much more the
Crop's Your own.
You gave the
Talent, that
improv'd I bring;
By You my
Chirping Muse was taught to
sing.
[Page] You warm'd my Soul with new
Promethean Fire,
Your
Wings my flagging
Thoughts learnt to aspire.
You all the Wheels of my slow
Fancy move,
My
doubtful Wit at Your true
Touch-stone prove.
My
Pegasus was in Your
Pasture bred,
Not on coarse
Birch, but Buds of
Ivy fed.
Hail the profess'd
Palaemon of our
Isle!
Aetonian Helicon
for every stile!
Now give me leave these my
First-fruits to bring,
Pledge of the
Summer, and the
Pride of
Spring.
So
Primroses are upon
Altars laid;
And
Pepper-corns for
Rent by Beggars paid.
Your Dutiful Scholar,
&c.
THE TABLE.
- A Translation out of Synesius. To Mr. Henry Colman of Queens-Colledge in Cambridge Pag. 1
- Anacreontiques. Ode I. Love. To Mrs. S. Hill 4
- Ode II. The Letter-Carrier. To Madam Bebington▪ 7
- Ode III. Gold. To Madam Richardson 11
- Ode IV. Grey Hairs. To Mr. Anth. Whistler 14
- Ode V. Drink. To Mr. Will. Harding 15
- Anacreon 's Blessing. To Mr. O—n 17
- A Greek Epigram to Hemiera. To Madam A— R— 23
- The Snow-Ball. A Translation. To Madam D. Boscowen ibid.
- To Idera wearing a Mask. A Song. To Madam [Page] M—R—24
- Bion Idyl. 2. To Mr. Dryden 27
- A Paraphrase on the twenty third Idyl. of Theocritus, to Idera 28
- Chorus 1. of Seneca's Agamemnon. To my Lord Townshend 35
- Parting with his dear Brother, Mr. Ash Wyndham▪ 39
- To Mr. G. L. an Ode 42
- The Spring. To Mr. Ben. Wrightson 49
- Learning. To Mr. Francis Fuller of St. John's in Cambridge 51
- To Mr. R. Smith of King's Colledge in Cambridge 52
- To Idera in Mourning, going into Mourning himself soon after 54
- A Paradox in praise of Ambition. To his dear Friend Mr. Edw. Taylour, of Merton Colledge in Oxford 56
- To Idera. Age in a Looking-glass 64
- Solitude. To his dear Brother, Mr. Ash Wyndham 65
- To a young Lady that constantly slept at Church 76
- [Page] To Idera, putting a Copy of Verses in at her Window at midnight. 78
- To Idera, Speechless 80
- Incurable. To Idera 82
- To the Ingenious Mr. Barker. Saul's Witch of Endor 84
- To Mrs. B. Wright, on her Incomparable Poetry 91
- A Fragment of Catullus. Advice to Hemiera. To Madam A—R—94
- The Paradox to Idera 95
- To Idera, dreaming she was angry 96
- Ovid's Amorum, Lib. 3. Eleg. 9. on the death of Tibullus. To Mr. William Lloyd 98
- To Idera, having by some mischance so hurt her self as to halt 104
- To Mr. O—n. A Disswasive from that effeminate Passion of Love 108
- To Idera, writing her Name in Snow, which melting to water, froze, and soon after thaw'd 109
- A Propitiatory Sacrifice, to the Ghost of J—M—by way of Pastoral, in a Dialogue between Thyrsis and Corydon. To his dear Brother [Page] Mr. Ash Wyndham 110
- Oldham's Ghost. A Dream. To Mr. Ro. Townshend 117
- On the Death of the late Duke of Ormond. To Mr. Will. Butler 121
- To Mr. R. Nichols. On the Little Man that was shew'd for a Sight all over England 124
- Solomon 's Song. cap. 1. ver. 2. To Mrs. Mary Nichols 125
- To Idera. The Apology for Silence 127
- The Dumb Discovery. To Idera 129
- In praise of Wine mixt with Water. To Mr. Francis Nichols 130
- Parting with Mr. Tho. Bebington 131
- A Greek Epigram. To Idera 134
- On John Pig, who was very famous for his great Nose. To Mr. R. Nichols 136
- Part of the fourteenth Satyr of Juvenal, against Covetousness. To Mr. William Percival ibid.
- An Epigram. To Mr. Hen. Northcote of Exon-Colledge, Oxon. The Happy Miser 152
- An Epigram, in praise of John Pig's Diminutive [Page] Nose. To Mr. Frederick Colman 153
- Concerning John Pig's Mountainous Nose, and Quick-silver Feet. To Mr. T. Wooley ibid.
- To a young Lady, reading the seventh Verse of the first Chapter of Proverbs. To Idera. 154
- To his Valentine Hemiera▪ Madam A. R. 155
- To Idera, who would not be seen to steal a Look from Duserastes, by turning her back 157
- To Hemiera 158
- To P. P. being to run a Race after Dinner 161
- Mediocrity. To Mr. Humph. Lind ibid.
- Diogenes in his Kingdom. To Mr. Denham 162
- Noll 's Epitaph. To Mr. Andrew Snapes ibid.
- A Short Life and a Sweet. To Mr. Edward Taylor 163
- To Mr. Henry Palmer, going to Sea ibid.
- [Page] To Mr. Butler. A Greek Epigram 164
- To Mr. Will. Percival. That Poetry is Witchcraft ibid.
- Antipater 's Epitaph on Homer. To Mr. John Penneck 165
- To Mr. N. Smith. On a Covetous old Miser, a Religious Gripe ibid.
- To Mr. King, against the Astrologers 166
- To Mr. Hen. Fane ibid.
- An Epigram out of Plato. To Madam Amara 168
ERRATA.
PAge 4. line 10. for now read when. p. 11. l. 12. for Passengers r. Passenger. p. 18. l. 27. for they r. would. p. 22. l. 3. for and splits r. exhausts. p. 27. l. 13. for Artist r. Bowman. p. 40. l. 2. for Titles r. name and number. p. 45. l. 14. for bare r. bear. p. 53. l. 20. for can mount r. pretend. p. 54. l. 9. for his r. her. p. 81. l. 1. for her r. you. p. 88. l. 10. for the r. her. p. 124. l. 2. for drop r. pour. p. 140. l. 1. for he r. she. p. 156. l. 26. for R. r. she.
POEMS.
A Translation out of
Synesius.
[...], &c.
WIT, alas, what idle Charms!
Herculean Strength, or
Milo's Arms!
Beauty, what ground for Pride is there?
Or
Gold, as trifling as the Fair!
What
Halcyons build within a
Crown?
What solid
Pleasure's in
Renown?
If in an
equal Ballance laid,
And by a hand
impartial weigh'd,
With serious and
Divine affairs,
With holy and
Religious cares,
Compar'd with the
Almighty's
Love,
Lighter than
Vanity they'll prove.
One easily outstrips in
course,
The best that ever back'd a
Horse;
Can ride
Bucephalus full speed,
Or one of
Neptune's generous Breed:
[Page 2] Can make his fiery Courser fly,
Like winged Lightning, through the Sky.
Another has prodigious store,
Mountains and Seas of
Golden Ore;
The Miser's heart could wish no more.
Whom
Midas envying, would prevent,
And of his second wish repent.
One is a
Cretan at his
Bow,
Can shoot a very Hair in two;
Excels the Master of this Art,
Makes
Teucer lay it deep to heart;
And what was formerly his Pride,
His Bow, as useless, throw aside.
Another
has a comely Face;
(And when there's
Beauty in the case,
What Spell can lay this Spirit? what Charms
Of humane power resist these Arms?)
H'as such a Beauty so divine,
Nireus his Title would resign,
And emulous
Narcissus pine.
Another
prides in Noble Bloud;
Another
in a numerous Brood
Of lovely
Girls and hopeful
Boys,
Their Countries Props, and Parents Joys;
Of
Danaus and
Aegyptus Stock,
A great and a well-order'd Flock.
Which are the least of all my cares,)
Let me live
private and
obscure,
From Noise, and Pride, and Scorn secure;
From the
drie Complements of
Court,
Glistning Glo-worms! Fortunes sport!
From mean
Ambition, lying
Fame,
Base
Actions, and a tainted
Name.
No fine-spun Cobwebs of the
Great,
No gay Contrivances of
State:
No
gilded Greatness, empty shows,
(Mis-guiding Meteors!) make me lose
That happy Path that I would chose.
Let me with
Aglaus be found,
Pleas'd in my little spot of ground;
Or blest with the poor
Gardner's fate,
Envied by
Alexander's state.
Abdolonymus, only known
To some poor
Pot-herbs of his own;
Gardner, degraded to a
Throne!
What if the World should never hear
Of such a one as
Go—l there?
On Earth let me a Cypher be,
So I make one, my God, with thee.
Here let me, as a stranger, live,
At best a nameless Expletive;
[Page 4] So to my self I am but known,
And unto thee, my God, alone.
Anacreontiques.
ODE I. Love.
AS lately on my sleepy Bed
I laid my sick and drowsie head,
And Night it self with me lay dead▪
The Heavens nodded, Nature snor'd,
When Winking
Morpheus gave the word
Silence; and at the Court of Night
'Twas time to hang out every Light:
Now wearied Limbs took their repose,
When troubled Minds began to dose;
When twinkling Stars could hardly keep
Themselves from dropping fast asleep;
Some dimm'd and shot, but others fell:
Close was the silence, deep as Hell.
Half the
Creation joyntly slept,
Clouds
Sympathetick Showers wept.
The Moon, like all the rest, was gone
To Bed to her
Endymion.
What business have you here so late,
Said I? and ask'd the stranger's name,
His Message, and from whence he came▪
Poor little Beggar-boy, said he,
That is benighted; pity me:
For Heaven's sake, Sir, let me in,
For I am almost wet to th' skin:
I've been a shooting all this day;
'Tis dark, and I have lost my way:
The Stars themselves, the very Moon,
Share my Misfortune; I'm undone!
Let me but in a Stable lie,
'Twill be a deed of Charity.
I heard the flattering Rascal speak,
And could not but for pity's sake,
In such a case, open the Gate,
Which straight my Youngster enter'd at,
With Bag and Quiver at his back:
And having drunk a Glass of Sack
To warm within, my little Squire,
I ask'd him to come near the Fire;
And brought him out a sumptuous hoard
Of Victuals on a plenteous Board,
The best my House could then afford;
And play'd the Courtier, to excuse
The barren deserts of my Muse▪
[Page 6] So poor a Meal as he must make,
And wish'd it better for his sake.
I rub'd his little hands in mine,
And wrung his hair so soft, so fine,
Like his own Mother's Locks. And now
He look'd so charmingly, I vow
I scarcely could forbear to hug
The little fiery wanton Pug.
And thus no little time was spent
In Ceremony and Complement.
Now when he found himself grow warm,
Has the Rain done my Bow no harm,
(Said he)? and made no more to do,
But took his pretty little Bow,
And strung it up, and pierc'd my heart:
So does the Gad-bee's tickling smart
Fret and delight th' infected part.
Up and away then, Whip and Spur,
Crying, God b'ye, your Servant, Sir;
I wish you well, my Host, adieu;
I'm very much oblig'd to you:
I see my Bow is well enough;
But Friend, your Heart's not Arrow-proof.
ODE II. The Letter-Carrier.
TEll me, amiable Dove,
Thou great Embassadour of Love,
A Spokes man fit for amorous
Jove;
Tell me, tell me, why such hast?
Whither is't you flie so fast?
Where didst thou thy breath perfume?
From what Spicy Country come?
From whence, with thy Mercurial Wing,
Dost thou these Heavenly Odours bring?
Swimming through th' ambitious Air,
Proud to kiss thy Wings so fair,
Leaving a scent of sweetness there.
Tell me who it is, will be
So honour'd with thy companie?
The Dove replied, What would I give,
Poor Dove, for a Preservative
From Coxcombs so inquisitive?
Pray what are my concerns to you?
But since 'tis your desire to know,
And Medlers will not be said no:
(Save me, ye Gods; for what offence
Must I be kill'd by Impertinence?)
[Page 8] I am (and then she curb'd her Head,
Her Tail, Fan-like, by Feathers spread,
And walk'd in state, and clapp'd her Wings,
And did a hundred pretty things,
To shew her pride)
Anacreon's Dove,
And manage the affairs of Love
With his
Bathyllus, that dear Boy,
(Oh, happy state that I enjoy!)
Lovely
Bathyllus, he that can,
By one sweet look, ev'n conquer Man;
Can by the Magick of his Eyes,
Over all things tyrannize;
Victorious Beauty of all
Greece,
The whole Creation's Master-piece;
The Pride of Nature, and the Fire
That raises
Venus's Desire,
Whom thô she envy, she must still admire;
Could make a Stoick change his mind,
Fixt as the Sun, turn like the Wind,
And in Love's School more Pleasures find,
Than in his former Hermite's Cell,
Principles dark and deep as Hell.
To
Venus once I did belong,
She sold me for a trifling Song.
O happy I, that us'd to run
From place to place, from Sun to Sun,
[Page 9] Managing the Intrigues of Love,
With
Mars, and half the Gods above,
With her
Seraglio of Gallants,
That by turns supply'd her wants;
Am Servant to
Anacreon,
Who lov'd by all, yet loves but one.
And as you see me now, I bear
His Letters to his lovely Fair;
This the perfume that scents the Air.
He promises to set me free;
Excuse me for such libertie:
No other freedom would I crave,
Than name and nature of a Slave;
Nor other slavery can I dread,
Than being, as he tells me, freed.
For to what purpose should I flie,
And ramble in the spacious Skie,
By Famine, Net, or Arrow die?
Sit starving on a Mountains top,
Or coo on barren Trees, and hop,
In fear of death, from bough to bough,
I know not where, I know not how;
Either die for want of Meat,
Else Haws, and Chaff, and Vetches eat:
Nor safety in that wretched fare,
'Ware Birdlime, Turtle! and the Snare.
[Page 10] Where Puddle-water is the best,
A hollow Tree the softest Nest;
To hear Owls Musick, nor that long;
She'll make one dance unto her Song.
Is this the freedom I have lost?
Is this the freedom others boast?
I by my Master now can stand,
Peck Crums out of
Anacreon's hand;
And have my little
Ganymede
To give me Wine, whene're I need.
I in a merry mood, can sup
Wine out of
Anacreon's Cup;
His own pure, choice, delicious Wine,
So smooth, so sparkling, and so fine!
Which he keeps purposely to treat
Bathyllus with, when they two meet.
When I get drunk, I clap my wings,
And dance, whilst my
Anacreon sings.
And when I am a sleepy grown,
Upon his Harp I lay me down:
Musick and I can there agree
In one united Harmonie;
Both make our Master Melodie.
Peace and Concord is, in brief,
The perfect sum of my whole Life,
Free from danger, noise, or strife.
[Page 11] Farewel. But now too late I must repent,
That like your self I'm grown impertinent:
For when I'm gone, you'll say you took me wrong,
To be a Dove with a Crows pratling Tongue.
ODE III. Gold.
COuld the Misers heaps of Gold
Flatter
Death to quit her hold;
Or would
Hell be so content,
To take money for her Rent;
Could a man at any rate,
Bribe inexorable Fate;
Could he get
Charon in the mind
To leave his Passengers behind,
When he has once his Earnest paid;
Could this Spirit be ever laid
By all the
Magick and the
Spells
Of Conjuring Misers in their Cells;
Would
Mercury but load himself,
Instead of men, with loads of Pelf;
Cumber up Hell with Bags of Coin;
Could he prevail with
Proserpine:
'Twould be a notable Design.
[Page 12] Could all his Wealth and all his Power
Purchase Respit for an hour,
O how I'd scrape and drudge for Ore!
O how I'd ransack Natures Store!
And when I'd done, still crave for more.
I'd drein
Pactolus for his Sands,
And wish for
Midas Golden Hands:
I'd wash in
Tagus to be rich,
Glad to have that Golden Itch.
The World should serve me for a Mine,
To furnish me with Soveraign Coin,
And I would serve at
Pluto's Shrine.
Almighty Gold should be my Word,
Almighty Gold should be my Lord:
Almighty Gold should all controul;
I'd bear his Image in my Soul.
By him inspir'd, I'd seek and find
Wealth, the Saviour of Mankind.
For Gold is God, and something more;
His Deity would I adore.
Of my God I'd make a shrine,
And out of that a God-head coin.
I'd dig to Hell, but that I'd get
Enough to pay the common Debt
Of Nature, a Securitie
From all Arrests, and thus set free,
[Page 13] That Hell and I might be at peace,
And Death might grant a longer Lease.
But if it be too hard a Task;
Nay, if it be a sin to ask
The price of a few fleeting days,
To add a furlong to ones Race;
To change one span of life to two,
A single Thread into a Clue;
To hire the Fates to sheath the Knife,
With Gold to purchase longer life:
Why should I by day-time weep,
Or in the night-time break my sleep?
Why should I beat my Breast, complain,
Sigh, and whine, and all in vain?
Melt into Tears, and tear my Hair,
Like one in frenzy or despair?
For if the Fates will so ordain,
That I must die like other men;
Nor have I reason to believe,
From Fate I shou'd my self reprieve:
If I must die, and hence be hurl'd
From this into another World;
What use or pleasure can I have
Of Gold or Silver in the Grave?
They neither revel, buy nor sell,
Nor drink, nor dance, nor love in Hell.
[Page 14] Therefore I hope you will excuse
These
Recreations that I use
Rarely, but
Natural to my
Muse.
Besides, I am not like to meet
A
Mistriss in a
Winding-Sheet;
Or court a Pretty Maid to Bed
To Grave to me, when I am dead.
ODE IV. Grey Hairs.
WHither fliest thou, O my Dear,
And leav'st a melting Lover here,
Dying, sinking in Despair?
Is my Reverend Hoary Grey,
Such a Bug-bear in your way?
What makes you look so ghast, and stare
As if you're frightned at my Hair?
Because your self's so wondrous fair?
Because your Cheeks, so lovely red,
Can make
Aurora hide her head,
And blushing run agen to bed?
Make baffled
Venus lose her Trade,
The emulous Roses blast and fade?
[Page 15] Scarlet and Crimson lose their die,
Beauty it self asham'd to vie?
Do not scornfully despise
Me, the Victim of your eyes;
But accept my bleeding Heart,
Weak in Nature, strong in Art.
Then all objections justly mute
Will prove, our different colours suit.
For you must own, to do me right,
I'm ne'er the worse for being white.
Such a lustre Lillies cast;
Wanton Roses, Lillies chast.
But when they both together meet,
The Rivals breathe a fragrant sweet,
And make a Garland look compleat.
ODE V. Drink.
WHen
Wine has fum'd into my head,
My busie Senses all lie dead,
And melancholy Megrims sink
Into the Ocean of my
Drink:
This Whirl-pool swallows them all up;
And at the bottom of my Cup
[Page 16] I meet with all the Gods can give,
To make a Mortal happy live.
I never covet to be great,
Nor envy
Croesus his Estate.
Like
Bacchanal, I dance and sing,
And scorn the Title of a King:
I make a Foot-ball of a Crown,
Kick glorious Diadems up and down.
I versifie
Extempore,
And all my Speech is Poetrie.
So that with reason I may think
I'm made of Poetry, Love, and Drink.
Let other men fall out, and fight
For true or for pretended Right,
To Arms, to Arms; I never care:
A Bottle's all the Arms I bear.
Serve only under
Cupid's Banner,
Till made a Lord of
Venus Mannour.
But now I think on't, I am told,
That now my youthful Bloud grows cold:
Be wise,
Anacreon, as thou'rt old.
That Fate has ey'd me several years,
Resolv'd to pay off all Arrears:
One foot is in the Grave, and Death
Would fain suck out my fragrant breath:
But I'll prevent him, and will lie
Dead drunk o'th' spot before I die;
[Page 17] And by this pretty Countermine
Baffle the Cannibal's Design.
Anacreon's Blessing.
WHen Sleep had clos'd my weary Eyes,
Sleep, that Door of
Mysteries;
On wing'd
Chimaera's straight convey'd,
Where Centinels of
Visions play'd
Before the Gates of
Night and
Shade;
Arriv'd at spacious
Fairy Land,
With
Sibyl's Bough, and
Morpheus Wand,
My Fancy on an Object wrought,
An Object worthy of a thought;
That which by day-time did engage
My mind in a
Poetick Rage,
When all my Senses
seal'd up, lay
Free from the business of the day;
My
roving Brains again pursu'd,
(Thô the Conception was but rude)
And once again with Joy renew'd.
Methought
Anacreon appear'd,
An old man with a
Reverend Beard,
Old, yet had a graceful look;
With a
Bottle and a
Book;
[Page 18] His breath smelt strong of fragrant Wine,
(Ah cursed be the fatal
Vine!)
His Lips with
Kisses worn, and
drie,
His ruffled Cheeks of
Scarlet die,
His Spaniel
Cupid running by.
When by degrees he nearer drew,
My Face, my Gate, and Habit knew.
When falling prostrate on the ground,
As a Son in Duty bound,
Ten thousand times to speak I strove,
Ten thousand times struck dumb by Love.
Transports of Wonder and Surprize
Ravisht my Soul, and burst out of my Eyes:
But he preventing my
Petition,
With a
prophetical suspicion,
Stroaking my
Lethargick head,
In token of his
Blessing, said,
"Thy
Vow is heard, and it is done,
"The Father's
Merits for the Son,
"Make thee, thô an unworthy
Heir,
"Fall to
Praise, instead of
Prayer.
"Go lay claim unto my Strains,
"My Muse inspire thy fruitful Brains,
"As a Reward for all thy pains.
"However, aim thou not too high;
"Some at their lowest higher flie,
"Than they that soar above the Skie;
"
[Page 19] Than they that soaring, never fell;
"Know your own sphere, strive to excel
"In that to which your Genius leads.
"I never sung Heroick deeds,
"Nay, should attempt it, all in vain,
"To write in
Homer's lofty strain:
"Yet in my own peculiar way
"Am every whit as fam'd as they.
"But one Rule more before we go:
"Let not your Fancy ebb and flow
"As your Brain on Spirits feeds,
"'T helps one Defect, and twenty breeds.
"Wine will nothing solid settle;
"Hones by sharpning, wear the Mettle.
"Thô the bewitching Cups of Liquor
"Made elevated thoughts the quicker,
"Yet the Grapestone stop'd my breath,
"The Grape my life, the Grape my death.
This said,
Anacreon smil'd and sneez'd,
A happy Omen he was pleas'd:
Then pull'd a
Garland from his head,
(The
Garland was of
Myrtle made,
The
Garland smelt of
Love and
Wine,
Anacreontique, sweet, and fine)
With Violets, Palms, and Roses wrought,
And for a Song of
Flora bought.
[Page 20] This he about my Temples twin'd,
And rapt in a strong blast of wind,
Left me and sordid Earth behind.
I for a
Legacy did call,
He let his
Book and
Spaniel fall.
When out of sight the
Coach was gone,
I put
Anacreon's Garland on.
How glad I was to be undone!
The
Philtre did effectual prove,
And nothing can these
Charms remove;
But I am plung'd in the
Abyss of endless
Love.
Bion Idyl. 4.
[...], &c.
To Mrs.
M———— Dr————r.
'TIS the effect of
Love, not servile
Fear,
The
Muses fit their
Songs to
Cupid's
Ear:
Proud at his feet to lay their
Scepters down,
And pay
Allegiance to their
Soveraign's Crown.
'Tis only Love inspires
Apollo's Lute,
Without that Harmony the
Musick's Mute.
The
Harp of
Eloquence, Venus fairly won
At
Pythian Games, a
Present for her
Son.
Orpheus may tune up his
Melodious Strings,
Yet none so sweetly as the
Siren sings.
For that
Apostate (an eternal shame
Confound the Rebel, and his hateful Name!)
Whose
Actions all run counter to his
Oath,
His debauch'd
Judgment counter to them both;
Dull scribling
Traytor, who would fain infuse
Treason into the heart of every Muse;
The wholsome streams of our
Parnassus mud
Wirh nasty Dregs of
Wine, and Lakes of
Bloud;
With cold admittance thinks to baffle Love,
Blasphemously the
God a
Bastard prove;
[Page 22] Shall flagging flie, and in those flights still fall:
Parnassus Doves for him produce a
Gall.
In vain he calls, and swells, and splits his Lungs,
Cupid has gagg'd their mouth, or ty'd their tongues;
But he that with
His Inspiration sings,
Scorns the mean thredbare stile of warlike Kings,
Iambick Rage, great words, or mighty things:
But in a soft, a smooth, a gentle strain,
Shall ease (and without
pangs) his
teeming Brain;
Shall as a
Priest at
Cupid's
Altar wait,
And daily
numerous Offerings consecrate.
His
Reason never in
Eclipse decay,
Nor he want
fire to animate his
Clay.
Etesian Gales of Wit,
Invention blow,
And
Passion with
Perfection joyntly flow.
Nature intent, whilst this her
Master sings,
And
Immortality mount him on her
Wings.
His
Plaudits shall be
eccho'd through the
World,
Himself to the
Elysian Mansions hurl'd.
By good
Experience part
my self can prove,
I never write so well, as when I write of Love.
A Greek EPIGRAM to Hemiera. To Madam A— R—.
WHen
Pallas arm'd, met
Venus in the Field,
Will you, said she, the
Prize of
Beauty yield?
Venus reply'd, If naked with my Charms
I can prevail, what need have I of Arms?
The SNOW-BALL. A Translation. To Madam D— B—
I Dera Snow-balls made, and at me threw;
What can a
persecuted Lover do?
What
Labyrinths are these in which I rove?
Inextricable are the
Schools of
Love.
Ev'n
Snow, O
Irony! to
Fire she turns,
And every
Vein, with
cold struck thorough,
burns.
Ah what so cold! yet that she could
inspire,
With heat enough to kindle my desire,
Thrown only by her hands it set my heart on fire.
[Page 24] What Antidote can such a Plague remove?
What place can save me from the Charms of Love?
If ev'n the Elements unconstant prove;
If they (like all the World) begin to cheat,
If Contrarieties can so friendly meet,
And cold so naturally bring forth heat;
If Snow it self a hidden Fire contains,
She only, only she can ease my pains;
She captiv'd first my heart, she must unloose my Chains.
But ah! my flames cannot be quenched so,
By virtue of cold Ice, or frozen Snow.
To Idera wearing a MASK. A SONG To Madam M— R—.
1.
WHY should hoodwink'd
Nature die?
And blinded
Beauty fade?
Grace, Innocence,
and Virtue
lie
Smother'd in
Masquerade?
2.
Let
Cupid's
Monarchy display
His
Flags of
White and
Red,
Nor give the World just cause to say,
Sick of a Maidenhead.
3.
Why should the
Mountebanks lay claim
To th'
Colours of your
Skin?
'T may raise a scandal on your Name,
Thô I should think it sin.
4.
Thô my
Implicit Faith be strong
Invisibles to believe,
Thô I should think I did you wrong,
To say you can deceive.
5.
Dispel those happy Clouds that kiss
Your
Rising Sun unseen,
That strive to ravish all the Bliss,
And
interpose a
Screen.
6.
Who would not at your Rays take fire?
T'
Arabian Deserts flie,
And in a
Spicy Nest expire,
And in a
Fever die?
7.
Pity a bleeding, wounded
Hart,
Abandon'd by the
Herd;
I'd die, but for my better part,
Life is to be preferr'd.
8.
Let
Venus boast her
Master-piece,
Let all the World admire;
Let me alone the
Prize possess,
Troy, Greece,—may be on fire.
Bion Idyl. 2.
[...], &c.
To Mr.
Dryden.
A Little
Stripling once a shooting went,
And hot he was, and on his Game intent:
He spy'd the little
blinking Buzzard, Love,
Sculking in a thick shady
Myrtle Grove;
With joy and wonder struck, first stones he flung,
And then his Bow,
sure of his Buzzard, strung:
Close by the Tree, a
Fated Arrow drew,
But Love too quick, still to another flew,
And all the
Archer's Policy would not do.
Then to a
good old Man he did himself apply,
Told him the News, and shew'd Love perching up on high.
The
Gaffer Plough-man smiling, shook his head,
Pleas'd with the fancy, to the Artist said,
Leave shooting,
Youngster, and believe my words,
These are but feather'd Monsters, Beasts of Birds.
Were you at man's estate, he'd act your part;
Love's a damn'd Marks-man at a season'd heart.
Thô he flies now, then would he follow you,
And as a
greedy Vultur close pursue.
You are too young, he's for a noble Prey;
Yet lest he take a liking to you, get you hence away.
A PARAPHRASE On the twenty third
Idyl. of
Theocritus, From the beginning to
[...], &c.
To
Idera.
I.
AN amorous little
Swain
Was set to keep
His Father's goodly
Flock of
Sheep,
In the
Arcadian Plain:
By chance a
beauteous She came by,
Whom when his watchful Eyes did spy,
His
Guardian Eyes
That there stood
Centinel, with wonder and surpize,
Marking the beauty of her
Angel's face,
Set off with a sweet
Carriage, and a heavenly
Grace,
Blest with a pleasant
Mein, and sprightly
Air,
And all the dear
Enchantments of the
Fair;
Well satisfy'd, they let her pass:
Who thus admitted, did impart
The secret to his
wounded Heart.
Charm'd with the lovely Maid, that
Fate had thither brought,
Whose Beauty did surpass desire or thought;
[Page 29] In making whom,
Nature for once did thus presume
To go beyond her Rule, and place
On a sweet
Virgin's Body, a
Cherub's Face;
Or rather to adorn
With more than heavenly Beauty, a Terrestrial form.
II.
But ah! her Mind
Not like to her
Seraphick Face, proud, scornful, and unkind;
Despising those whom Passion,
Whom resistless Passion mov'd,
To humble Adoration,
Those who disdain'd her most, she above all things lov'd.
She knew not, nor desir'd to know
The fatal power of
Cupid's Bow,
How oft, and how infallibly he throws
An amorous golden Dart,
To pierce the refractory Heart
That dare his injur'd Deity expose;
Cruel in deed and word:
Ne're the least hopes of comfort would discover,
To a despairing, burning, dying Lover.
But in her Veins,
Fury for
Passion boils,
No rosie Lips,
no pleasant Smiles,
No blushing Cheeks,
no languishing Eyes,
That might seem to
sympathize;
[Page 30] But as a chased
Boar that fills
With roaring all the neighbouring Hills,
With
Vengeance casts his Eyes around,
And
foaming, tears the
groaning ground;
Till distant
Vales the
Eccho trembling take;
The Forest all and every Creature shake:
So she,
glances her Eyes upon the
Swain,
With desperate Disdain,
Adding more
fewel to his never dying
Pain.
III.
With scorn her Countenance turn'd pale,
And all her other Charms began to fail;
Disdain had banish'd every Grace,
Those
blazing Comets of her Face,
Pride and
Contempt took place.
Yet the
Shepherd finds no Arms
For these fainting, sickly Charms.
Her divine Sweetness he must still admire,
Struck blind from Heaven with
Cupid's fire,
The
flashes of an
impotent desire.
Alas! how vain does
speechless Reason prove!
When enter'd in that
Tyrant's Schools,
We learn his
Epidemick Rules;
And fetter'd in the Chains of Love,
Turn Fashionable Fools:
We cannot call our selves our own,
But our affections pay obeysance to another's Crown.
IV.
No longer able to contain,
Thô all in vain,
Thô all his words were Offerings to the Wind,
Deaf as she was unkind!
Tears like the
Torrent of a
swelling Floud,
Tears from the Heart exhal'd, and drops of Bloud,
Their sinking banks did overflow,
And drown the famish'd Vales below.
Trembling with dread and awful fear,
At last he ventur'd to draw near
The
Object of his Love, the
Cause of his Despair.
First he presumes to kiss
The
sacred ground whereon he with
Devotion trod,
As in the presence of an angry
God,
And then he strove to speak;
But conscious Jealousie oft gave a check,
And made his
half-out-lisping words draw back.
Stam'ring at last he forc'd out such a Speech as this.
V.
"Inexorable, cruel, stony Saint!
"
Blind to my Tears, and
deaf to my Complaint!
"Sure of some Lioness, or Tyger born,
"Unworthy of my Love, as I unworthy of your Scorn!
"A grateful
Present to your
Shrine I bring,
"The Welcome, and the only welcome thing,
"
[Page 32] That to my comfort, must remain,
"To ease me of my Pain,
"To ease me of my
Love, and you of your
Disdain;
"And Lo! proud haughty
Nymph, and Lo!
"How willingly I go,
"How willingly I go, and take delight
"In your Commands, thô banish'd from your sight.
"I go where every
Love-sick mind
"An universal Remedy may find;
"The place is call'd
Oblivion's Land,
"And
Lethe's lazy Lake i'th' midst does stand;
"Which were it possible that I could dry,
"In flames unquenchable I still should fry;
"Nor could I yet forget thy Name,
"So oft have I repeated o're the same.
"But find alas! no Water that can quench my Flame.
VI.
"Adieu,
fair Virgin! and eternally adieu!
"Yet
thou proud
Anaxarete! learn what doom
"Undoubtedly shall on thy Beauty come,
"And from my dying mouth believe it true.
"The pleasant
Day is quickly done,
"
Flowers in the Morning fresh, cut down by Noon;
"The blushing
Roses fade, and wither soon;
"White
Snow that melts before the scorching Sun,
"So youthful Beauty's full of Charms, all in a moment gone
"
[Page 33] The time will come, when you your self will prove
"How great a Deity is Love,
"Beauty, or Wit, will ev'n that scornful Soul alarm,
"A wanton
Ovid, or a fair
Adonis Charm;
"You'll offer
Hecatombs of Prayers,
"Bedew your Sacrifice with flouds of tears,
"Day and night sigh would, but you dare not woo,
"For all's in vain that you can do,
"No greater pity will you find than I from you.
"Then will your tortur'd
Conscience bring me into mind,
"Not to encourage you, but serve you in your kind;
"My restless
Ghost shall come,
"Not with soft
Sighs, but
Io's loud at your deserved doom.
VII.
"And yet grant me but this, ev'n this at least,
"I'll ask no more, but grant me this Request,
"Pull out the fatal
Dagger from my Breast,
"And come and sigh and mourn a while;
"I ask not (what I long'd for once) a
Smile:
"But pull the
Dagger from the Wound,
"And close, and close embrace me round:
"Thy
Veil over my lifeless Body spread,
"Give me one kiss, one kiss when I am dead.
"I ask no more, coy
Daphne! grant but this,
"A
meeting, parting Kiss,
"
[Page 34] Seal my cold Lips with thine,
"When thou hast suckt up all my dying breath,
"And mournful
Cypress round my
Temples twine,
"When to th'
Elysian Mansions
I am fled.
"Nor needst thou fear, thus summon'd after death,
"My ravisht Sould should come again;
"No, all thy Courtship is in vain,
"All cannot draw me from the Joys of the
Elysian Plain.
VIII.
Then build me up a stately
Tomb,
For a close
Retiring Room;
In it place a Downy Bed,
Where Love may lay his
sworn Confederate's head;
And leave me, after thou hast three times said,
My
Duserastes, He!
Soul of my
Soul, is dead.
Ah,
cruel Death! that couldst us two divide,
Had
Jove but pleas'd that I for thee had di'd!
Write this upon my
Monument, to prove
Your own Unworthy
Scorn, my Constant
Love:
Here lies a Lover, Kill'd by deep Despair;
Stay Reader, stay,
And only be so kind to say,
Alas! he lov'd, alas! he lov'd a Cruel Fair.
Chorus 1. Of
Seneca's
Agamemnon.
To my Lord
Townshend.
I.
FOrtune! thou slippery
Stage of Kings,
Upon whose
Smiles or
Frowns
Depends the Settlement or Fall of
Crowns!
What various Chances treacherous
Fortune brings,
Mounting on deceitful
Wings!
To Monarchs
Scepters gives, and sets them up on high
Upon the tottering
Spires of Dignity;
Then leaves them all alone,
Hung in the Air, upon a
Windy Throne,
Volatil
Fortune must be gone:
So let them fall or rise,
Away the base perfidious
Juggler flies.
How canst thou put a Cheat on us, so bare,
Give us but
Tinsel Goods for
Solid Ware?
Wouldst have them rich and gay appear,
Thô truly little worth, and truly very dear.
II.
'Tis not a Conqueror's
Sword or
Crown,
A
Prince's Smile, or
Tyrant's Frown,
Can make
Cares at distance keep,
Or buy one short-liv'd moment's sleep.
[Page 36] Greatness is nothing but a pleasant
Fable,
Nor can it make a Soul invulnerable.
The
Court is no security from pains,
Princes have wore their
Chains.
One Misery on another's neck does ride;
'Tis a troubled Sea, when
Fortune is our Guide;
And 'tis a rare unusual sight,
In
Fate's black Webs to see one thread of
white.
The raging Waves tear up the Sand,
And foaming beat against the Land;
Yet not so fast the
Tyde can flow,
Yet not so fast the
Wind can blow,
As
giddy Fortune rashly throw
Out of her careless hand, the doubtful
Die,
When in the
twinkling of an
Eye,
Kings Beggars, Beggars Kings,
turn'd at her Lottery.
Kings would be fear'd, but even
Kings we see,
Fear, lest they that fear them, should use
Treachery.
III.
'Tis not the
Night can give the
Balm of
Rest
To those whose
Spirits are opprest
With
Care, that
Night-Mare on their breast.
Sleep is no
Antidote t' expel
Fear, that
Firebrand of Hell.
What City will not impious
Arms destroy?
Slight was the
Cause, great was the
Fall of
Troy.
[Page 37] Bloud-thirsty
War swallows whole Kingdoms down,
Nor makes
two mouthfuls of a
Crown.
See the vast
Pyramids that once ev'n reach'd the Skie,
Like
Mole-hills in the dust, or
Atoms lie.
Chastity is at
Court a hateful name,
And
silenc'd Justice put to shame:
They laugh at
Wedlock's Sacred Tye,
Stifle gasping
Innocence,
Perjure their
Reason, and debauch their
Sence,
And impudently
give ev'n
Truth it self the
Lye.
IV.
But
War in Hostile manner stands
With Spear advanc'd, and bloudy hands:
And there
Jove's
Executioners all wait
To overturn those Pinacles of State.
Furies in the
Triumphant Chariot ride,
With
Whips to check the
Consul's pride.
Death in a thousand dreadful shapes appears,
And gnaws on Conscience prepossest with fears.
Crowns from
weight, and
care from
Kings,
Are both inseparable things.
V.
Yet suppose
Fate offers no Violence,
Publick
Peace, private
Innocence,
[Page 38] Still things that are so high and great,
Cannot support their feeble height,
But tottering down, sink under their own weight.
If
Sails be fill'd, thô by a prosperous wind,
Those
Gales may prove unkind.
A
Whirlwind overturns the
Tower that shrouds
Its lofty top amongst the Clouds.
The little
Shrubs in humble shades that spread,
See the vast
Oak, whose proud aspiring head
Defied the Thunderer, in the Forrest lie
Sapless, wither'd, crackt, and drie.
Flashes of Lightning only Mountains strike;
In this alone are Fortune's Scales alike:
Whatever's above weight must over fall,
Without exception,
All.
Great
Bodies, too luxurious grown
With something more than properly their own,
Predominant Diseases
feed
Corruption in the Bloud, and Humours breed.
The fattest
Cattel are for slaughter chose,
To dangers
Greatness must expose.
Whatever tottering
Fortune does exalt,
Has only
Crutches lent to learn to halt.
VI.
Low moderate things must needs bear longest date,
That man is truly, and is only Great,
That lives contented with a mean Estate.
Thrice happy is that man whose Means do lie
Above, or else below curst
Fortune's Eye;
Nor like a Coward to the shore does creep,
Nor rashly thrusts himself into the deep,
Parting with His Dear Brother, Mr. Ash Wyndham.
I.
MAke room, ye
Pygmie Sons of Fame,
That with
Antiquity would swell your name,
Proud before others, to have trod
The Paths of
Virtue, and the Ways of
God.
Thô last, I'll mend my pace,
Not they that set out first, must win the
Race.
'Tis done!
and now, methinks,
The stately
Monument of
Nisus sinks,
And all those
Hero's dust to
nothing shrinks.
'Tis done! I mount upon the Wings of
Love,
And through the Sky, by the
Twin-Stars I move;
[Page 40] From whence those little
Atoms I review,
That once with Titles fill'd the World,
Thousands into a crowded
Pitcher hurl'd,
Wet with the Tears of
Moisture and of
Dew.
2.
'Tis done! and all the Field's my own,
But still what shall I do to be for ever known?
How shall I keep up this my flight,
And prove 'tis not
Presumption, but my
Right?
'Tis done! and the unquestionable Heir,
Dear
Corydon, will to my Title swear,
Ev'n He, whose name had spread from
Pole to
Pole,
Great and
diffusive as his
Soul:
Had
Fame, with all her hundred Tongues, but breath
To sound him loud enough, till after death,
Whose Name was made to comprehend
All the Virtues of a Friend:
Too great for words, whose
Soul needs no
translation, Nature's one only work of
Supererogation.
3.
Oh! I could almost with that
Fate would try
How unconcern'd for thee I durst to die;
How at the
fatal Altar I could smile,
Griev'd only at thy absence for a while.
[Page 41] Proud as a
Harbinger, to go before
To chuse some
melancholy Grove,
Where I together with my thoughts might rove,
And thy
auspicious Name implore.
Yet if not sentenc'd to depart,
How gladly could I watch the
Guardian of my
heart!
Nor yet by day, nor yet by night,
Let thee steal one short
moment from my sight.
How with thy
absence can I be content,
When every
minute without thee, is mis-spent?
But ah! the
Fruit's forbidden for a time,
And who the Tree dares climb?
Now were not
Jealousie a sin,
I could once more, once, and
eternally begin
Thy
Faith, thy
Promise to secure,
Not in a thousand Oaths secure.
4.
Pardon (Dear
Corydon!) too
zealous Love,
That fain would all things prove;
Afraid on slender grounds to trust,
Or can a Friend be over just?
For thô my faultring fears betray
Suspicious doubts, yet I must still believe
'T's impossible for
Corydon to
deceive;
Whose heart's
Truth's Hieroglyphick well exprest,
Presiding in the Temple of your Breast.
[Page 42] Where on that
Altar I must humbly lay
This
Offering, with my consecrated
Vow,
My
Sibyl's Golden Bough.
I swear by your
own self, and
truth by you,
That to the self-same Oath I will be true:
Nor need I tell you, for you needs must know,
I love you above all things here below.
By
Heaven once more, and the
Almighty Powers,
Intirely and eternally I'm Yours,
C. O.
To Mr. G. L. an ODE.
1.
DEar
George, the better part
Of my united, now divided heart,
Accept of these rude Lines this Paper bears,
Conceiv'd in Sorrow, and
brought forth in Tears;
Sad as th' Occasion, hasty as thy Flight:
Nor wonder, if with so much pains
They wrought their passage through my brains:
No wonder, if so hardly I the
Dirge endite,
Which ev'n my Pen clog'd with grief, cannot write:
[Page 43] No wonder, if my Verses lag behind,
Since my Muse with Tears is blind,
I to this Prison here confin'd;
For sure no better is that place to me,
Whilst thou are absent, wheresoe're it be.
2.
Seven days are past, since I beheld thy face,
In which
Divinity it self is writ,
And
Angel all in every line of it;
Picture of
Beauty, and the
Stamp of
Grace.
Seven! to what immense number does that word amount!
Seven days! 7000 years in Love's account.
Every Minute is a Day,
Every Hour a tedious Year,
In which the Sun does once appear,
And in a moment vanishes away,
And leaves the miserable cloudy Hemisphere.
Seven days! before I could my silence break,
Thy Name in Accents interrupted speak.
For seven long days upon the Rack,
And overwhelmed with the dreadful storm,
Grief haunted me like th'evil Spirit of
Saul;
Then in my wavering mind I thought,
What if I should my self to
David's Harp apply?
And might not numbers be a Remedy?
I tried and found it nonsence all;
[Page 44] I tried again, and at the second draught,
Like old
Deucalion's Stones, all came to better form.
3.
To say, my Life is bound in thine,
In deed were a Tautologie;
For that as necessarily must be,
As that thou hast a Soul divine.
But to express the Grief and Consternation,
When Soul and Body part;
For such it is does seize my heart,
That, that only is above my passion.
Each day, my Sun, since you withdrew your light,
Has been an everlasting Night;
And yet still banish'd,
Thyrsis, from thy sight!
4.
I feel the
Pangs and
Tortures of a dying Soul;
Nay, I my self am dead, thô but in part,
Whilst you are my
Vicegerent in my heart,
And must command the whole.
'Tis this alone that does support
My sinking Spirits from the Grave,
That thô the
Scorpion stings, her bloud can save.
Greatness and
Fortune do your absence court;
Thô Fate does her malicious
Nature show,
To make such bitter
streams from a sweet
Fountain flow.
5.
Methinks I
Pylades and
Orestes see,
And must admire their constancie;
But when again I do recount
To what vast sum my Debts amount,
How infinitely I am oblig'd to thee,
Their Friendship in the Balance laid,
And equally and fairly weigh'd
Against my spotless Love,
Lighter than
Vanity does prove,
Tilts up, (like
Vapours that the Air invade)
Whilst mine is solid and does downward to its
centre move:
No more to be compar'd, than
Atoms to the
Sun,
Or little
drops unto the boundless
Ocean.
6.
Pylades proffer'd his own Life, ('tis true)
And bare that punishment was justly due
Instead of him, thou hadst been stil'd the
Matricide,
* His horrid Crime transferr'd to you:
[Page 46] That Murther soon have put an end
To that proverbial name of Friend.
But as thy matchless Innocence
‖ Could only be a capital Offence,
Thy Vertues I would ransom by my death,
And bless the Author with my dying breath.
7.
This I with less reluctancy could bear,
Than such damnation to despair,
Than absence from that glorious Sun,
Who lends all Creatures light, and yet himself wants none.
'Tis from his Rays I steal
Promethean fire,
Kindle my fatal
† Spices, and expire:
Whose Worth and Vertues when I think upon,
Tost by two different motions of my mind,
But both to the same end inclin'd,
I cannot be with-held, I must be gone:
My Soul is on the wing;
But being stopt by cross Necessity,
She makes a Post of every Wind,
Sends word she fears you grow unkind;
Commits to every blast a sigh,
Then melts away into a piece of Poetry.
So when the Nightingale has gor'd her breast,
She tunes her Pipes, and quavers out her best:
[Page 47] And thô in the extremity of pain,
Has not forgot her usual strain,
But sets her self to sing.
The SPRING. To Mr. Ben. Wrightson.
Ver adeò frondi nemorum, ver utile sylvis:
Vere tument terrae, & genitalia semina poscunt.
Vir. geor. 2.
HAil fragrant
Spring! the charming pride of
May,
Let
Heaven smile upon this
solemn day,
The Sun new drest, shine with a brighter ray.
The Feverish Summer, Aguish Winter
flie,
Consumptive Autumn with her
Palsie die,
Or banish'd hence at the dread
Queen's command,
Go take possession in another Land.
For
Flora comes with Royal
Garlands crown'd,
The
Flowers kiss her feet upon the ground;
The
Muses, Graces, and good
Genius dance,
And with just Measures and sweet Tunes advance.
Birds winged
Sirens, Choristers of the Sky,
In
Consort sing, and in
Procession fly;
[Page 48] Each keeps his proper Time, and Note, and Place,
Whilst falling murmuring
Rivers sing the Base.
The
Eastern winds
Arabian Odours breath,
The
Western upwards blow those Sweets they suck'd beneath.
The
Fields array'd in their new
Robes of State,
Upon their bounteous
Benefactor wait.
Birds fan their wings, & spread their speckled plumes,
And
Violets make a Present of Perfumes.
The
Air on
Primroses and
Lillies feeds,
Melts
Spices, and prolifick
moisture breeds.
The
Woodbinds and the
Honysuckles strive
Which with
Ambrosia first can stock a
Hive.
Nature does entertain the
Queen with Feasts,
And
Plays and
Masks acted by wanton Beasts:
The
Elephant plays Gambols with his Trunk;
The
Grashopper with dew of
Nectar drunk,
To his own
Musick leads a
Country-Dance:
Mettlesom
Horses, through their Pasture prance;
The active
Roes and
Kids at
Leap-Frog play;
The whole
Creation keeps a
Holy day.
Now tempting Venus,
naked in her Hair,
With her
Gallants walks out to take the Air.
Love in his Mother's Locks hides all his Darts,
And takes his rounds to single out his Hearts:
And here and there, still as he passes by,
At random lets an amorous Arrow fly.
Day and night the
Cyclopian Anvil glows
With harden'd Metal work'd on th'
Forge of
Fate,
For
Shafts, some gilt with
Love, some tipp'd with
Hate.
His
Stock for all the following year, new ground,
Poison'd to carry
Death in every
Wound.
Proud
Peacocks with their Tails expanded strut,
And jealous
Rams for recreation butt.
The Warlike
Steed waves up and down his
Main,
The Warlike
Steed, the
Champion of the Plain.
The
Bull fights bloudy
Duels for his Mate,
And to keep up the
Grandeur of his State.
No
Fleecy Tempests gather in the Sky,
Nor raging
Dog-stars torrid heat now fry.
But
Sol with his new
Chariot shines more bright,
His
Horses breath less flame, and clearer light.
The Silver Streams double refined
flow,
And
Fishes frisk, to see the pompous
Show.
Home the kind
Oak the
Vine his
Wife receives,
And hides her nakedness with his own Leaves.
Turtles together billing sit, and coo,
And with alternate glances silent woo.
Nightingales charm the listning Woods, to wrest
Their tender Sprigs, to make a downy Nest.
Flora's conducted to her Vernal Throne,
And now a
Trumpet for Retreat is blown.
And sweat out moisture from their fruitful Soil.
The sickly
Plants revive, look fresh and fair,
The
Season temperate, clear the
Morning Air:
The
Evening drops down various sweets in showers;
Proserpine plunders
Sicily for Flowers.
The little eager
Virgin never stands,
But fills her
Lap, her
Bosom, and her
Hands:
The
Blossoms, prest by an untimely
death,
Spin out their
Odour with their dying breath:
(As
Bees, kill'd by the wanton Boys in play,
Their
Honey from their swelling
Bags convey.)
Blind
Pluto comes, innocent his design!
Led by the scent, and lights on
Proserpine:
Then greedy to secure those fragrant Sweets,
He takes her too, and rifles all he meets.
Now more than her
Elysian Joys invite,
Now
Fate unlocks the
Iron Gate of
Night,
The
Prisoner visits
Ceres and the
Light.
Almighty
Jupiter descends to lie
With Mother Earth, and passing through the Skie,
The scorching
heat of
Signs malignant damps,
And with fresh
Oyl supplies the heavenly
Lamps.
Now
Mother Earth's full time is almost come,
Parent of all things, bears a pregnant
Womb.
Nature is hatching Plenty on her Nest,
Nature by youthful
Saturn first comprest.
With a brisk Air thus
Janus does appear.
This the slick skin, the shrivel'd
Snake does wear,
when her old
case is ragged, loose, and bare.
Harmonious Musick,
and Seraphick Love,
Is all those happy Souls enjoy above.
Now
Earth is like the
Mansions of the Blest;
Musick in every
Grove, and
Love in every
Breast.
Here in this
natural Landskip we may see
Hesperian Paradise in Epitomie:
For what was
Paradise, but eternal
Spring?
Let
Birds of
Paradise its Praises sing.
Hail, Sacred
Spring! Hail to thy lovely
Green!
Let the World shout,
Amen; and cry,
God bless the Queen.
Non alios primâ crescentis origine Mundi
Illuxisse Dies, aliumve habuisse tenorem
Crediderim. Ver illud erat: ver magnus agebat
Orbis, &c.
Vir. Geor. 2.
Learning.
WHen dismal
Chaos did the World confound,
And all lay in a common
Deluge drown'd,
Horror, Despair, and
Death reign'd all around.
[Page 52]
Parnassus was the last that disappear'd,
Or first his reverend top aspiring rear'd.
The
Olive-Tree then lifted up her head,
And smil'd to see no
Rival Beauty bred.
Thus
Learning is the next to our
Salvation;
Last of the old, or first o'th' new
Creation.
To Mr. R. Smith of King's Colledge in Cambridge.
Ingentes animos angusto in Corpore versant.
Vir. Geor. 4.
I Hear, my Friend, some dare profane your name,
Derogate from your Merit and your Fame,
Presume your Body, for a capacious Mind
Too little, as if
Dwarfs were
Fools by kind.
Minerva sure was no such bouncing
Dame,
The
puny Product of
Jove's little Brain.
Apollo too was but a
Dapper Twin,
By
Nature and by
Birth the next akin:
Apollo all the Wit from
Dian stole,
Shar'd half his Father's
Rape, but all his
Soul.
The other rough, unhewen, long
Lubbers made,
For Nonsence, Service, Slavery, and Trade.
[Page 53] The Sacred
Laurel is it self but low,
And with its humble and submissive bough,
Does court the mighty
Brain, the little
Brow.
What thô your Body be
diminutive,
Heav'n to your Soul can no
addition give.
Insects that have most Legs, do slowest crawl;
The
Dove of all Birds, only wants a
Gall.
What greater Bruits go by the name of men,
Than a
Thersites, or a
Saracen?
What thô dumb Animals we can despise,
The
wisest man yet thought the
Ant was wise.
A
Nut-shell held the worth of
Homer's Brain,
And a small
Bottle could the
Winds contain.
From narrow
Streights vast rapid
Billows flow,
And
Zephyrus fruitful Gales do gently blow.
Full as much Prudence to the
Bee is given,
As any wing'd
Inhabitant of Heaven.
And the least Body justly may aspire
To one small
spark of the Celestial Fire,
The Great can do no more, the Great can mount no higher.
The barren
Tree can in the Desarts spread,
And threaten Heaven with its luxurious head:
Whilst others low, and laden with their Fruit,
With bended Branches touch their very root.
And burst with Envy, they must still submit
To
Pygmie Members, and
Gigantick Wit.
To Idera in Mourning, Going into Mourning Himself soon after.
1.
PRovident
Fate consider'd well,
When at
one double stroke
two fell,
For both
to toll one Passing-bell.
2.
Not that his stock of
Shafts was low,
Nor did
they one another know
For
Fellow-Travellers below.
3.
But when she saw
one bleeding
heart,
In different
Liveries forc'd to part,
She drew a
reconciling Dart.
4.
When therefore
there a
Blank was put,
Here Fate
a Thread,
grown rotten,
cut,
And
Eyes that could not
open, shut.
5.
Of
hoary Grief now
both partake,
Or else a
solemn Mourning make,
Idera! for one another's sake.
6.
For thus by
Heaven it was decreed,
Our
Myrtle, for our
Mourning Weed,
Incorporate should together breed.
7.
Our
Streams from the same
Fountain flow;
From the same
Stalk our Troubles grow;
The
Rise, the
Root we only know.
8.
So when one
Flower's torn, and prest,
And smother'd in a
steaming Breast,
That
Wound will murther all the
rest.
9.
So if one
Base be struck alone,
The next that bears a heavy
tone,
Will fetch a
Sympathetick Groan.
10.
Learn from your
everlasting Dye,
Not with your
Black to change your
Constancy,
'T were better
you should mourn alone, than
I.
A Paradox in Praise of Ambition.
To his dear Friend Mr.
Edw. Taylour, of
Merton Colledge in
Oxford.
—Deus immortalis haberi
Dum cupit Empedocles, ardentem fervidus Aetnam
Insiluit.
Horat. de Arte Poeticâ.
1.
SOul
of the World! Spark
of Promethean Fire!
Sick of this lower Orb, my Breast inspire!
Mount me upon thy
Wings!
To blow thy Thundring
Trumpet Fame,
To be the
Herald of thy Name,
And tune thy speaking
Strings!
[Page 57] Let me for ever at thy
Altars wait,
Know what it is to be
divinely Great.
2.
Thou art the whole
Creation's Mystick Sun,
And thou art all its
Beauties drawn
in one!
For when thy
Glory's set,
Thick
Clouds must intercept the
Light,
Black
Darkness, and eternal
Night
Their old
Dominion get,
When thou art banish'd from thy Royal
Throne,
Confusion must her
First-born Chaos own.
3.
Thou dost our groveling
Souls from
Earth transport,
From sordid Earth, with
Jove to keep our
Court:
Thou dost of
God partake
A Particle
of heavenly Air,
The
Badge of
Honour that we wear
For our
Distinction sake:
Else
Bruits might claim
preeminence over Man,
Nay
Bruits would suffer by th'
Comparison.
4.
Thy
Engine mounts our noble thoughts on high,
Deucalion's
Stones have learnt the art to
flie:
[Page 58] Thou dost our
Metal prove,
Thou hast the everlasting
Springs
On which all great and mighty things
In their right order move;
Thy
Spirit does
life unto our
Souls dispence,
Thy
Center's every-where, but no-where thy
Circumference.
5.
Nor can our
leaden Faculties aspire
To one great Action, till thy
Vestal Fire
On our blind
Reasons shine;
From
Sleep our dull
Affections raise,
Free
Passions from a misty
maze,
Our
drossie part refine.
Whatever's
wonderful, from thee must come,
Must be conceiv'd in thy
Omniscient Womb.
6.
What is it that I hear
Caesar thy
Heir,
Caesar, Soul of thy Soul,
devoutly swear,
This Light shall either see
Caesar degraded to a Tomb,
Or
Caesar Pontifex of
Rome,
A Slave, or Monarch He.
Here
Soveraign Prince, or there a
Soveraign Shade,
Where amongst
Nothings, no
Distinction's made.
7.
It was a thought worthy of thy own
Spirit,
Nor was
Rome over answerable for his
Merit.
She could not put him by,
For over-rul'd by Power Divine,
They all their
Hearts and
Voices joyn,
And
Caesar, Caesar cry.
It was the
breathing of a Soul inspir'd,
With a true
Principle of
Honour fir'd.
8.
Thus
Calchas baffled in
Prophetick strife,
Redeem'd his
Honour by his
loss of
life.
And thus in
Robes of
State,
When ransack'd
Rome was all on fire,
The
Senate only did desire,
Like
Gods, to meet their
Fate.
Thus
Hannibal could
Death it self command,
Resolv'd to fall by none but his own hand.
9.
Stoicks in vain a
Rigorous Life defend,
And to renounce
all Passions would pretend:
Whilst they submit to
thine,
Thee
Soveraign over
Nature own,
As a just
Tribute to thy Throne,
Bodies and Souls resign.
Brutus,
the Best of men,
for Glory
die.
10.
Of
Alexander, what should I rehearse?
Who took a Journy through the
Universe,
Did all things there subdue;
Kingdoms against
Kingdoms hurl'd,
At
one stroak conquer'd all the
World,
And shock'd ev'n
Nature too:
At last with Tears
cram'd into a small
Tomb,
Complaining in these narrow
streights for
want of
room.
11.
And now methinks ten thousand
Heroes throng,
To hear and bear a part in this my
Song;
Where in the
Front I spy
Hercules by his Pillars stand;
Scaevola with his wither'd hand;
Codrus and
Decius vy:
With
Palms the Royal
Champions all in
white
In a
Procession go, a
Glorious Sight!
12.
What thô th' Rebellious
Giants groaning lie,
Stretcht out under a vast Eternity?
[Page 61] What thô that hateful name
Catiline greedy to be Great,
Make nothing to devour a State?
Their's was a
Bastard Flame.
For pure
Ambition nothing will suggest,
Nothing but what will stand ev'n
Virtue's Test:
13.
Nor a dishonourable
Scaffold climb,
To build to Heaven, to compass her design;
Nor when in quest of
Fame,
To quench her never-dying Thirst,
Take draughts of
Poison till she burst,
And so procure a Name.
From a base Thought or Action she will fly,
Too near akin to
Virtue to comply.
14.
When
Heav'n first made our active
Souls of
Fire,
Heaven design'd those flames should all aspire.
Can we be so unjust,
Our divine
Natures to debase?
Crawl with the
Serpent on our
Face,
And lick our Native Dust?
Our
Souls as heavy as our
Corps of
Clay,
Not unlike
Worms, were we not worse than they.
15.
But above all
our Tribe with thee possest,
Indulge thy
brooding motions in their breast.
In thy wing'd
Chariot rise,
The glorious works of
God survey,
The
Regions of eternal
Day,
And Flowery
Paradise:
Sometimes
above take an immortal flight,
Or pass through
Tempe's
Valleys of Delight.
16.
Thou with the
influence of thy fruitful
Beams
Reflect'st a warmth on
Helicon's cold streams:
By thee, the heavenly
Quire
All their harmonious
Anthems sing,
Apollo without thee's no King,
Thou breathest on his
Lyre.
By thee the
Palm prest down, still higher shoots,
Till
Heaven her
Branches kiss, and
Hell her
roots.
17.
Full of thy
Power I can no more contain,
But the excess of
Pleasure turns to pain;
Alas what shall I do?
Still but a
younger Son of
Fame,
Nor that—a
Cypher of a
Name,
A
Dwarfish Poet too?
[Page 63] How shall I
Nature underhand engage,
Not thus to
measure out my
Portion by my
Age?
18.
What
Manure is't will ripen
Barren Brains?
How shall I spin out Sense in
Waller's strains?
Oh! that I could but draw
All those beauteous
Charms that lie
Under the
Veil of
Poetrie,
And could strain
Nature's Law,
To comprehend all
Wisdom, and all
Wit,
Nor,
by thy light, upon the
Rocks of
Error split!
19.
What shall I do to be for ever known,
And make Perfection's Quintessence my own!
But all my thought's in vain,
I only can my self apply
To
Caesar's fatal Remedy,
I
flag in every
strain,
And like the
Nightingale must e'en expire,
Vanquish'd,
and dumb
on the Victorious Lyre.
To Idera. Age in a Looking-glass.
O quam continuis, & quantis longa senectus
Plena malis! deformem, & tetrum ante omnia vultum,
Dissimilemque sui, deformem pro cute pellem,
Pendentesque genas, & tales adspice jugas,
Quales umbriferos ubi pandit Tabraca saltus,
In vetulâ scalpit jàm mater simia buccâ,
&c.
Juv. Sat. 10.
DO not,
haughty Nymph, disdain
The
Incense of an Humble
Swain!
What thô you're
Great? what thô you're
Fair?
Age and
Death will not spare.
A furrow'd Cheek, a wrinkled Chin,
An old tough Hide,
a Saffron Skin,
Sore, Rheumy Eyes,
the Senses gone,
Fal'n Jaws, nothing but skin and bone,
The Picture of a Skeleton,
May be thought something like a
Face,
To one that loves the former
Grace;
Apollo scorns a cold
Embrace.
The like
Marpessa chuse a Joy,
Not
transient, nor apt to
cloy:
A constant
Love, that's like to last,
Thô
Clouds and
Storms should
overcast.
[Page 65]
Apollo takes you for a time,
And only
courts to taste your
Prime:
A
God too goodly to engage
His
Faith to
Females for an
Age:
Must through all
Cupid's
Labyrinths range,
His
Love as often as his
Visage change;
But
Idas, thô a
Mortal, yet may prove
Immortal in his
Love:
None can like
Idas constant be,
And none like
Idas can resemble
Me.
SOLITƲDE. To his dear Brother, Mr. Ash Wyndham.
Sic ego secretis possum bene vivere sylvis,
Qua nulla humano sit via trita pede.
Tu mihi curarum requies, tu nocte vel atrâ
Lumen, & in solis tu mihi Turba locis.
1.
O
Corydon! how I hug my self to think!
When in this troubled
Sea the
World,
All thrust into the Main,
Till by a
Hurricane,
Through the
Abyss with
Vengeance hurl'd,
With horrible
Adieus they parting sink.
2.
Whilst I upon the silent shore, secure,
Fear neither stormy
Wind nor
Tide,
With
elevated Soul,
Can move from
Pole to
Pole,
And through the aery
Regions glide,
Need only pity what they must endure.
3.
The
World will take no notice of my Name;
Well then I'll let th'
Impostor see
I have my
Passions broke,
Brought
Pride to wear a Yoke,
I'm as
Indifferent as she;
No—I will never stop her
Trump of
Fame.
4.
That cursed word the
World blisters my Tongue,
It breaths out all the Plagues of
Hell;
'Tis
Nonsence intricate,
Unintelligible state,
That puzzles all my Brains to spell,
If I guess right, Man's Dust the World is Dung.
5.
I never could any
Contexture find,
Confusion only is her course,
Her Joys but pleasant
Fictions,
A Mass of
Contradictions,
All
Guilt, all
Trouble and
Remorse;
This is the
World, or she or I am blind.
6.
She never yet was in true
Colours drawn;
All, Disappointments, Pains,
and Fears,
One
Scene of
Misery,
Constant Inconstancy,
Tempestuous World, a
Vale of
Tears,
For our chief
Happiness Chance the only
Pawn.
7.
Passions,
and Discontents,
and Jealousies,
Publick
War, and Domestick
Strife,
Perjury
and Deceit,
This
Gall confounds the
Sweet,
And
poisons all the
Joys of Life;
And our vains
Hopes must end in penitential
Sighs.
8.
Oh! I am
sick, and my head
giddy turns,
The thoughts of
noise I cannot bear,
Impertinence strikes me through,
Business that kills me too,
Death is less terrible than
Care;
To get from this
Fools Paradise my heart burns.
9.
Who would not then with us,
dear Friend, retire?
Accept the happiness to
shroud
Under a shady
Screen,
To walk along
unseen,
Wrapt like
Aeneas in a
Cloud,
And see the
World, as he did
Troy, on
fire.
10.
'Tis more than time,
my Soul, that we were gone,
Delay,
my Corydon, does us wrong;
The
World will grow more bold,
Still loth to quit her hold,
For her Temptations they are strong.
Come then and put blind
Pluto's
Helmet on.
11.
—
What a fair prospect now have we!
Can undisturb'd together stand,
Enjoy our selves, and all
The
World her
goods can call,
And touch the
Globe but with our hand,
And all things
past, present, and
future see.
12.
Here at
Earth's puff'd up
Bubbles we can smile,
Her
fucus'd Vanities despise,
Divert with pleasant Chat,
Discourse of this or that,
Still aiming to be truly
wise,
With
Books, or harmless
sport, the time beguile.
13.
Full of
our selves, what can we wish for more?
We find us work enough, to tend
The habit of our
Soul,
Our
Passions to controul,
To do the
Duties of a
Friend,
'Tis the mistaken
World, not we, are poor.
14.
Here in an empty
Theater we sit,
Retir'd to keep our
Holy-day,
Our
Minds the
Scenes must be,
The
Critical Spectators we,
Of one anothers
Life, the
Play,
The
Authors and the
Judges of our Wit.
15.
If we have
acted well in
Heaven's sight,
What thô we hear no
ecchoing Stage?
Or when our State we change,
What thô our names seem strange,
Unknown to a succeeding Age?
Without that
Witness happy
Democrite!
16.
Why should we
Fame, that treacherous
Idol, court?
That sets us up for
Envy's Mark,
That
burns us with the
Rays
Of undeserved
Praise,
Only to blind us in the
dark,
To throw us down again, for
fear or
sport.
17.
Fame's breath is short, when she must
trumpet loud:
'Tis seldom that she comes
alone;
She's an unconstant Guest,
That loves to change her Nest,
True Worth, true Praise would not be known.
The Sun looks brightest through a silver Cloud.
18.
On an
embroider'd Bank here we can pick and chuse
An unbought, savory, wholsome Dish,
On
Leaves serve up our
Fare,
Perfum'd with the sweet
Air:
Then
Corydon! to compleat our
Wish,
Our
Recreation, Friendship, and a Muse.
19.
Sometimes we take a pride to stand and see
Bees bring their yellow
Harvest home,
Unload their
swelling Thighs,
And as their
Goddess wise,
Spin it into their
Hony-comb.
Happy
Spectators! happy
Rivals we!
20.
Sometimes upon a
Downy Couch of
Grass,
On
Flowery Cushions stretcht we lie,
To hear a dying
Swan,
More sensible than Man,
Warble forth a sweet
Elegy:
Or in soft Tunes the
purling Rivers pass.
21.
Or else dissolv'd in
Ease, lay down our heads
In
Slumbers as our
Natures kind,
Bound in each others Arms
By
Virtue's strictest Charms,
Lull'd asleep by the
whistling Wind,
On easie
Velvet, fragrant
Violet-beds.
22.
The name
Diogenes justly none can give,
Nor
churlish call our
Innocence:
With
Solitude thus crown'd,
What
Firebrand can be found?
Unless our
Happiness give offence:
For in the
World, as out of it, we live.
23.
Sometimes hear
Eccho her
Misfortunes tell,
See how she'll watch the
lovly Boy
Narcissus, as he looks
Into the
Crystal Brooks:
Her
vocal Reparties enjoy;
Or the
melodious Notes of
Philomel.
24.
Sometimes in shady
Groves together walk,
And satisfy'd with
humble Sights,
See
Art and
Nature both digest
In
Milton, Waller, and the rest:
Full and unparallel'd
Delights!
Of
Love and
Solitude divinely talk.
25.
Each
Dryad that is
worthy of the
Wound,
Each
Tree that's
worthy of the
Mark,
Our mutual
Friendship know,
Under our
Auspice grow,
Thyrsis and
Corydon on the
Bark,
Thyrsis and
Corydon the
Woods resound.
26.
But above all, the
Ash aspiring shoots,
Thy
Badge of
Honour proud to wear;
The
Ash, a
Tree for
Jove,
The
Ash, it self a
Grove,
Proud thy Name in hers
to bear,
She nods her trembling
Head, and strouts her swelling
Roots.
27.
The
Nymphs here take their rounds, and dance, and play;
The
Hamadryads at us peep;
Crocus and
Hyacinth, some bring,
Daisies, the
Maidenhead of the
Spring:
Others behind us softly creep,
And steal our
Songs and
Pastorals away.
28.
When our light hearts are for a looser Rein,
To
Banquets we our selves invite,
Consorts of
Musick and of
Love,
Ambrosia from above;
Verses
for second Course
recite,
And with
alternate Trifles entertain.
29.
Or we converse with
Garden Mysteries,
See the emulous
Roses blast;
The loving
Ivy twine;
The
Wall cling to the
Vine;
And
Flora taking her repast:
Adam might envy in his
Paradise.
30.
And thus withdrawn from
business, noise, and
strife,
We
double our few fleeting
days,
And when
together fled,
Fate
having cut our Thread,
Were we sent back into this
Maze,
We'd act but the same Scene, our former life.
Rura mihi & rigui placeant in vallibus amnes;
Flumina amem, silvasque inglorius. O, ubi campi,
Sperchiúsque, & virginibus bacchata Lacaenis
Taygeta! O, qui me gelidis in vallibus Haemi
Sistat, & ingenti ramorum protegat umbra!
&c.
Fortunatus & ille, deos qui novit agrestes,
Pana
(que) Silvanum
(que) senem, Nymphasque sorores.
Vir. Geor. 2.
To a young Lady that constantly slept at Church.
1.
I Often wonder'd, as I lay,
Wishing for my Books, and Day,
What
Hag should sit upon my
Breast,
That I could neither
speak nor
rest;
What could that Stranger
Morpheus keep
From his nightly
Tribute, Sleep.
2.
When
Love, with an
enchanted Key,
Thus unlock'd the
Mystery:
Sleep saw, and not without surprize,
The Charms of
Idera's piercing Eyes;
Then paid a
Visit to her
Heart,
And now he knows not how to part.
3.
But here possest with
Jealousie,
Himself the
Watch of her fair
Eye,
Lest with
Religion tempting
Jove
Should anticipate her
Love,
From her
Devotion in the day,
Resolves to
ravish her away.
4.
Will seize on
Thyrsi's heart no more,
Stand
Centry only at
her door:
Nor will open
Casements trust,
(Suspicious are the Rapes of Lust)
But in her
Bath a
sweating lies,
I'th'
Exhalations of her
Eyes.
5.
Yet if 't be
she does steal my
sleep,
If
she my
Senses waking keep,
Let those
stolen Goods be
sweet,
Prosp'rous the
Pillage of her
Sheet.
Sleep still refresh her flagrant
Beams,
Till with thee she shares my Dreams.
6.
Sleep still be happy, still be proud,
To bear the Office of a
Cloud:
For if her
Sun thus raging burns,
Unless thy
Fan the scorching Fervour turns:
My
Nest will e'en be set on
fire,
And then the
Phoenix must expire.
To Idera, Putting a Copy of Verses in at her Window at Midnight.
Nox erat & Coelo fulgebat Luna sereno,
Inter minora sydera—
Hor.
THou conscious
Night, my
Strategem conceal!
May no perfidious
Dreams my Theft reveal!
No Tell-tale
Stars come prying near this way,
By silent signs, dumb motions
to betray!
Propitious
Venus, only she shine bright!
To blind the rest, and give a
Lover light!
Go to the
Enemies Quarters, happy
Scout!
"There unconcern'd, undaunted look about,
"
Soft as thy
Message, as thy
Master stout.
"If any rude, uncivil Hand should press,
"Exclaim against thy own unhappiness!
"Or silent trust th' event; Thou sliely fraught
"With
Sinon's Art, wilt to the
Queen be brought:
"And when into her
presence thou art come,
"She'll read a line or two, then see
from whom;
"Enquire
where taken: still her heart will fail,
"The treacherous Prisoner must be sent to Jayl,
"That comes to steal the
Hostage of her
Heart,
"And lies in
Ambush with the
charming Art.
"
[Page 79]
Idera mov'd with pity, will repent,
"Some pretty amorous
punishment invent;
"Perhaps, as much as she has read, she'll burn,
"'Till
Flouds of
Tears the
Flames shall inward turn;
"
Sympathy only will the Fire remove,
"In the old
Channel set the
course of
Love.
"Under her
Pillow the
Remains she'll lay,
"By
night to be her
Dream, her
Song by
day.
"Which whilst she quavers out, the other part
"May pass her
Guards, and seize her
captiv'd Heart.
"Thou in
Perfumes shalt either ravisht die,
"Or in the
Milky Way translated lie.
"Go my
Embassadour! before 't's too late,
"And oft revolve
Scaevola's noble
Fate.
"Carry these
Kisses, Seals of my command,
"
Unsully'd let her have them all at
second hand.
"Go—let her
Rosie Mouth, her
Balmy Lips,
"(Where
Cupid all his golden Arrows dips)
"The warm
Virginity of these
Kisses taste;
"Go—nor thy time, nor their sweet
odour waste.
"These give her, as a
Pledge, that I will own
"
Thyrsis a humble Slave to
Idera's Throne.
"
Go—my Soul with thee take—
thy Fortune try,
"Dangers and Difficulties all defie,
"What if thou shouldst like
Codrus, or like
Decius die?
To Idera, Speechless.
Dicere quae puduit, scribere jussit amor.
Ov.
1.
LOng has this grand
Mistake deceiv'd
Mankind,
To think that Love is only blind;
The
Serpent too has lost his
Tongue,
When he has any untaught
Novice stung.
2.
He leaves his
Venom in the rankled
Wound,
That closes up as it were sound,
Spreads out into a
blushing Cheek,
And yet the
Lips hard by can nothing speak.
3.
Whether 'tis
Ecstasie, or
Fear, or
Zeal,
Whose prevalent
motions thus we feel,
I know not yet—but this I know,
These are my
Symptoms, and my
Case is
so.
4.
Here in a
Hective Fever I must burn,
And I can neither
speak nor
turn,
Can neither have nor hope for Ease;
Sure 'tis an
Incubus is my
Disease.
5.
Fain would I tell her plainly all my mind,
But neither
Tongue, nor
Heart can find;
My conscious
guilt, and modest
shame,
In
Virgin Red stifle my youthful
Flame.
6.
'Tis true my
Eyes long since betray'd their
smart,
When
Love shot through into my
Heart,
When all your
Charms took so much pains
T'infuse an
amorous Heat into my
Veins.
7.
Excessive
hot, or beyond measure
cold,
My
Fits too
violent to
hold:
By
heat, incapable I'm made;
When
cold, I am
indifferent and
afraid.
8.
Turtles for
Mates thus one another Prove,
Their
Eyes the
measures of their
Love.
And thus
Pygmalion chose a
Wife,
An
Ivory Statue carv'd out to the
life.
INCƲRABLE. To Idera.
Hei mihi! quòd nullis amor est medicabilis herbis.
Ovid.
1.
HOW oft have I, like wretched
Dido, swore
I'd court
Inconstancy no more?
But 'tis in vain, for I
must still
adore.
2.
I
pluck not up the
root, but
lop the
Tree,
Weave
Vows, as
Webs, Penelope;
Still tempted
I, and still as charming
she.
3.
I strive to skin the
Wound of
Cupid's Dart;
With a new
Itch, and tickling
Smart,
Still it breaks out again upon my
heart.
4.
I pour into the
fifty Sister Urn;
And
Sisyphus his Stone I turn;
Leave off, t' begin again, and quench my self to burn.
5.
How oft have I dragg'd home my
Fugitive?
But still my
Heart the
slip will give,
My Heart, that cannot without
vital Passion live.
6.
With
Books and
Business I would entertain,
But
Books are
toil, and
Business pain:
He's gone I know not how, and all my Art's in vain.
7.
The
Oak and
Ivy, which together grow,
If parted by an unkind
Blow,
Their
Arms will about one another throw.
8.
So
Birds that now forsake their
Nests through fear,
When they some
danger see or hear,
Will build again in the same place, another year.
To the Ingenious Mr. Barker. Saul's Witch of Endor.
A Long and prosperous Reign had
Saul enjoy'd,
With the excess of Peace and Plenty cloy'd,
Of dayly
Triumphs and new
Trophies proud,
Not one
Eclipse, nor melancholy
Cloud;
In
Peace, his Peoples
Guardian, and their
Shield,
Always his
Arms victorious in the
Field;
Fraught with
Success, and
passive Duty crown'd,
None that durst
question his
Proceedings, found,
When now for
Bloud his thirsty
Spirits crav'd,
(Like
Diomede's Horses) he for
Man's flesh rav'd.
His
Sword already had been satisfy'd,
Reaking from
Enemy's fresh Wounds, new dy'd
With purple
Gore and a polluted
Tide.
Well then
for change, th'
ungrateful wretch intends
To
sheath it in the
bosom of his
Friends:
And he must have that
Life, that was laid down
For
God's, for
Israel's Honour, and the
Crown;
When conscious
Jealousie, and pretended
Zeal,
Upon
Ambition whet the
envious Steel.
David, who did a
Miracle for
Saul,
Must stand a
Mark for
Javilins at the Wall:
[Page 85]
Goliah's head, must make him lose his own,
Because he kill'd the
Monster, he alone,
With a small
Sling and little
Pebble-stone.
Because he did that which none else could do,
Six Cubits with five hundred Shekels slew.
Unhappy
Youth! whose service thus repaid
By him that must have fal'n, without thy aid!
And must his
Life and
Kingdom be restor'd,
To kill thee with the same
Victorious Sword?
In what, innocent
Youth! couldst thou offend?
A crime to be a
Saviour and a
Friend?
No Arms wast thou beholden to from
Saul;
A little Stone, and Leather Thong was all.
Goliah did not
challenge, but
defy,
Not only
Treason belch, but
Blasphemy:
If to save
Saul's a capital offence,
Thy
death be justify'd by that
pretence,
It cannot be imputed sin or shame,
To stand up bravely for
Jehovah's Name.
Nor can they make out any other
Plea,
To tax thee with the least
disloyalty:
For
David never yet his
Prince forsook,
Ambitious only of a Shepherds
Crook.
Nothing receiv'd, but what was justly due,
Nor that, till promis'd once, and proffer'd too.
Here by the way, could I sit down, and shed
Whole flouds of Tears for thee, and in thy stead
[Page 86] Lay down my Soul, the
Javelin cuts the Air,
And trembling glances through the
Champion's hair:
Thou stand'st upon thy guard, thy own defence,
Arm'd only with the
Mail of
Innocence.
Canst unconcern'd, upon thy
Musick play,
And to thy
Harp again another day.
To see thy
troubles and to trace thy
flight,
Unsafe by day, yet less secure by night;
Thy
Wife expos'd to danger for thy sake,
Must one distracted
Vow of Duty break:
Jonathan must renounce
Father, or
Friend,
Or else his life, in death for
David spend.
But causelesly we all our Tears impart,
God needs must love the
Image of his
heart:
And as he can, he will his Darling save,
And bury all his troubles in the
Tyrant's Grave.
Here then we trust him to th'
Almighty's hand,
And the
Philistins now invade the Land.
The
Scene is chang'd, and for a single
Flea
Men, like the Sands or Waves upon the Sea,
Gigantick Warriours,
Trees for
Javelins wield,
And strut along, and challenge all the Field.
What should
Saul do?
God and
Man persecute;
His
Dreams are silent, and his
Prophets mute:
Urim's forgot its old prophetick strain,
And
Saul's among the
Prophets too in vain.
And carry their
Familiars in their
Breast.
'Tis Death, to draw a
Circle in the Sand;
'Tis Death, to have but a
Magicians Wand:
Yet for all this (thô it seem something odd)
The
Devil must be the
Messenger of
God.
But hard
necessity maintains his Cause,
To break through
God's, his
own, and
Kingdom's Laws.
A Witch, or no Witch,
he would only learn
Th'unknown
Event of such a Great
Concern.
To
Endor then, but not without
disguise,
In the extremity of madness wise;
Where first on
God, he for the
Devil does call,
For she was less afraid of him, than
Saul,
And with an Oath confirming his design,
To these
infernal Rites conjures
divine.
When to her
Cabin now the Witch returns,
Sulphur and
Pitch, mixt in a
Cauldron, burns:
Infusing Vervain, Moly, Night-shade, Rue,
Then on the Floor five Magick
Circles drew,
With gloomy
Cypress round her
Temples twin'd,
She scatter'd dead mens
Ashes to the
Wind;
Thrice
Salt and
Bran, Venefick Offerings strow'd,
Pouring out thrice a
Black fleec'd Lamb's warm
Bloud,
And burning
Poeony, Fern, and
Heliochryse,
She strikes upon her hollow
Cymbal thrice;
And
heaving, swelling, foaming, then she cries,
With an infernal Howl,
Rise, Samuel, rise.
By
subterraneous Winds he upwards born,
Wrapt in his
Prophet's Mantle, like a
God,
In a bright
Fiery Chariot, whirling rode.
But the
Witch trembling at so
strange a
sight,
And terrify'd with so
divine a
Light,
Cried out; and what through wonder, and surprize,
Knew not the
Fiend assuming that
disguise.
But eager
Saul still pressing her to tell
What she had wrought by
virtue of the
Spell,
Samuel thus preventing silence broke,
With profound
Reverence, in soft
Whispers spoke.
Saul! Saul! why troublest thou my Soul at rest?
My Soul, to leave the Mansions of the Blest?
Why, raising Tumults thus among the Just,
Offer'st thou Violence to my sacred Dust?
Why ransackest my Grave? and summon'st me
From my Long Home, Seat of Eternitie?
But
Saul, big with
Repentance in his
Eyes,
And with a
Heart as full of
Grief, replies:
It was thy Office,
Samuel, once to bless;
Canst thou not pity now in my distress?
When the
Philistins dare new Wars proclaim,
Defie my Hosts, despise my Royal Name,
Whether to set up
David in my Throne,
Or take my Life, God knows, and God alone;
[Page 89] But this I know, God fights against me too:
What should a Prince, when thus forsaken, do?
By God, by Man cast off, disdain'd, forlorn,
My Peoples Burthen, and my Enemy's Scorn;
His Vengeance persecutes me, wretched
Saul!
The Curse of God, and a Reproach to all;
My Prophets silent, and my inspir'd Lute,
Together with my Dreams and Visions, mute:
Therefore it is, by a more powerful Spell,
I call thee up, for thou alone canst tell
What a distress'd, abandon'd Prince can do;
Thô God hath left me, let not
Samuel too.
Thus trembling
Saul bow'd his
Anointed Head,
When
Samuel thus in hollow Murmurs said:
Can I, poor
Saul! reason the Case with God?
Put by the stroak of an Almighty Rod?
Can I, without Heaven's license, stand thy Friend,
If God will?—and he will thy Kingdom rend.
Good
David must and shall thy Scepter sway;
Gladly will
Israel such a Prince obey:
More gladly slip thy Yoak from off their neck,
The Yoak thou shouldst have put on
Amalek;
But him, the Enemy of all that's good,
Glutted with Lust, and surfeited with Blood,
With Blasphemy swoln big, corrupt within
With spurious Seed of every deadly Sin,
[Page 90] With whom thou shouldst have sworn immortal hate,
As false to God, and dangerous to thy State;
That Kingdom thou establishest by Peace,
Dost
Amalek for
David's Life release;
A thousand Shams, to put him by, contrive,
But maugre all,
David shall King survive.
Trust in Suspence, hope only in Despair,
Thy Kingdom's won before 'tis lost: Prepare
To meet with Fate; for all thy Hosts shall flie,
Thou and thy Sons to morrow be with me.
This said, surprizing
Horror swell'd his
Veins,
And his sick
mind anticipates his
pains;
Speechless and
cold, he falls upon his
Face,
In
Frenzy would the fleeting
Air embrace,
But
Samuel he returns unto his place.
To Mrs. B. Wright, On her Incomparable Poetry.
LOng since my thoughts did thus forboding tell,
The
Muses would our
Governours expel,
To their own
Crown raise up a
Female Heir,
One of their
Sex the
Diadem should wear:
The time's expir'd, my
Jealousie proves true,
We have a
Queen, but thanks to Heaven 'tis you;
Before in all things else we did submit,
Madam! in all things else, but only Wit:
With this
Prerogative we could not part,
But in its
stead each yielded up his
heart.
Such was our vain
Self-love and stubborn
Pride,
What will not
bend, must
break; in vain we try'd
Our Title, nor must ev'n the
Inheritance divide
But now (as
Captives to a
Conquerour)
We must surrender all into your power:
With conscious Blushes must your Praise exert,
Reflecting on our selves in your desert.
Eve first sought
Knowledge from the fatal
Fruit;
(Why should we Vertue to false ends impute?)
Whilst lazy
Adam shrug'd, was very loth
To part with Darling
Ignorance and
Sloth:
[Page 92] Noble was her design, had it not been
Branded by Heaven as a
presumptuous sin.
Your
Quest of
Knowledge can incur no shame,
Unless some
Masc'line Malice taint your name.
So different as the Cause, are the Effects;
For as she ruin'd, you have rais'd your Sex:
She doom'd to Death, you gain Eternity,
For you must live until your Works can die.
Had they been like to
S.'s Gouty Rhyme,
Or
Smithfield-Ballads, in a little time
They'd have been thrown amongst bald musty
Songs,
When the young
Ballad-Wench had tir'd her Lungs.
But Nature, Judgment, Fancy, Art and Wit,
Shall sooner to one common Fate submit,
Than the rich
Structures of your Brain shall fall,
Which are the very
Quintessence of all.
Nor are you so desirous of the
Bays,
As to detract from an inferiour Praise;
But giving us an everlasting Name,
You merit to your self a nobler Fame:
Whilst your own Glory you so much neglect,
And others with such skill and care protect,
More lasting
Trophies to your self erect.
But oh! how high your
Fancy takes its flight,
Whilst they admire at you gone out of sight!
So fled
Elijah wrapr in
Fire and
Wind,
And left
Elisha wondring here behind:
[Page 93] They like
Elisha, for a Blessing call;
You hear their Prayers, and let your Mantle fall.
With this they strange unheard-of things can do,
Had they a
Fiery Coach, they'd be
Elijah's too.
So did th' associated
Nymphs rejoyce,
Whom
Dian had thought worthy of her choice;
So they thô fair in all the Gods esteem,
Yet made her Beauty far more charming seem.
Let others slander, envy, or despise,
The
Cyprian Goddess still must have the
Prize.
Daphne
to Laurel turn'd, a Female Brow
Has the best title to a
Female Bough.
Had
Fate but plac'd you in the
Roman State,
The
Salique Law would have been out of date.
Alcides scorn'd to gain Divinity
By one great labour, but still more would try,
And
Heaven, &
Earth, and
Hell did valorously defy.
Farther oblige the World,
good Madam! still
With the rich products of your fruitful
Quill.
Restore the
Muses; and true
Poetry,
And shew what Charms do in just
measures lie.
And when you find a time best to retreat,
Spin out into a curious
Web of
Wit.
Let me your
Muse a
Legacy inherit,
With double
portion of your sacred
Spirit.
A Fragment of
Catullus. Advice to
Hemiera.
To Madam
A— R—.
1.
SEE how the naked widow'd
Vine,
That in the empty
Vally grows,
That wants the happiness to twine
About a
Husband's brooding
Boughs:
2.
Is without
Virtue, Sap, or
Juice,
Nor can it raise its drooping head,
Or one small bunch of
Grapes produce,
Or gather strength to
bud and
spread.
3.
Alas! it ne'er aspiring shoots,
For all the help of
Wind and
Weather,
The tallest
Sprigs ev'n touch the
Roots,
The Vine tyed neck and heels together.
4.
The churlish
Shepherds pluck it up,
Or without notice pass it by;
Nor will the
Cattel deign to
crop,
Or
glance that way one greedy
eye.
5.
If
wedded to an
Elm, they strive
Who can their favours most improve,
With emulation make it thrive,
All proud to signalize their Love.
6.
The blushing
Rose, if let alone,
With
shame will fade upon the Tree:
A
Maidenhead thus over-grown,
Will
superanuated be.
The PARADOX, To Idera.
STesichorus, and
Orion blind, receiv'd their sight,
One by
Apollo's
Numbers, th'other by his
Light.
Stesichorus singing Hymns in
Helen's praise:
Had I not,
Idera, on you
gaz'd, nor of you
sung,
I had not lost my
Eyes, nor with those
Eyes my
Tongue.
To Idera, Dreaming she was Angry.
1.
FAirer than all the
Grecian Dames!
Idera! too too fair!
These
Touchwood Reliques of my
Flames,
For Heaven's sake forbear:
For thô your
Anger at a
distance burn,
My
Soul, Love's Tinder, will to
nothing turn.
2.
Why would you me from
Love disswade?
Why would you
tye my
Tongue?
My
Infant Passion thus upbraid?
Tell me, I am too young?
Oh! why in
Visions all my hopes destroy!
Have you forgot that
Cupid was a Boy?
3.
If thus in
Dreams you can
despise!
If thus you can
beguile!
Assume a
Visard for
disguise!
Do any thing but smile!
All the
effects of
‘The Weed
Heleneius that grows in
Rhodes, so call'd from
Helen, that hang'd her self upon an Oak near which it sprung up. Whoever tasted of it, was provok'd to Anger, Strife, Bawling, and other ill Qualities.’
Ptolem. Hephaest. l. 4.
Helen's
Weed will be,Passions essential
to a Deity.
4.
Ah!
Duserastes is undone!
Unless your
goodness spare;
For thô the
heat of your bright
Sun
He can with
pleasure bear,
Yet if your
Lightning strike his dazled
Eyes,
In
horrour and
confusion Duserastes dies.
Ovid's Amorum Lib. 3. Eleg. 9. On the death of Tibullus. To Mr. William Lloyd.
IF Heaven's Eye, the bright
Aurora, shrouds
Her troubled Face under a Veil of Clouds,
And every Morning cursing her own Womb,
With fragrant Tears bedews her
Memnon's Tomb:
If
Thetis does her watry Fountains drain,
And with salt roaring Billows fill the Main;
Black Waves, as Mourners, for her Son provide,
And every day lament him with a Tide:
If Deities themselves submit to Fate,
Needs must Mortality sink with such a weight.
Come, mournful Elegy, with dishevel'd hair,
Sad as thy Stile, thy Face, and hopeless as Despair:
That as too true, thy Nature and thy Name,
So now thy Habit too may be the same.
Tibullus stampt with every beauteous Grace,
So faintly shadow'd in thy pensive Face,
Inspir'd ev'n from the Womb with thy own strain,
That Soul that ne're conceiv'd a thought in vain;
Thy Pride, thy Heir, thy Glory, and thy Fame,
Thy All is fewel for his fatal Flame.
And carelesly his empty Quiver turns;
Puts out his Torch with streaming flouds of Tears,
And broken Arrows for a Trophy rears.
No more his
Hymen, nor his
Iô sings,
But sighs and sobs, and flags his wanton Wings:
With his own Dart scratches and tears his breast,
With the same Epidemick Rage possest
As Lovers are in Frenzy or Despair,
And digs for his
Tibullus seated there.
So for
Aeneas mourn'd the lovely Boy,
The Pride of future
Rome, and Fame of
Troy.
Nor could sweet Beauties Queen be troubled more
For her lov'd Youth, torn by a Savage Boar.
Lov'd Youth (said I) alas! compar'd with thee,
What would a thousand such
Adoni's be?
A Poet's thought ('tis true) to be the Heir
Of Immortality, Heaven's peculiar Care,
Large Souls, a Colony of the Heavenly Line,
With something amiable and divine;
Nought comes amiss to sacrilegious Death,
That stops the Impious and the devout Breath.
And no Protection can secure from Fate,
That loves to prey upon the Good and Great.
What signified it,
Orpheus to be born
Of Gods, by Furies into pieces torn?
[Page 100] With Melody to charm the Beasts of Prey,
When men themselves prove greater Bruits than they?
On barren Mountains does the God of Wit,
Mourning in melancholick horror, sit
Sighing a broken Tune to his mute
Lyre,
And wishes for his
Linus to expire.
Homer, that Tree of Knowledge,
Greece's Pride,
(That
Pegasus whom all the
Poets ride)
In life hard Fate depriv'd him of the light,
And after shaded with eternal Night,
That unexhausted Spring, to whom we ow
All those small Streams of ours that scattering flow.
His glorious Works, and his adored Name,
Only survive as proof against the flame.
For
Homer's
Troy, that
Phoenix cannot die,
So may
Penelope's honest guile defie
The envious rage of Time, and reach Eternity.
And so shall
Nemesis and
Delia prove
As lasting in their Fame as in their Love:
Delia, that first his youthful Passion warm'd,
And
Nemesis that last and longest charm'd.
In vain to lazy Gods we duly pray,
And to their Shrines our constant Homage pay.
In vain we deaf or helpless Stocks implore,
Or drowsie dreaming Deities adore,
That neither will have pity nor regard;
And righteous Souls can merit no Reward,
[Page 101] But turn like Bruits unto their native Dust.
What reason then have we to run on trust?
I'm tempted to believe no God, or Heaven's unjust.
Live well, and
die well, there's an end of one;
And why should I the foolish hazard run
Of being vertuous, when I may as well
In flouds of
Pleasures swim the way to
Hell?
Death drags us from the Altar to the Grave,
Whilst careless Heaven looks on and will not save.
Death makes no Sanctuary of any place,
To whom, when, where, she comes, 'tis all a case:
The Laws of Fate, without exceptions, made
Irrevocable, needs must be obey'd.
Is
Pluto blind? what then? the blind can hear:
And cannot Verses charm the Tyrant's Ear?
If so, would our
Tibullus thus have died?
Tibullus Beauty's Prince, the Poet's
Pride?
See now, of that Great Man the small Remains
A little narrow Urn in Dust contains.
How durst the flames (dear Friend) accost that breast
With such an hallow'd Vestal Fire possest?
What dare not they, that Vengeance can provoke,
And down with Gods and Temples at a stroke?
The Queen of Love with pity, and with dread,
At such
Presumption turn'd away her head;
Nay some affirm, the Deity present there,
Could scarce from melting drops of Tears forbear.
[Page 102] Yet thanks to Heaven that thou diedst at home,
Corcyra could not be so sweet as
Rome.
Thy Mother here clos'd thy departing Ey's,
And set that Sun that never more would rise.
In the cold hands of unrelenting death,
Gather'd the fragrant Reliques of thy breath,
And paid her last Devotion to thy Urn:
With her thy Sister did in Consort mourn;
For thee she did her lovely Tresses tear,
For thee in flouds of tears she wash'd her scatter'd hair
And when too forward on thy way to Bliss,
Delia and
Nemesis secur'd a Kiss:
A Kiss (said I!) millions they laid in store,
Since they were never like to see thee more;
Some of thy parting breath they did receive,
And for each Sob a thousand Kisses give,
Kisses on which they might for ever live.
The Rivals both with emulous passion stay,
Until the Flames had ravisht thee away.
Thus
Delia parting, for she left him first,
(The Wounds of Bosom-friends are always worst)
"'Twas I that season'd first thy untaught heart,
"And did the secret Rites of Love impart.
"Hadst thou been true,
Albius, thou hadst not died;
"But thank thy own inconstancy and pride,
"One and the same Divorce did me and life divide.
"
[Page 103] Vengeance has found thee out in my defence,
"And took the part of injur'd Innocence.
"Ah! that thou hadst but thy own interest known,
"And lov'd thy
Delia, and lov'd her alone.
But
Nemesis with Tears, (resolv'd to prove
She had best right and title to his Love)
Replies—
—"To me Grief only does belong,
"And if you shed a Tear, you do me wrong.
"Long since your Tyranny you did resign,
"
Tibullus since was mine, and only mine.
"He grasp'd me in his Arms, and held me fast,
"Nor would he let me go, whilst breath would last.
"When Death's Convulsions Nature's Fabrick tore,
"His Organs loos'd, and he could speak no more,
"In broken Accents this I heard him breath,
"
My Soul into thy arms, my Nemesis,
I bequeath.
If there be ought of us survives the Flames,
Ought of us but our shadows and our names,
T'
Elysium shall
Tibullus be convey'd,
And there his Soul become the brightest Shade.
There shalt thou
Calvus and
Catullus find,
(About his Temples sacred Ivy twin'd:)
There in those Regions of Eternal Day,
If Fame belie him, (as I wish it may)
Shalt thou
Tibullus with thy
Gallus meet,
And your strange shades your former loves repeat.
[Page 104]
Gallus, inspir'd with an ambitious Flame!
Gallus, too prodigal of Life and Fame!
But whilst his Shade wanders amongst the Just,
Thou Urn be careful of thy precious Trust,
Nor let his sacred Ashes touch the common Dust.
Lie light, thou Earth, indulgent to his rest,
Whilst his great Soul converses with the Blest.
To Idera, Having by some Mischance so hurt her self as to halt.
1.
Seeing th' reflexion of her Face,
Not as 'twas formerly divine,
Grief dispossessing every Grace;
2.
She
unconcern'd at such a
sight,
Yet made her
Glass the
Stygian Lake,
To
mourning turn her
crystal white,
And of her
Grief the
Streams partake.
3.
Blush not, sweet
Nymph! thô envious
Fate,
Proud on your
Feet to set a mark;
Let them that dare provoke your hate,
Not at your
Altar light a
spark.
4.
Vulcan was lame, althô a
God:
(Nor must the Truth be always said)
Let them not kiss the Ground you trod,
Scrupulous Fools! but strike them dead.
5.
Timorous
Fate, like
Diomede,
Struck
Venus on the
lower parts:
They that dare make the
Wound to
bleed,
Set hungry
Vultures at their hearts.
6.
Set them a
Mark for your fair
Eye,
And kill them, kill them with
Despair,
They need not with worse
Torments die,
Than to see
Heaven, but not come there.
7.
When
Nature, with
Ambition fir'd,
Some strange and wondrous thing design'd,
And to
out-do her self aspir'd,
She took
you out of
Womankind.
8.
All their
Perfections knit in one,
Thy
Soul presented from
above,
Jealous to see her self out-done,
With her own Works
she fell in love.
9.
Cupid could scarce his
Mother know,
Venus and
Idera were so like;
But
Fate with a deciding Blow,
The Mark on
Idera's
side did strike.
10.
Yet thanks to
Fate, whose common
Brand
Has set us both on
even ground;
Yet thanks to
Fate, whose
heavy hand
Could forbear a
mortal Wound.
11.
Achilles by an Arrow fell,
Struck through his
heel, whilst you still live,
With
Scars that can your Valour tell,
And yet a
thousand Deaths can give.
12.
A
thousand cas'd within my
Breast,
Glance
Idera a dissolving
Smile,
If you would have them dispossest,
Or with the
Quiver of my
Heart recoil.
To Mr.
Omnibon.
A Disswasive from that Effeminate Passion of Love.
OFF
(Thyrsis!) with this
melancholick Fit,
Nor like a
Purgatory Fresh-man sit;
In love, my
Thyrsis, and pretend'st to Wit!
What, reconcil'd! and canst thou not forbear?
What, pardon those that did to pieces tear
Thy Brother
Orpheus? what, not Love forswear?
Love, that damn'd
Leprosie, infectious
Pest,
All
Africa's Monsters kennell'd in his breast.
Tell me not 'tis a sin to break your
Vows
Of
Lovers, perjury
Jove himself allows.
No—he's an
Ass that
Womankind adores:
Let
Bacchus kick the
Bastard out of doors.
Come then dip the blind
Rogue in a full
Bowl,
And let
Wine's Spirits elevate your
Soul.
For
Love will vanish at his
Brother's sight,
So
Phoebus dims the
Lamps that rule the
Night:
So
Antidotes rank
Poyson can expel:
And so one
Witch undoes
another's Spell:
So
Musick helpeth when
Tarantula's sting;
And
Orpheus can as well as
Sirens sing.
To Idera, Writing her Name in Snow, which melting to Water, froze, and soon after thaw'd.
YOur
Name on fallen
Snow I seal'd;
The
melting drops to
Ice congeal'd:
In
Crystal Prints the
Letters shine,
And their
material white refine.
Here daily, hourly as I pass
By this heavenly
Looking-glass,
I see the
picture of my
Face,
And the reflecting Name embrace.
But as by
Images of
Wax
The
Witch a
real Body racks;
So as my
Heart within consumes,
Ice Snow,
Snow Water, reassumes.
My
Flames do all your
Cold withdraw,
Till we resolve on better
Law,
That you shall never
freeze, to thaw.
For thus well
arm'd, you can defie
A
thousand Deaths at once let flie,
Laugh to see
Duserastes die.
With your Temptations, millions strong,
To do me right, you do me wrong.
[Page 110] Nay—ev'n with
Chymical Experiments entice:
Your very Name can make a Burning-glass of Ice.
A Propitiatory Sacrifice, To the Ghost of
J— M— by way of Pastoral, in a Dialogue between
Thyrsis and
Corydon.
To his dear Brother Mr.
Ash Wyndham.
THYRSIS.
GOod morrow, Corydon! but why so strange?
What makes your
jolly Countenance thus change?
What, have you lost a
Kid? or pine and mourn
For
Galatea's slights, or
Amarylli's scorn?
Did melancholy Dreams disturb your rest?
Ease then on me the burthen of your breast,
A hearty Friend will not your Grief despise,
And
Thyrsis will be proud to
sympathize.
CORYDON.
Ah,
Thyrsis! see, after unpleasant food,
The very
Cows will chew no bitter
Cud;
Can my repeated
Sorrows do thee good?
[Page 111] And yet for thee my
Grief will I controul,
For thee I'll offer Violence to my Soul:
Know then, nor need I give that Caution,
weep,
Thy Eyes are neither drie, nor Heart asleep:
Know then, the rise of it is
Daphny's death;
And since the Fates have stopt my
Daphny's breath,
I have my
Pipes, my
Flocks, my
Loves forswore,
And well I might, since he is now no more.
THYRSIS.
When the
Day's Lamp's shadow'd before the
Night's,
And spangled
Heaven sets out her glittering
Lights,
Sweet
Philomel her little Throat does tune,
And charm with warbling Notes the listning
Moon.
When the sharp watchful
Thorn has gor'd her
breast,
And bleeding
Philomel can take no rest:
So may your
Muse unfledg'd yet try her Wing,
And
Grief and
Love joyntly together sing.
So may we well pull up the
Sluces of our
Eyes,
For
Death has stopt the
Springs of
Paradise;
Which in profuse
Meanders curling ran,
Baptiz'd us
Poets, and gave
life to
Man.
For
Death has seiz'd our
Mint of learned
Ore,
And sweep'd away all our
Poetick store.
So when an ancient
Oak falls on the ground,
The
Woods all tremble, and the
Rocks resound;
[Page 112] Nor falls alone, but hovering in the
Air,
A thousand little
Fates the
Branches bear.
Arcadians mourn!
Daphnis a publick loss,
And well may all our
Tears and
Grief engross.
Sound then his
Obsequies, Daphnis deceast!
Come sing away the burthen of thy Breast,
For he deserves thy
Song, and well deserves the
best.
Or both
alternately our parts will sing,
You shall the
Laurel, I the
Myrtle bring.
CORYDON.
Ord'nary
Tears sufficient are to fall
Attendants of a common
Funeral:
Daphnis deserves for each a drop of
Blood,
And for each single
drop a scarlet
Flood.
As
Nightingales sing sweeter than the
Thrush;
The
Cedar's better than the
Bramble-bush;
Sweet
Marjoram and
Musk, than stinking
Weeds;
Daphnis our
Merit and our
Praise exceeds.
The
Elm for
Daphnis groans, will let the
Vine
No more in his embraces fondly twine.
Bees leave their
Flowers, which droop their sickly head,
Have lost their sweet
repast on which they fed,
Since he whose
breath inspir'd it all, is
dead.
Our Flocks all keep a
Fast for
Daphnis sake:
Our
Isle the sweet-tongu'd
Chanters too forsake.
[Page 113] None but the inauspicious
Ravens croke,
The
Nymphs and
Demy-Gods their Pipes have broke,
And bid
adieu to all their
Fairy Kings.
The
Scriech Owl howts, and the black
Swallow sings.
Nature her self puts on her
Mourning-Weed.
One Wound makes the whole
Universe to bleed.
THYRSIS.
As
Day without the prospect of the
Sun,
As
Night without the conduct of the
Moon,
Such,
Daphnis, is the
World, now
thou art gone!
For
Daphnis, too too well belov'd of Heaven,
Only to teach us
Self-denial given,
Is
dead alas! O
Paradox! is
dead,
Voracious
Grave! and consecrated
Head!
What, could not
Daphnis charm ambitious
Death,
From gathering all the Reliques of his breath?
Could He not ev'n the Powers of
Hell defy,
And by soft Airs bring them to Harmony?
Been something more than
Mortal? No—
Hard Fate
Spares not the Rich, the Good, the Wise, the Great.
The proudest Dust must hid in silence lie:
The proudest Dust must in oblivion die.
CORYDON.
Thô
Fortune acted oft the
Stepdame's part,
Yet would not
Daphnis curse her in his heart:
Taught by
Philosophy, he drank it up.
Ah too too soon a shining
Cherub made
Of that blest place thou hadst so long survey'd!
My Muse must tell the Groves
Great Daphnis dead!
Whilst pining
Eccho answers what is said:
Eccho for him must die a
second death,
Us'd to
retort his
words, and
suck his fragrant
breath.
THYRSIS.
Trees full of Tears hide their heads, bowing down,
All
Rivals once which should be made his Crown:
All proudly conscious of their welcome
Shade,
Where
Judgment, Wit, and
Innocence were laid:
Nurse of his
Thought, and
Midwife of his
Brain,
That fruitful teeming
Womb that knew no pain;
But brought the well-
digested Product forth,
Pregnant with joy, and boasting such a Birth.
Nor must we here his forward
Youth forget,
To pay whose
Portion Nature ran in debt.
So soon the
Bard, and so divine a share
He well deserv'd, who was her only
Heir,
Her
Darling-Son, and her peculiar
Care.
He could teach Reverend
Sages how to write,
And prescribe Rules ev'n to the
God of Wit.
(Like
Tages) born a
Poet from the
Womb,
And sung himself from 's
Cradle to his
Tomb.
Improving
Art and
Learning, till his
death.
Still as his annual
Circles rowl'd about,
They unknown
Worlds of
Sciences found out.
Here only Mother
Nature, for his sake,
Did her own
Laws out of
Indulgence break,
From
Youth and
Age one spiritual
Compound make.
But when his
Age and
Fruit together ripe,
(Of which blind
Homer only was the
Type)
Tiresias like, he mounted up on high,
And scorn'd the
filth of dull
Mortality.
Convers'd with
Gods, and grac'd their
Royal Line,
All Ecstasie, all Rapture, all Divine.
CORYDON.
So the
Philosopher would needs be blind,
T' improve the nobler
Eye-sight of his
Mind,
Not to mean earthly
Opticks be confin'd.
THYRSIS.
No wonder, if th' ambitious
Laurel's dead,
Degraded to a
Mercenary Head.
If
Birds forget their
Notes, and sit alone,
With melancholy
Progne in the Deserts moan,
Since this our
Bird of Paradise is flown.
Daphnis! the great
Reformer of our
Isle!
Daphnis! the
Patron of the
Roman Stile!
The
Muses Bells took off, and stopt their
Chimes,
On surer
Wings, with an immortal flight,
Taught us how to
believe, and how to
write.
And could we but have reach'd his wondrous height,
We'd chang'd the
constitution of our
State.
Where
Reason must
enlightned Souls confute,
To
common Earth 'tis still
forbidden Fruit:
For all in
Torrents his
Inventions flow,
And drown the little
Vales that lie below.
And yet so
sweet, Malice would silenc'd die;
So
perfect, they could
Prejudice defie.
Daphnis! whose
Modesty might justly boast,
His
Errours least, his
Excellencies most.
Well might we
blush at every sacred
Line,
To see a
Soul so
Humble, so
Divine.
But
I offend—and whilst I praise his
Stile,
Do in
Apostate Rhimes his Worth defile.
His
Guardian Angel does begin to frown,
His
Spirit looks with
indignation down.
CORYDON.
Ev'n
Tombs of
Stone in time will wear away;
Brass
Pyramids are subject to decay;
But lo! the
Poet's Fame shall brighter shine
In each succeeding
Age,
Laughing at the baffled
Rage
Of envious
Enemies, and destructive
Time.
THYRSIS.
[Page 117]
Rest
Phoenix! in thy
Paradise above,
Thy Works enjoy a
Paradise of
Love:
Thô some with a rank
emulous Poyson swell,
Others
admire, and
praise, but none
excel.
May our poor
Rustick Muse add
Cyphers to thy
Fame.
Thy
Works are everlasting
Monuments to thy Name.
Oldham's GHOST. A Dream. To Mr. Ro. Townshend.
ALL husht and still,
Night's melancholy shade
The dusky
Arch of
Heaven had overspread;
The very Beasts of Prey their Wandrings ceast;
The little Birds their murm'ring Notes supprest:
No
Star appear'd, no
Noise, no
Wind was heard,
And neither
Bough, nor
Leaf, nor
Blossom stir'd.
When on the
sweating ground I silent lay
On
Flowery Beds under a fragrant
Bay,
Whose
sweetness suck'd my emulous
breath away.
Now parting with my
Reason and my
Sence,
Slumbers as soft, as sweet as
Innocence,
Had drawn his drowsie
Wand along my Breast.
Methought I saw an
Angel by me stand,
With
Laurels on his head and
Myrtles in his hand.
And all the way the
Messenger of
God
Had with his hallow'd Feet in Glory trod:
Sprung up
Elysian Flowers here and there,
Sweet as their
Climate, as their
Parent fair.
His heavenly
Locks lay curl'd by
Nature's Arts:
A Quiver for his Brother
Cupid's Darts,
Sweating
Ambrosian Dew: His
Eyes too bright:
His
Roses were too red: his
Lillies were too white.
His
Smiles kind entertainment did bespeak,
His
Smiles spread in a pleasant
Lip and blushing
Cheek:
Narcissus smiles not half so sweet as they,
Althô he
lov'd, and
smil'd himself
away.
Presumption yet they check'd, I know not how,
With a
Majestick Censure on his Brow.
So sweet a
Cherub of the Heavenly
Quire!
The
Gods themselves did their
own Works admire.
Thus stood the winged
Mercury, array'd
In Purple
Robes of
State—
Which to his
Buskins reach'd, kiss'd them, and with them play'd.
Thus stood the
Prophet, pressing me to take
A
Vizard, and a
Book, for
Oldham's sake.
By which I knew I had acceptance found;
And falling down, I kist the
Holy Ground.
[Page 119] But he proceeded thus—for I was dumb—
"Hail
Thyrsis! little
Bud of
Fame! I come
"Fraught with an
Embassie, sent from above,
"
An Embassie
of Favour, Grace,
and Love.
"Thy
Wish is enter'd in the
Rolls of
Fate:
"Thy
Prayers are heard, nor
fear thou shalt be
great.
"Thy
Parts the only
Talent Heaven will give,
"(On such a
Portion Prodigals might live.)
"Thô
Honour is not in the least thy aim,
"Yet
Wits a
hunting, often light on
Fame.
"
Friends thou shalt have, but
few, faithful, and
free,
"
As thou desir'st, deserv'st, if that can be.
"Wedded to a young
Widow Colledge-life,
"Thy
Books thy
Children, and thy
Muse thy
Wife.
"And since thou dost only invoke my
Muse,
"Me and my Works for thy sole
Pattern chuse:
"By my own self I swear, thou shalt
inherit
"
A double Portion
of Apollo
's Spirit.
"Nor my
adopted Son! when thus retir'd,
"(The Blessing which thou hast so long desir'd)
"Shalt thou not find a heart to
lash the Crimes,
"
The bold notorious Strumpets of the Times.
"Nor shalt thou want a
Telescope from far:
"Deep
Caves alone by day
descry a
Star.
"Secure from danger on the silent
shore,
"The horrour of a
Storm others see more,
"
[Page 120] Than they, that without hope and help complain,
"And lose their sense in the
Abyss of pain:
"By sad experience their own misery find;
"Can't utter the confusion of their mind;
"But swallow'd up, plunge deeper in Despair;
"Carry'd they know not how, they know not where.
"My
Works shall both thy
Mint and
Optick be;
"Here at one
prospect thou shalt all things see:
"All things
Sarcastical, that justly fall
"Under that
common head, compendious All.
"My
Works shall be thy
Forge to form thy
Skill:
"The
World finds
Matter, and thy
self a
Will.
"
Improve thy Worth, Worth is it self a Name:
"
Trace but my Stile, and you secure my Fame.
"
Satyr's a plain, Satyr's a pleasant Road,
"
Provided that the way be not too broad.
"
But in a full career 'tis hard to miss
"
Running upon a dangerous Precipice.
"
Be neither trivial, nor take too much pains;
"
Let Malice never guide your furious Reins.
"
When grave, be not elaborate, nor write
"
For solid, intricate: for easie, slight:
"
These and the rest for your instruction learn,
"
And between good and evil to discern.
This said, rapt in an
Ecstafie of
Love,
Fed with vain hopes, I would my
Vision prove.
Strove to
embrace the
Evangelick Shade.
When lo! he
vanish'd from my dazled Eyes,
And thus my
filial Love, and thus my
Duty did despise.
Fanning his
silver Wings, he cut the Sky,
Which gathering in thick
fleecy throngs, did fly
To see the great
Embassadour of Heaven pass by.
And where the Clouds parted to give him way,
My Cries did post along as fast as they.
My
Father! Father! kept the Chariots track,
Hung on the
Wheels, and would have brought him back,
But left so far behind, I start and wake.
On The Death of the late Duke of
Ormond.
To Mr.
William Butler.
Ipse tibi jam brachia contrahit ardens
Scorpius, & coeli justâ plus parte reliquit.
Vir. Geor. 1.
UNder a fatal
Yew, as I was laid,
Pleas'd with the dismal melancholick
Shade,
Democritus his
Ghost in
flouds of
Tears.
Horrour my Senses in
confusion seal'd,
The
icy current of my
Bloud congeal'd.
Each
Joynt and
Sinew loos'd: my swelling
Veins
Were
cold and
stiff, bound on the
Rack of
Pains.
Smother'd in
silence thus I panting lay,
And heard the hollow
Specter sighing say,
He's gone—the
Pillar of the
Church and
State
With honour sinks under the mighty weight;
The
British Atlas falls a
Sacrifice to insulting
Fate.
Who would not ev'n the Laws of
Nature break?
And be a
*
Polyzaelus for his sake?
Democritus, the lightest
Mould of
Earth,
Whose
Life was one continu'd
Scene of
Mirth,
A
Deluge of religious
Tears must shed,
To wash the
Hero; for a
Hero's
dead.
Fame! thou chief
Attribute of his great
Soul!
Proclaim the doleful
News from
Pole to Pole:
Employ thy
hundred Tongues, that all may come,
And pay their last
Devotion to his
Tomb.
Here at this
†
Agelastos sigh and groan,
Till
Niobe's fate more justly be their own.
[Page 123] Let
Nature her unhappy loss bewail,
And hide her head under a
Widow's Veil:
Or like
Evadne, with her
Husband burn,
As he to
Ashes, she to
Chaos turn.
The
Sun and
Moon eclips'd!—where am I now?
Stars clashing fall!—the sinking
Heavens bow!
The
Sun and
Moon would
Ormond both embrace!
The
Sun and
Moon would both resign their place:
The
Constellations all together croud,
And hide themselves behind a
bashful Cloud!
The
Signs contracted, shrink to make him room!
Concern'd where
Ormond will vouchsafe to come!
Each for the honour of his presence vy!
Yet blush
Ormond should have no
Rival in the Sky!
Hah! what strange
Light is this that strikes my Eyes,
And from those
Mists of Darkness seems to rise!
—What blazing
Comet's that I see
Newly install'd chief in the
Galaxy!
Perseus and
Cassiopeia round him twine,
To blind his
Lustre, both their Forces joyn;
But he does all the
heavenly Host out-shine!
'Tis
Ormond, by that
Spotless Robe of
white!
Nor could another
Sign be half so
bright!
'Tis He—insert him in your
Kalendar,
A worthy
Saint, and an auspicious
Star.
[Page 124] Thou
World, alternately rejoyce and mourn,
But rather drop more
Tears into his
Urn:
Whilst I to
my own self and to
my place return.
To Mr. R. Nichols. On the Little Man that was show'd for a Sight all over England. In imitation of a Greek Epigram out of Lucilius.
A Grave
Philosopher of old, that taught
The
World at first was out of
Atoms brought,
Had
Fate projected in his time, thy Birth;
When
Epicurus thus conceiv'd the Earth;
He would have made the
Universe of
thee:
As much less than diminutive
Atoms be.
Or this at least he would for granted take,
Heaven did out of
thee those
Atoms make.
Man, the
World's Microcosm, all allow:
The
Microcosm of an
Atom Thou!
Solomon's Song, cap. 1. ver. 2.
‘Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth.’
To Mrs. Mary Nichols.
WHat
Angel's voice thus
ecchoes thrô the
Sky,
Thus rowls along,
and breaks
in Harmony?
Rejoyce, rejoyce, for thy Redemption's nigh.
Ah! what soft welcome
Airs salute my Ears!
Airs! that enchant the
Stars, and charm the
Spheres!
The
Clouds all melt away! succeeding
Light
And glorious
Pomp dazle my fixed sight!
The
Elements give back, and bow the knee,
Whilst
Seraphs dance unto the Melody;
But
I alone stand weeping by the
Tree:
Not yet the
Tree of
Life, a melancholy
Cross;
There seek for
Remedy, and bewail my loss.
For in my
Saviour's absence, that long while,
Nothing could force, no not a feigned
smile;
Nor make me
blot the
Copy he had
set,
Whose Eyes
were never wanton,
often wet;
Whose
Sufferings Agonies, drops of
Bloud his
Sweat.
But now
He's come! the
Herald did proclaim,
And bow'd with Reverence at his
Sacred Name.
My ravish'd
Soul fell down before his Throne,
And now I knew it was the
Holy One.
[Page 126] 'Twas my
Beloved I had sought so long,
Whom I had found, had I not sought him wrong.
And art thou come?—And is it thou, blest
Dove?—
Can I believe my Eyes, or trust my Love?
Pardon,
dear Jesu! such a jealous
Faith;
Thô
weak my
Trust, my
Love's as
strong as
Death.
Pardon me too, for since I saw thee last,
The
Flouds have laid my fruitful
Garden wast.
Alas! what pleasure could a
Widow take,
Who only lov'd that
Garden for thy sake!
What's all the rest, when
Sharon's
Rose is gone?
The
Rose that's
all my
Garden's Sweets in
one?
Let me but hugg that
Rose within my Breast,
And then,
my Love! let who's will take the rest.
No—that has lain all open to the
South,
And I have only kiss'd thy
hands and feet;
Now kiss me with the kisses of thy mouth,
The kisses of thy mouth, for they are sweet!
My
Spouse, let me suck up thy fragrant breath,
For ah! my
Love's as strong as
Wine or
Death.
For a
Kiss for our last
parting I must sue;
And one at
meeting justly is my due.
Pay all thy
Debts for
absence, these and more,
With
usury pay off that
divine Score.
Do not my
Passion, O my Spouse! disdain,
Nor let my
Sighs and
Tears be all in vain:
Nor let unhappy
Absence make thee strange.
Come—let us strive which first their
Lips can joyn,
Which can the closest to their
Rivals twine;
Until our strugling
Spirits both release,
Till these our
Seconds make a perfect peace.
Victorious
Captives both with joy return,
Both with new
Love and
Emulation burn.
As for my
Soul, thou shalt new life inspire,
In gratitude with zeal I'll
blow the
Fire.
Come then—
dear Jesu! come—and no more part,
But take the
full possession of my
Heart.
To Idera, The Apology for Silence.
1.
LOng has the
Store-house of my
heart
Been laying
Fewel in;
Here and there
Cupid's left a Dart,
The fire for
Matches to begin.
2.
But my
Combustibles, as yet
Have not their
Caverns broke:
And whilst they can no
passage get,
Send only
Vollies out of
Smoke.
3.
Yet by these
Sparks you might have guest
What
Balls of
Flames do rowl
Within the
Furnace of my
Breast,
And ev'n consume my melting
Soul.
4.
Vesuvius hollow
Entrails glow,
Red-hot with
hidden Fire;
And yet they nothing upwards throw,
But keep their stock of Flames entire.
5.
Their
stock of Flames which
once a year
They pour upon the fruitful
Plain;
Their
Forge of loads of
Ashes clear,
And to their
Smithy work again.
6.
Thô
Preludes yet I only shew,
Nor tell you
all my
mind,
Idera! trust me to be true,
And think, my Fair One!
th' more's behind.
The Dumb Discovery.
To
Idera.
THô
Cupid flames from
Vulcan stole,
And made a
Bonfire of my
Soul;
Resolv'd from
Aetna to remove,
There to set up his Forge for Love:
With this perswasion prepossest,
That
Flames pent in a
narrow Breast,
Would dispatch sooner poyson'd
Darts,
None so hot as Lovers hearts:
Yet thought I none this
Shop can know,
Hid, like
Aetna, under
Snow.
None suspect, an
outward Styx
With
Phlegeton under ground should mix:
But my
Ashes all betray,
And to my
Work house shew the way.
[Page 130] Thus the
Philosopher, who fraught
With an
ambitious fury, thought
To be install'd a
God, by night
Took
downwards an immortal
flight:
By his
descension would
aspire
Through the
burning Mount, in
fire:
Aetna, to undeceive the World,
His
Iron Slippers upwards hurl'd.
He, greedy to
advance his
Name,
Beguil'd at once of
Life and
Fame.
In praise of Wine mixt with Water. A Greek EPIGRAM, Out of
Meleager.
To Mr.
Francis Nichols.
THE
Nymphs, when
Bacchus, like an
Embryo, came
Out of his
Mother's Ashes, on a
flame,
Dipt the young
Deity in a
cool stream,
To quench the
fire, and take away the
steam.
The
Nymphs and
Bacchus ever since agree,
Without the
Nymphs, Thunder and
Lightning He!
And
Fire it self proves
cool and
anodyne.
Wine all the
Waters crudities consumes;
Water feeds on
her hot and heady
fumes:
To one another
both a
flavour give,
And make a
Cordial of a
Corrosive.
Parting with Mr. Tho. Bebington.
DOwn by a
River's side together sat
Thyrsis and
Hylas, (such was once the
State
Of our
First Parents, in a
friendly Strife,
Thus
Innocence might learn to square her life)
Where singing
Waters lull'd themselves asleep:
And clouded
Heaven did
sympathizing weep.
When pensive
Thyrsis thus did silence break,
And all in
Tears to his lov'd
Hylas speak.
THYRSIS.
And canst thou,
Hylas, thou, be so unkind
Thus to leave
me and
Life behind?
And canst thou
think of me without
regret?
On
Love's account for
millions run in
debt?
[Page 132]
HYLAS.
No
Thyrsis! Hylas can't
unconstant prove,
Nor have I yet been wavering in my Love;
But emulous
Fate summons us both to part:
Hast thou not a sufficient
Pledge, my
Heart?
THYRSIS.
Yet out of sight
I shall be out of mind:
Ah!
Hylas, should you prove unkind,
Officious
Fate would need no other
Knife
To cut in two my
ravell'd Thread of
Life.
HYLAS.
Nature her self shall first
unhinged be;
The whole
Creation lose its
Symmetry:
Iron th' attractive
Loadstone shall forsake,
When I the sacred
League of
Friendship break.
THYRSIS.
Into a confus'd
Chaos shall be hurl'd
The shatter'd
Atoms of the
World:
The
Needle too the
Northern point shall shun:
And with my
Promise Rivers backwards run.
HYLAS.
To
Hylas then be sure you never fail
Kisses to send by every gentle
Gale.
Transport me
Sighs over the
Belgick Streams.
THYRSIS.
To
Thyrsis, without intermission, pay
Your
bounden Duty night and day;
And nothing less to
Thyrsis, than to
Heaven,
For
Life and
Love by
both alike are given.
Pray to the
Gods; but I can hardly say
Whether to them you first presume to pray:
No—your
first and
last thoughts must be my due.
Come,
Hylas! then once more renew
Your everlasting
Vow, before your long
Adieu.
HYLAS.
I
swear by all the
Thunderbolts of
Jove;
By those revengeful
Darts of
injur'd Love:
By
Life and
Death, and all the
Powers above;
To comprehend them all, I
swear by
You,
That I for ever will be
just and
true.
THYRSIS.
May all the Plagues that
Vengeance has in store
For
Infidelity, these and more,
With
Aggravations, light on
perjur'd Me,
If I be guilty of
Unconstancy.
[Page 134] Or if an
Action be against me brought,
Of one
suspicious Deed, or
doubtful thought.
This said, ravish'd into an
Ecstasie,
They would in their perfection die;
And strugling hardly to themselves can come,
Like
Prophets with their
Inspiration dumb.
Cupid the heavenly
Mediator came,
And with two
Arrows dipt in
Honours Flame,
Their
golden points piercing through
both their
hearts,
For
tryal of their
Faith and Vertue, parts.
Hylas the
Seas to
Holland troubled bore,
And left deserted
Thyrsis sighing on the
shore.
A Greek EPIGRAM.
To
Idera.
SHot by th'
Artillery of your fair
Eye,
So great my pains, I would, but cannot die:
Sicilian Tyrants never yet could Death deny!
Tears from my fester'd
Wound, like
Matter, flow,
And still the
Fire you will not
quench, but
blow.
[Page 135] What shall I do? I've ransack'd
Nature's store,
She has no
Plantain for a
Lover's Sore:
Ah!
Madam, you, and only you can save,
Your
Beauty that must heal the
Wound it gave.
I'm
Telephus, you have
Achilles Arms,
You have, and know you have all their inherent
Charms.
However, let me not like
†
Chiron lie
Cursing my self, and you, and
Immortalitie!
—Qualis conjectâ cerva sagittâ,
Quam procul incautam nemora inter Cresia fixit
Pastor agens telis, liquit
(que) volatile ferrum
Nescius: illa fugâ silvas saltus
(que) peragrat
Dictaeos: haeret lateri lethalis arundo.
Vir. Aeneid. 4.
On
John Pig, who was very famous for his great NOSE.
To Mr.
R. Nichols.
TO say,
the Nose of Pig! that cannot be;
There's
no comparison, 'tis all
Hyperbole!
But he that would the
naked Truth expose,
Must for distinction
say, Pig of the Nose!
Part of the
14th Satyr of
Juvenal, Against Covetousness: With a long Preface taken out of the same Satyr.
To Mr.
Will. Percival.
Et quando uberior vitiorum copia? quando
Major Avaritiae patuit sinus?
Juv. Sat.
TOO many things
(Censorius!) there be
That do entail an endless
Infamy,
That brand a man with a
deserved shame,
And spoil the
lustre of an
honest Name,
Which
Parents to their
Children do transmit,
And ground them in before their
Alphabet.
[Page 137] 'Tis no such wonder now-a-days to see
How
liquorish a little
Boy will be,
Still craving
change of
Dainties to invite
A
squeamish Stomach to an
Appetite,
Disdaining
hearty Fare, and
wholsome Meat,
Consulting with
Apicius what to eat;
When the old toothless
Grandsire with his
Gums
Mumps Mushrooms, Marmalade,
and Sugar-plums;
Sucks from
Herculean Bowls the
choicest Wines,
And does whatever
Luxury enjoyns:
Go, cries that Lust, he
runs: Come, and he'll
fly:
What
Belly-God his
Palate can deny?
No wonder if the Son precisely tread
In the same path where his good Father led.
If he's for this and t'other
costly Bit,
Can down with nothing but what's
delicate;
And by
Tradition keeps to the
old Wish,
A Princely Kitchin, and a Dainty Dish.
Thus
Nature binds us by too hard a
Law;
Domestick patterns
easily withdraw;
Led by the
Ignis Fatuus of their Vice,
We make no question but they
must be
wise,
And we fall on, refusing to be
nice:
Loth to be made
Subjects for
Ridicule,
Single
exceptions from a
Common Rule.
[Page 138] But most when
great Authorities enforce,
We hurry on, and follow the
same course,
And strive, if possible, to be
much worse.
Some few there be more vertuously inclin'd,
Whom
Titan made of
Clay the
best refin'd,
Whom
Titan has inspir'd with a more
generous mind:
Who scorn by evil
Precepts to be sway'd,
And by
authentick wickedness betray'd,
Whilst others keep the
track their
Ancestors have made.
The
generality go the
common Road,
In which their
bigotted Forefathers trod,
Considering not the way's too easie and too broad.
Abstain from
Vice, if nothing else can move,
Thô other
Reasons insufficient prove,
Let this prevail, a Father's Duty, and a Father's Love.
Lest your
Posterity imitating you,
Quote your
Authority for what they do;
Your vile
Example should infect the Times,
And you must bear your
own and
others Crimes.
There is a natural
Veneration due
Not only
from your Son, but
for him too.
If an
ill thought but comes into your head,
His
presence ought to strike
that Rebel dead,
And ev'n the
Cradle-Infant stifle the
misdeed:
Two Serpents crush'd between his Infant-hands.
Contemn not
Children that are
young and
green,
They're old enough to
imitate your sin.
Besides with what
Authority, what
face
Can you reprove a
Child for
want of
Grace?
And never think
your self how
many grains
Must be allow'd for your own
shallow Brains?
'Tis a
considerable thing thou'st done,
In getting of a
true and
lawful Son,
And adding to thy
People's number
one:
But that's not all; fit him for
Peace or
War,
The
Clergys Pulpit, or the
Lawyers Bar,
The
Tradesman's Shop, or honest
Ploughman's Share.
Capacitate him for some good
Vocation,
The
Service of his
God, his
King and
Nation:
Else to what
purpose is this
Propagation?
The
Vultures leave their
Storehouse in the Fields,
And bring their
young ones what that
Store-house yields.
These, as they
older grow, hunt the
same Prey
From their
Dams mouths they
gobled t'other day.
Breed up your
Children well, on
that depends
Their future State; their
good or their
bad ends.
To other
Vices Youth it self is
prone,
Sordidness, that
unnatural sin, alone
Must be
inculcated, nor
dares appear
Without the
Mask of
provident and
severe.
Then
wins the
Field, and as a
Tyrant reigns.
Nor is it strange the covetous
Gripe should be
Prais'd for the
vertue of
Frugality,
That all
respect to his
bald pate be pay'd,
A long experienc'd
Artist in his
Trade!
Whose
Furnace melts down the rich
Ore of
grounds!
Whose
Hammer beats out
Pennies into
Pounds!
Rare Alchymist!
makes Money
out of Mould!
Rare Midas!
at a touch
turns all
to Gold!
Now he that do's this
pinching Art profess,
Will only
Brother Miser's practice bless,
And to his
silver God ascribe true happiness.
Him will he teach his
Children to adore,
Tell them there is no
Hell but to be
poor.
That
Heaven's Treasure lies in swelling
Bags,
The
Mark of all
Believers holy
Rags.
(Vice
has her Horn-book
and successive Schools,
And steps
by method Rudiments
and Rules.
The quickest Wits
can't all at once
be taught;
'Twas by degrees that
Mithridates brought
Poyson
to be no Poyson,
but a cordial Draught.)
Here then he enters
Children that are young,
Infants who have not yet well loos'd their
lisping tongue.
To
little sordid things first
works their
Brain,
Then to
insatiable desires of
gain.
Vice will not trust a
Novice with the
Key
That picks the
Lock of her
Philosophy.
See how the
Wretch feeds on a
buried Chest,
With
Famine starv'd, of golden
Dreams possest!
See how he will his
Servants of their
Wages cheat!
And grutches every
fragment that they eat!
Each
fragment of dry
crust, thô
mouldy Bread,
What! Servants
pamper'd? upon
Sallads fed?
See how he locks up
Cabbage, Sprouts, and
Leeks!
A parted Onion, counting
all the streaks!
See how
wild rotten Olives he'll devour!
And quaff off
dregs, Vinegar not so sour!
On his own
Birth-day, through a small
Crow's quill,
Foul stinking Oyl
upon his Herbs
distil:
In raging
Dog-Stars putrefying heat
Bring out a
Mess of yesterdays
minc'd Meat.
On
Beds of
Straw free choice of
pennance lie,
The
Swines Alcove is richer in the
Stie.
Frugality! of a
Sprat a Dinner makes;
For
change of
Raiment in the
Dung-hill rakes.
Hang sneaking!
for a Feast
in his best Cloaths,
He to the
Beggar-boys a
mumping goes.
In
Winter runs to
Bed before the
Sun,
With
Turfs and
Rush-lights he shall be undone.
But to what purpose dost thou hoard up
Pelf,
To ruin
Prodigals, and
cheat thy
self?
Nor of the
fruits of all thy
labours tast?
Honey for others
luxury prepare?
A
Beggar to the
World, rich only to thy
Heir.
Why be a
Pimp to
prostitute thy
store?
Thy
Soul is in a
Dropsie, and her
thirst
Will then be satisfy'd when she can
burst;
Else pour down
millions, still thou art not well,
But thy
inordinate desires with
Riches swell,
Thy
Sieve still gapes, and yet can nothing hold:
Crassus his
Cure was a sweet
Drench of
melted Gold.
He that has least of Wealth, desires it least:
Content is happiness: Enough's a Feast.
When two
Farms will not do, a third you'll buy,
And cease to purchase with
Eternity.
You cannot see a Neighbours
Vineyard yield
A plenteous
Vintage, or a fruitful
Field
A better
crop of
Corn, but you must
long,
All my own,
cries Extortion, right
or wrong.
Such things are branded with notorious shame,
Loud sounds the Trumpet of an evil Fame.
Words are but wind, Riches
to me are more,
Than to be call'd an honest man, but poor.
Security from
pains, peace, plenty, what you please!
'Tis strange to think how times degenerate!
That which was formerly a
good Estate,
Goes for a trifle:
Avarice so abounds,
The
Prodigal's so profuse, so rich the
Miser's grounds.
Avarice,
that swoln Python!
that Big-bellied Devil!
Who bore, and bred the
Hydra of
all evil.
That first the use of
Steel and
Poyson taught,
And bare-fac'd
Murther into
fashion brought:
For he that is so
eager to be
rich,
The more he
rubs, the more he
frets his
Itch.
Pygmalion thus, of
Homicides not the least,
For
Money slew a
Brother and a
Priest.
Live with your little hills and huts content,
'Tis better in your Bodies to be pent,
Than in your minds.
Thus good Fabricius
said,
And
Curius upon
Rapes from
Earthen Vessels fed.
These
Precepts did those reverend
Sages give,
And by their
practice taught us how to live.
He that the Yoke of
Poverty can
bear,
Nor under
want sinks deeper in
despair:
Need not into the
mouth of
danger run,
Kill or be
kill'd, at once
made or
undone.
This would the
Ancients on their
Children press;
In Vertue only lies true happiness.
His
Clerk at
Midnight to his
business calls.
When the poor
shivering Youngster scarce can hold
His Pen, for the
extremity of
cold.
Rise! rise! you Sluggard, rise!
Fitzherbert look,
Or carefully peruse the Statute-book.
Copy out this Indenture; make a Deed,
And give me an account of what you read.
Quibbles have neither
profit, nor
delight,
Sophistry
nothing tempting
to invite:
Then give your mind to any other thing;
Present a Panegyrick to the King:
Even to thee his bounty may extend,
A Mandate for a Fellowship to lend.
For a Lieutenant's or a Captain's place,
Shew your broad Porter's shoulders to his Grace.
Nine-pin Legs, Hairy Nostrils, brawny Fist,
Be sure your Name'll be enter'd in the List.
But if you tremble when you hear a Gun,
And an Alarum rather makes you run,
Turn Chimny-sweeper, Broker; never care
What Envy may object, but deal in any Ware;
For Gain smells sweet, come it from what it will,
None will say, Gain has an offensive smell.
He hugs his Gold that in the Kennel rakes,
Come it from Common-shore, or Sink, or Jakes.
[Page 145] None question whence a man grows rich, or how;
But money must be had, that we all know.
This every
Infant learns of his old
Dad,
Without it there's no
Farthing to be had.
The little
Boys and
Girls these
Terms of
Art,
Before their
A b c, must have by heart.
Why all this stir to teach a
Child to be
No stranger to his
Parents knavery?
Alas! there's no such need for him to kiss the Rod,
'Tis easie following where his
Father trod.
He's an
apt Scholar, let him but alone,
When's
corrupt Native Seeds full
ripe are grown;
He cannot miss his
Father's fatal
Shelf,
Yet he has had no
time to
shew himself.
When
come to
age, and in his
hot mad blood,
And all the
Doctor's practice understood:
He'll
swear, forswear, in
Villany take delight,
Kill his rich
Wife upon his
Wedding-night;
And when the
witty Rogue has done the feat,
Put a
Jest on't, and
laugh at the
conceit:
I've purify'd my Gold,
cries he, from dross,
And separated my Lumber without loss.
Whilst others
sweat and
labour night and day,
By
Sea and
Land through
unknown places stray,
He has a
shorter cut, a more
compendious way.
'Twas but the
letting a young
Widdow blood,
That betwixt him and Miser's Heaven stood:
[Page 146] Now he'll be rich, and in a little time,
A new invention! and a rare design!
The Reason's evident, the case is plain,
Sin comes into the world not without guilt, but pain.
You! no not you! ne're taught your
Child to be
A sordid
Hoarder, base, or
niggarlie:
What then? those
covetous Seeds he had from thee.
They're naturally
engrafted in his
mind,
And he's a Miser not by
Rule, but
Kind.
A sordid
Principle was in his
blood,
And as he's
yours, he'll never
come to
good.
He that commends
Frugality, and allows
The least
suspicious action in his house,
Of
Errour his own
Judgment he convicts;
And whilst his
Reason thus he contradicts,
Youth of that
slip an
ill improvement make,
That as an
universal License take,
To cheat, defraud,
and swear out
an Estate,
Do any thing to be
rich, do any thing to be
great.
Give them an
Inch, and they will take an
Ell,
Blow you the
Fire, their greedy
Passions swell,
They think they must
exceed, or else they can't
excel.
You've bred a
Viper, that in time will eat
Through your own
Bowels, and
begin the cheat
Upon
your self: so the wild savage
Bear
Will his own
Master first to pieces tear.
To know how long th'
Old Man is like to live.
Gapes for your
Gold, and curses every
Knell,
That he mistakes to be your
Passing-bell.
At length
impatient for your lingring
doom,
He will not let it
soft and
fairly come:
Saves
Hell the trouble, and will
Fate forestal,
Be Executioner,
and have at all.
From your own
flesh and
bloud you're forc'd to guard your
Throat,
And carry up and down an
Antidote.
Hail
Democritus! tune up your
Lungs for
mirth!
Here's the
Ludibrium of
Heaven and
Earth,
That might your
laughter for your
lives engross,
To see
refined Clay thus hoard up
dross.
With
pains, and
care, and
danger, grasp up store,
With
pains, and
care, and
danger, keep it more,
But in reversion rich, emphatically poor!
The
Miser's Life's a pleasant
Comedy!
None so ridiculous a
Fool as he!
The Dancer on the Ropes
less laughter
makes,
H'as better grounds for what he undertakes;
By
hazarding his
neck he gets his
Bread,
And
Nature to sustain, ventures his
head:
Like
Nero, you for
Mounts of Golden
Ore,
To tumble up and down on
silver floor.
See what vast throngs of
Vessels plough the Main,
And all to find out
unknown Worlds of
Gain.
[Page 148] By
Hercules his Pillars take their rounds,
Shoot
Gulfs, like
Remus leap o'er
Nature's bounds.
'Tis worth the while to run the
risque of
Fate,
Stare
Death i'th'
face, to raise a vast
Estate.
He that to this
degree of
confidence arrives,
Thô
Pluto be his Guide, by
Pluto thrives;
'Tis not
one Fury, nor
one Devil drives.
He that
one plank from
Hell can lie and
sleep,
With both the
Indies loaden,
dance along the
deep,
Thô he to
save his
Purse may well forbear
Revenge upon his
Cloaths, and pulling off his
Hair:
Yet
Bedlam for him groans,
Bedlam ne're had
One under her
correction half so
mad.
A
Storm comes hovering, and
Phoebus shrouds
His watry
Rays under eclipsing
Clouds;
Cimmerian darkness falls upon the
Air,
Black
as th' Abyss,
and hopeless
as Despair;
Flashes of
Lightning's all the
light is given,
And
Thunder-bolts rowl o're the
Plains of
Heaven;
Yet cries the Scrape: Trust my Astrologie,
Clear is the lowring Sky, and calm the troubled Sea.
These are but Lambent flames, what men afraid of light?
Of harmless Crackers in a Summers night?
Which a scorcht Air and sultry heat produce?
Come hoise your Sails, and let your Rudders loose,
Let frowning Heaven scare us then no more,
The God will save me whom I still adore.
[Page 149] Blind! vain! unhappy man!
perhaps to night
His
Soul to
Charon goes, and his
delight
To
Pluto offers him a
Sacrifice:
The
Conj'rer so by his
Familiar dies.
Methinks I see him
strugling hard for
breath,
Oh, how he
gnaws his
Purse, and
grinds his
teeth!
And
that must be his
life, or
that must be his
death!
If
Fortune favour, he comes
safe to
shore,
Whom all the
World could not
suffice before,
Nor
Tagus nor
Pactolus with their
Golden Ore.
Now without
House or
Home, ready to
starve,
Torn
Rags to
hide his
nakedness will serve,
Fragments of mouldy
Bread, and
scraps of
Meat,
Which
Beggars proffer'd, would
refuse to
eat,
Go down so
chearfully, and oh! a
Crust's so sweet!
Oh! the delicious
Fare of
Bread and Cheese!
Oh! how the
Miser begs upon his knees!
To get a
Farthing do's his
miseries relate,
And prove his
Shipwrack by
Certificate:
And this is to be rich! and this is to be great!
Wealth with such
trouble and such
care procur'd,
Wealth so
impossible to be
secur'd
From
Fire and
Thieves, turns but to
little Gains;
Nothing can recompence eternal pains.
C—
n that
rich poor man, can take no rest,
With slavish
Fears like
Mill-stones on his breast;
And for their use
Engines and
Arms prepar'd.
Yet
jealous Whims his
Eyes still
waking keep,
Poor
C—n cannot take a
wink of
sleep.
There's no rude hand would touch the
Cynick's Den,
If burnt or broken by
malicious men;
He would another
Tub to morrow make,
Or out of this a
stately Lodging take.
This
Alexander knew, and curs'd his
Fate,
That cast his
Lot so much
below the
State
Of wise
Diogenes, Diogenes the Great!
Small
was the Shell, great
the Inhabitant!
Who
nothing had, and yet did
nothing want!
Happier than
he that fain would
befor ever known,
Monarch, and
God, and make the
World his
own:
Whose
Glories would to
Dangers soon betray,
Whose
Dangers would his
Glories far outweigh.
He that to
Wisdom's Light conforms his
Soul,
Can never
lose his
way, nor miss the
Goal.
No
Deity is
wanting to the
Wise,
For Prudence is the best of Deities.
Which he that
single harbours in his
breast,
In her
alone comprehends all
the rest.
Fortune! thy
Godhead so implor'd below,
Only to
Fools and
Mad-men thou dost owe.
Thou dost no
God-like Attributes partake,
A
Demy-Goddess of a
Humane make!
[Page 151] If any one will accept of my
Advice,
To know just what
Ingredients may suffice
To make up a
good honest Livelihood,
Too little by
Pretenders understood:
First ℞
q. s. of
Meat,
To keep out
Cold and
Hunger, freely eat
Of temp'rate
Socrates his wholsom
Dish,
And take an
ounce or
two of
Cowly's
Wish.
Retire sometime from
Company by
stealth,
For
Meditation sake, and for your
health,
To
Epicurus Garden, and there see
Nature in every
Variety.
There every day some time for
study should be spent,
Eat freely of the only
Fruit, Content.
Nature and
Wisdom always say the same,
Nature and
Wisdom here do
differ but in
name.
Still
thirsts your
Soul as if your
Heart would
break,
Another
Julep then more
usual make,
Two thousand pound
for a Pearl-Cordial
take.
Still can you
make a
Face? contract a
Frown?
As if you could not get your
Pect'ral Potion down?
Once more your
former Cordial then repeat,
And add
four thousand pound to make it sweet.
Still take you up a
prejudice against this
Receipt?
Then all the
Wealth that both the
Indies boast,
To this, were
thrown away, and meerly
lost:
[Page 152] Would never satisfie your
damn'd excess,
Nor in the
least contribute to true
Happiness.
—Omnis enim res,
Virtus, fama, decus, divina humanaque pulchris
Divitiis parent! quas qui construxerit, ille
Clarus erit, fortis, justus!
&c.
Horat. Sat. lib. 2. s. 3.
An EPIGRAM. To Mr.
H. Northcote of
Exeter-Colledge,
Oxon.
The Happy Miser.
WHy should we to this
World our
Souls enslave,
That never yet
true satisfaction gave,
That has no
happiness but in the
Grave?
She throws us
Pleasures only to
bereave,
To
decay Subject, Subject to
deceive,
They us,
We them must
once for
ever leave.
Our
Title's good no longer than our
Life,
Our
Friends inherit little else but
Strife.
In
death the
Miser's only
happy found,
Who goes t'
enjoy his
Treasure under
ground.
An EPIGRAM. In praise of
John Pig's Diminutive Nose, in imitation of the Emperour
Trajan's.
To Mr.
Frederick Colman.
WEll—all the
Dyal-makers are undone!
Let
Pig but turn his
Nosle to the
Sun,
'Twill serve for both
Steeple and
Weather-cock,
And on his Teeth
tell Travellers what's a Clock.
Another out of
Ammianus. To Mr.
T. Woolley.
Concerning
John Pig's Mountainous Nose and Quick-silver Feet.
WIth
both his
hands Pig cannot
snight his
Snout,
But he must go near
half a mile about;
So long the
Promontory of his
Nose!
So
short, so
slender, are his
Petty-toes!
Nor can he
wind his
horny Trunk with ease,
No—nor, to speak the truth, hear
himself sneeze.
He has not said,
God bless me, for this
fifty years.
I'th'
strength of such a
Staff, Pig (as they talk)
May well from
London to
New-Castle take a
walk.
To a young Lady reading the seventh Verse of the first Chapter of
Proverbs.
To
Idera.
‘The fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge, &c.’
WHilst the
Contents of this
one Verse
So
passionately you rehearse,
In it we
comprehended find
The perfect
Copy of your
Mind.
You
teach us, and
inform us too,
What we should,
and what you do.
This is your
Noon, our early
Dawn,
In
miniature your
Picture drawn.
Compendious
History of your
Life:
In
Vertue your
victorious strife:
Like wrestling
Jacob, whilst you
halt,
You make us
blush at our
Revolt.
[Page 155] Here in this
Looking-glass we see
The
Beauties of your
Soul, what we
Like you, and
for your sake desire to be.
We came, and heard, and were undone!
With
earthly flames the
Fire begun,
When
heavenly too conspir'd to joyn
United Forces,
humane and
divine:
High
Winds more
dangerous than
they;
In vain our
Engines then we play:
When the chief
Castle is
burnt down,
'Tis more than time that we
surrender up the
Town.
To his Valentine Hemiera, Madam A. R.
WEll▪—
Fortune! prostrate at thy feet
I'll do my
Penance in a
Sheet;
For
want of
sight I call'd thee
blind,
All thy
Revenge was to be
kind.
Amongst the
Lots upon thy Throne,
Thou
Omnipresent sat'st alone.
I laid my trembling
hand on
all,
And as I
took them, let them
fall.
But confident in
thee my
Guide,
That which did
shrinking from me
slide,
I gently
prest, and it
comply'd.
[Page 156] With this encouragement I
draw,
But when the happy
Name I saw,
Ye Gods! with what
amazement struck!
I kiss'd my
Valentine and blest my
Luck?
A.
first was offer'd to my sight,
With a sweet
relish to invite
My over-eager
Appetite.
My
Soul resolv'd on
life or
death,
Of an
auspicious ALPHA full,
took breath.
Then to suck
Honey out of
Love,
To the
ripe Rose did next remove.
Her she rob'd of all her
Red,
And on her fragrant
sweetness fed.
My ravisht
Soul her
station took
Here, and durst no further look.
R was the
Centre of my
Heart:
R my only
vital part:
R
pleas'd and
satisfy'd my
tast:
As
Roses beautiful, as
Lillies chast.
Pythagoras may his
y admire,
'Tis R that sets my
Heart on
fire:
R never yet came out of time;
R is my
Reason and my
Rhime.
R so sweetly runs along,
R the
burden of my
Song.
But since R
at a distance only
darts a
Smile,
Which at a distance
must recoil;
In
person a Religious
Offering.
Here this I absent lay before her
Shrine,
Kisses
by proxy
to communicate my design,
Remember Easter,
and Good Morrow, Valentine.
To Idera. Who would not be seen to steal a Look from Duserastes, by turning her back.
Malo me Galatea petit lasciva puella,
Et fugit ad salices, & se cupit ante videri.
Vir. Bucol. Ecl. 3.
1.
WHy,
Cupid, thus at
hide and
seek?
Why all those
Blushes on your
Cheek?
Are you
asham'd that
priviledge to give,
That man should see your face, and live?
Or would you at a distance keep,
And never kiss
Endymion but asleep?
2.
Are you afraid that should your
Sun shine
bright,
Whilst
Duserastes only
prays for
Light,
Earth and
my self should hardly find?
Or that I should to
Phaeton's Wish aspire,
To set my
little World on
fire?
3.
Why so
cruel? why so
coy?
Never, never
to enjoy?
Have we
profan'd Love's Deity all this while,
Ah, Madam!
now to
steal a Smile?
This is with
time to kep
Virginity,
And take the
measure of
Eternity.
To Hemiera.
Utraque formosa est: operosae cultibus ambae:
Artibus in dubio est haec sit, an illa, prior.
Pulerior hâ illa est, haec est quoque pulcrior illâ:
Et magis haec nobis, & magis illa placet.
Quid geminas, Erycina, meos sine fine dolores?
Nonne erat in curas una puella satis?
Ov. Amor. lib. 2. eleg. 10.
1.
TEll me,
individual Pair!
Beyond a
Mediocrity of
Fair!
Whose Beauties Heaven
can scarce improve;
Whom
I was
born to
love:
2.
How shall I
divide my
Heart?
Tell me, ye that have there a double part.
Division multiplies my pains;
Distraction lays more
weight upon my
Chains.
3.
When stately
Idera I see,
I think of
Jove's high love for
Semele:
Love
that in Thunder and in Lightning
came;
Oh! my
Soul burns to
die by such a
flame.
4.
Hemiera, by Nature
kind,
Has
Idera's
face wrought in her
mind.
Her sweet temper melts
my Soul:
Which Idera'
s imperious
Eyes controul.
5.
Idera
with a haughty Air,
Affects to be thought something
more than fair.
Hemiera
is as good,
as Idera'
s great:
High, courtly Idera!
made for me
and State.
6.
Hemiera's melancholy
Face
Has less Charms,
but more
of Grace:
Does both my
Pity and my
Love,
Those
Springs of my
Affections move.
7.
Idera's comely
Winter's pride,
With
Hesperian Fruits supply'd;
Other proud
Summers dare not vy,
Nor in
her presence wear their
Livery.
8.
Hemiera'
s Autumn's
youthful Bloud
Does sooner
blossom, sooner
bud,
Than other
Springs with
April-showers,
Dissolv'd into
ubiquity of
Flowers.
9.
Idera
on point of Honour
stands,
My
Soul by right of
conquest she demands:
All that of my self is mine,
I to
Hemiera resign.
10.
But if
Idera, with
disdain,
Would make me
fear, not
love her, 'tis in vain:
She'll
repent, when 'tis
too late:
I'll sooner undergo
Saguntum's Fate.
Me mea disperdat nullo prohibente puella,
Si satis una potest: si minus una, duae.
To P. P. being to run a Race after Dinner.
SHarp
Gormandizer! heavy-heel'd
Racer! run
With nimble
Chaps; and to supply them,
eat
A hearty Meal with your defective
Feet:
By this
exchange the
Race is eas'ly
won.
An Epigram out of
Alphaeus Mitylenaeus. To Mr.
Humphry Lind.
Mediocrity.
WE envy not,
Philaphelus! the
Great,
Nor would pull down their
Pinacles of
State:
Nor prop them up, projecting to aspire:
A
Competency only we desire.
Yet
Poverty we would not hug as
such,
Lest
ne quid nimis we should love too much.
Another. To Mr.
Denham.
Diogenes in his Kingdom.
WHen the old
Cynicks shade with
Croesus met,
He smil'd to see the meager
Monarch fret;
And thus accosted him—
But why so pale?
What, doos the Yellow Jaundice still prevail?
No—
Croesus! no—for all your earthly store,
You, call'd to an account, not I, am poor.
All that I had, here I have with me brought,
You've travell'd to another World with nothing fraught.
An EPITAPH on old
Oliver.
To Mr.
Andrew Snapes.
LIe light, thou Earth,
on Noll'
s soft Noddle;
His
Corps in
Putrefaction coddle.
Lie light,
that Dogs
may smell
and rave
To
scratch the
Tyrant from his
Grave:
That
Dogs may lay his
Carcase bare,
And
Messes of his
Mummy tear.
Dogs his polluted
Gelly sup,
And dig the
Devil's Relicks up.
A Greek EPIGRAM. A short Life and a sweet. To his dear Friend Mr. Edw. Taylour.
MY
Fortune-tellers this ill
Caution give,
Oh! 'tis sad news, I have not long to live.
So say my
Stars and
they, but what care I?
Sooner or later, all must die.
But let us stay and
drink before we go,
'Tis a way I never went, and do not know.
Bacchus is well acquainted with the Road,
And never goes this
Stage without a
load.
On such a
Horse if I below can
ride,
Why should I go on
foot without a
Guide?
To Mr. Henry Palmer, going to Sea.
THrow not
my life away, of
your own free,
'Tis tender Mother Earth,
but Stepdame Sea.
To Mr.
Butler.
A Greek EPIGRAM.
I In the
flower of my
days was
poor,
Now
Age comes
creeping with unwelcome
store.
Unhappy still!
I can't my self enjoy:
My
hopes of
Heaven two
Extreams destroy;
And will not let me my
desires fulfil,
Then want of
Power, now a want of
Will.
To his dear Friend Mr. Will. Percival. That Poetry is Witchcraft.
WIth
Legion sure the
Muses are possest,
That
play the Devil in every inspir'd
breast.
What
Epidemick Plague runs in mens
Veins?
What an
eternal dribling of the
Brains?
My greatest
Enemy I'd wish no
worse,
Than th'
Itch of
Scribling, and a
Poet's Curse.
Antipater's Epitaph upon
Homer.
To Mr.
John Penneck.
HEre lies (with
reverence to his sacred
Name)
The
Hero's Herald, and the
Trump of
Fame,
The World's
Poetick Tongue,
the Muses Flame.
The
Prophet of the
Gods, and
Greece's Sun,
Homer that
comprehends them all in
one.
To Mr.
Nat. Smith.
On a covetous old Miser, a religious Gripe.
W—the
Miser's Treasurer, old and grey,
For
fear of
want, would make himself away:
His
House in
order set, he falls to
Pray'r;
Then makes his
Will, and leaves himself
sole Heir.
But what a pity 'tis his
labour's lost,
At least a
Halter will a
Farthing cost.
No—he had rather
Hell's Election wait,
Than
buy a
Hanging at so
dear a
rate.
To Mr.
King.
A Greek Epigram against the Astrologers.
HOW canst thou,
Astrius, Heaven and
Earth survey?
Thou little
crum of a
small lump of
Clay!
First
know thy self, thy own
Dimensions find,
And take the narrow
compass of thy
Mind.
For if thou canst not
measure such a
Clod,
What wouldst thou do with all the
wondrous works. of
God?
To Mr. Hen. Fane.
POor
foolish Dick, stung by his Brother
Gnat,
Jump'd out of
Bed to fetch old
Proctor's Cat.
Mouser, thô a brave
Souldier, lost his sport,
For
Mouser could not speak the
Language of the
Court;
Nor understand what
formal Priscian said
In
Babel's Tongue, thô othewise
well bred.
With that
Don Quixot's Rival would engage
*
Gingerbread Gentleman in warlike rage,
[Page 167] Rapt out a terrible
dimidiate Oath,
And in his
own defence, Sir,
challeng'd both:
His
Rapier out of rusty
Scabbard drew;
But
Puss, who his undaunted
Courage knew,
All on a
sweat, down Stairs like
Lightning flew.
Nor shall he so escape by all the Gods,
(Says Sancho Pancho
Dick) for two to one is odds.
Spaniard tied
neck and heels he laid upon his back,
And hung him by his
Whiskers on the
Rack.
Friend
Gnat! (quoth he) thô now I'm almost spent,
Yet thy affront I cannot but resent.
All night I'll make thee at a distance keep,
Put on revenge when I put off my sleep.
This said, as
merciful as he was
stout,
(Candles Traditional, so long, so large, so white,
Worthy to give the King and
Dicky light;
Worthy to make a
† Fairy-ring on Birth-day-night.
Fit Torches for a Sacrifice to
Clio,
A heavenly Muse made of a waxen
Io.)
And then a
Hymn Poean the
Champion sang,
Defy'd Gnat, Bug,
or Flea,
all the Backbiting Gang.
And hugg'd himself to think they could not see to bite.
An EPIGRAM out of
Plato.
To Madam
Amara.
I
Lais! once a
heavenly Whore!
But now those happy days are o'er!
Sweet Lais! Divine Lais!
now no more.
This
Looking-glass to
Venus give,
My too true
Representative:
Since what I
am I
would not
see,
Since what I
was I
cannot be.
Me verò primum dulces ante omnia Musae
(Quarum sacra fero ingenti perculsus amore)
Accipiant.
Virg.
FINIS.