TERE's to thee, Dick; this whining love defpife;

Η HERE

Pledge me, my friend; and drink till thou be'ft wife.

It fparkles brighter far than fhe:
'Tis pure and right, without deceit;
And fuch no woman ere will be:
No; they are all fophifticate.

With all thy fervile pains what can't thou win,
But an ill-favour'd and uncleanly fin?

A thing fo vile, and fo fhort-liv'd,
That Venus' joys, as well as the,
With reafon may be faid to be
From the neglected foam deriv'd.

Whom would that painted toy a beauty move;
Whom would it e'er perfuade to court and love;

Could he a woman's heart have feen

(But oh! no light does thither come),
And view'd her perfectly within,
When he lay fhut up in her womb?

Follies they have fo numberlefs in store,
That only he who loves them can have more.
Neither their fighs nor tears are true;
Thofe idly blow, thefe idly fall,
Nothing like to ours at all:
But fighs and tears have fexes too.
Here's to thee again; thy fenflefs forrows
drown;

Let the lafs walk till all things too go round!
Again, till thefe two lights be four;
No error here can dangerous prove;
Thy palion, man, deceiv'd thee more;
None double fee like men in love.

Whilft fleep does our dull bodies tie,
Methinks at home they fhould not stay,
Content with dreams, but boldly fly
Abroad, and meet each other half the way.
Sure they do meet, enjoy each other there,
And mix, I know not how nor where!
Their friendly lights together twine,
Though we perceive 't not to be fo!
Like loving stars, which oft combine,
Yet not themselves their own conjunctions know.
'Twere an ill world, I'll fwear, for every friend,
If distance could their union end;
But Love itself does far advance
Above the power of time and space;
It fcorns fuch outward circumstance,
His time's for ever, every where his place.
I'm there with thee, yet here with me thou art,
Lodg'd in each other's heart;
Miracles ceafe not yet in love.
When he his mighty power
will try,
Abfence itself does bounteous prove,
And strangely ev'n our prefence multiply.
Pure is the flame of Friendship, and divine,
Like that which in Heaven's fun does fine;
He in the upper air and sky
Does no effects of heat beftow;
But, as his beams the farther fly,

He begets warmth, life, beauty, here below.
Friendship is lefs apparent when too nigh,
Like objects if they touch the eye.
Lefs meritorious then is love;
For when we friends together fee

So much, fo much both one do prove,
That their love then feems but felf-love to be.
Each day think on me, and each day i shall
For thee make hours canonical.
By every wind that comes this way,
Send me, at least a figh or two;
Such and fo many I'll repay,
As fhall themselves make winds to get to you.
A thousand pretty ways we'll think upon,
To mock our feparation.

Alas ten thoufand will not do:
My heart will thus no longer flay;
No longer 'twill be kept from you,
But knocks against the breast to get away.
And, when no art affords me help or cafe,
I feek with verfe my griefs t' appeafe;
Juft as a bird, that flies about
And beats itself against the cage,
Finding at last no paffage out,
It fits and fings, and fo o'ercomes its rage.

FRIENDSHIP IN ABSENCE.

HEN chance or cruel bufinefs parts us two,

WWIN chance or feel bufnefs,

TO THE BISHOP OF LINCOLN, UPON HIS ENLARGEMENT OUT OF THE TOWER.

PARDON, my I am coffee l

ARDON, my lord, that I am come fo late

So, when injurious Chance did you deprive
Of liberty, at first I could not grieve;

My thoughts awhile, like you, imprifon'd lay;
Great joys, as well as forrows, make a stay ;
They hinder one another in the crowd,

And none are heard, whilft all would speak aloud.
Should every man's officious gladness haste,'
And be afraid to fhew itself the laft,

The throng of gratulations now would be
Another lofs to you of liberty.

When of your freedom men the news did hear.
Where it was wifh'd-for, that is every where,
'Twas like the fpeech which from your lips does
fall;

As foon as it was heard, it ravifh'd all.

So eloquent Tully did from exile come;
Thus long'd for he return'd, and cherish'd Rome;
Which could no more his tongue and counfels
mifs;

Rome, the world's head, was nothing without his.

Wrong to thofe facred afhes I fhould do,
Should I compare any to him but you;
You, to whom Art and Nature did difpenfe
The confulfhip of wit and eloquence.
Nor did your fate differ from his at all,
Because the doom of exile was his fall;

For the whole world, without a native home,
Is nothing but a prifon of larger room.
But like a melting woman fuffer'd he,
He who before out-did humanity;

Nor could his fpirit conftant and stedfaft prove,
Whofe art 't had been, and greatest end, to move.
You put ill-fortune in fo good a drefs,
That it out-fhone other men's happiness;
Had your profperity always clearly gone,
As your high merits would have led it on,
You 'ad half been loft, and an example then
But for the happy-the leaft part of men.
Your very fufferings did fo graceful fhew,
That fome ftrait envy'd your affliction too;
For a clear confcience and heroic mind
la ills their bufinefs and their glory find.
So, though lefs worthy ftones are drown'd in night,
The faithful diamond keeps his native light,
And is oblig'd to darkness for a ray,
That would be more oppref 'd than help'd by day.
Your foul then moft fhew'd her unconquer'd
power,

Was ftronger and more armed than the Tower.
Sure unkind Fate will tempt your spirit no more;
Sh' has try'd her weakness and your strength
before.

T'oppofe him ftill, who once has conquer'd fo,
Were now to be your rebel, not your foe;
Fortune henceforth will more of providence have,
And rather he your friend than be your flave.

'Twas Nature taught you this rare art,
In fuch a little much to fhew;
Who, all the good the did impart

To womankind, epitomiz'd in you.

If, as the ancients did not doubt to fing,
The turning years be well compar'd to' a ring
We'll write whate'er from you we hear;
For that's the pofy of the year.
This difference only will remain—
That Time his former face does fhew,
Winding into himself again;

But your unweary'd wit is always new.
"Tis faid that conjurers have an art found out
To carry fpirits confin'd in rings about;

The wonder now will lefs appear,
When we behold your magic here.
You, by your rings, do prifoners take,
And chain them with your myftic fpells,
And, the ftrong witchcraft full to make,
Love, the great devil, charm'd to thofe circles,
dwells.

They who above do various eircles find,
Say, like a ring th' Equator heaven does bind.
When heaven fhall be adorn'd by thee
(Which then more Heaven than 'tis will
be),

'Tis thou must write the pefy there;
For it wanteth one as yet,

Tho' the fun pafs thro''t twice a year; The fun, who is eftcem'd the god of wit.

Happy the hands which wear thy facred rings, They'll teach thofe hands to write myftcrious things.

Let other rings, with jewels bright,

Caft, around their coftly light;
Let them want no noble ftone,

By nature rich and art refin'd;

Yet fhall thy rings give place to none, But only that which muft thy marriage bind.

PROLOGUE TO THE GUARDIAN:

BEFORE THE PRINCE.

WHO fave the times do learning difallow?

'Tis falfe; 'twas never honour'd fo as now. When you appear, great Prince! our night is done; You are our morning-ftar, and fhall be' our fun. But our fcene's London now; and by the rout We perish, if the Round-heads be about; For now no ornament the head must wear, No bays, no mitre, not fo much as hair. How can a play pafs fafely, when ye know Cheapfide-crofs falls for making but a fhow? Our only hope is this, that it may be A play may pass too, made extempore. Though other arts poor and neglected grow, They'll admit Poefy, which was always fo. But we contemn the fury of these days, And fcorn no lefs their cenfure than their praife; Our Mufe, bleft Prince! dues only' on you rely; Would gladly live, but not refufe to die.

light,

When fleep, death's image, left my troubled breaft,
By fomething liker death poffeft.

My eyes with tears did uncomnianded flow,
And on my foul hung the dull weight
Of fome intolerable fate.

What bell was that? ah me! too much I know.

My fweet companion, and my gentle peer,
Why haft thou left me thus unkindly here,
Thy end for ever, and my life, to moan?
O, thou haft left me all alone!
Thy foul and body, when Death's agony
Beficg'd around thy noble heart,

Did not with more reluctance part,
Than I, my dearest friend! do part from thee.
My dearest friend, would I had dy'd for thee!
Life and this world henceforth will tedious be.
Nor fhall I know hereafter what to do,

If once my griefs prove tecious too. Silent and fad I walk about all day,

As fullen ghofts ftalk fpeechless by
Where their hid treasures lie;
Alas! my treasure's gone! why do I flay?
Tie was my friend, the trucft friend on earth;
Aftrong and mighty influence join'd our birth;
Nor did we envy the moft founding name

By friendship given of old to fame.
None but his brethren he and filters knew,
Whom the kind youth preferr'd to me;
And ev'n in that we did agree,
Tor much above myfelf I lov'd them too.

Say, for you faw us, ye immortal lights,
How oft unweary'd have we spent the nights,
Till the Ledaan ftars, fo fam'd for love,
Wonder'd at us from above!

We spent them not in toys, in lufts, or wine;
But fearch of deep Philofophy,

Wit, Eloquence, and Poetry,

Arts which I lov'd, for they, my friend, were thine.
Ye fields of Cambridge, our dear Cambridge, fay
Have ye not feen u walking every day?

Was there a tree about which did not know
The love betwixt us two?

Henceforth, ye gentle trees, for ever fade;
Or your fad branches thicker join,
And into darkfome shades combine,
Dark as the grave wherein my friend is laid!
Henceforth, no learned youths beneath you fing,
Till all the tuneful birds to' your boughs they
bring;

No tuneful birds play with their wonted chear,
And call the learned youths to hear;
No whistling winds through the glad branches fly;
But all with fad folemnity,

Mute and unmoved be,

Mute as the grave wherein my friend does lie.

To him my Mufe made hafte with every ftrain, Whilft it was new and warm yet from the brain; He lov'd my worthlefs rhymes, and, like a friend, Would find out fomething to commend.

Hence now, my Mufe! thou canft not me delight;

Be this my latest verse,"

With which I now adorn his hearse; And this my grief, without thy help, fhall write. Had I a wreath of bays about my brow,

I fhould contemn that flourishing honour now; Condemn it to the fire, and joy to hear

It rage and crackle there.

Inftead of bays, crown with fad cypress me;
Cyprefs, which tombs does beautify;
Not Phoebus griev'd, fo much as 1,
For him who firft was made that mournful tree.

Large was his foul; as large a foul as c'er
Submitted to inform a body here;
High as the place twas fhortly' in heaven to have,
But low and humble as his grave;

So high, that all the Virtues there did come,
As to their chiefcft feat
Confpicuous and great;

So low, that for me too it made a room.
He fcorn'd this bufy world below, and all
That we, mistaken mortals! pleasure call;
Was fill'd with innocent gallantry and truth,
Triumphant o'er the fins of youth.
He, like the ftars, to which he now is gone,
That fhine with beams like flame,
Yet burn not with the fame,
Had all the light of youth, of the fire none.
Knowledge he only fought, and fo foon caught,
As if for him Kowledge had rather fought;
Nor did more Learning ever crowded lie
In fuch a fhort mortality.

Whene'er the fkilful youth difcours'd or writ,
Still did the notions throng
About his eloquent tongue,

Nor could his ink flow fafter than his wit.

So ftrong a wit did Nature to him frame,
As all things but his judgment overcame;
His judgment like the heavenly moon did show,
Tempering that mighty fea below.

Oh! had he liv'd in Learning's world, what

bound

Would have been able to control

His over-powering foul!

We 'ave loft in him arts that not yet are found.

His mirth was the pure fpirits of various wit,
Yet never did his God or friends forget;
And, when deep talk and wisdom came in view,
Retir'd, and gave to them their due:
For the rich help of books he always took,
Though his own fearching mind before
Was fo with notions written o ́er

As if wife Nature had made that her book.
So many virtues join'd in him, as we
Can fearce pick here and there in hiftory;
More than old writers' practice e'er could reach;
As much as they could ever teach.
Thefe did Religion, Queen of virtues! fway;
And all their facred motions steer,

Just like the first and highest sphere, Which wheels about, and turns all heaven one way.

With as much zeal, devotion, piety,
He always liv'd, as other faints do die.
Still with his foul fevere account he kept,

Weeping all debts out ere hé flept;
Then down in peace and innocence he lay,
Like the fun's laborious light,
Which still in water fets at night,
Unfallied with his journey of the day.
Wondrous young man! why wert thou made so
good,

To be fnatch'd hence ere better understood?
Snatch'd before half of thee enough was feca!
Thou ripe, and yet thy life but green!
Nor could thy friends take their last fad farewell;
But danger and infectious death
Malicioufly feiz'd on that breath
Where life, fpirit, pleasure, always us'd to dwell.
But happy thou, ta'en from this frantic age,
Where ignorance and hypocrify does rage!
A fitter time for heaven no foul ere chofe,

The place now only free from those.
There 'mong the bleft thou doft for ever shine,
And, wherefoe'er thou cafts thy view,
Upon that white and radiant crew,
Sce'ft not a foul cloath'd with more light than
thine.

And, if the glorious faints ceafe not to know Their wretched friends who fight with life below,

Thy flame to me does ftill the fame abide,

Only more pure and rarefy'd.

VOL. II.

To art

O whom now, Pyrrha, art thou kind?

Doft thou thy golden locks unbind,

Thy hidden fweets difcover,
And with large bounty open fet
All the bright ftores of thy rich cabinet?
Ah, fimple youth! how oft will he

Of thy chang'd faith complain!
And his own fortunes find to be
So airy and fo vain,

Of fo camelion-like an hue,
That fill their colour changes with it too!
How oft, alas! will he admire

The blackness of the fkies!
Trembling to hear the wind found higher,
And fee the billows rife?
Poor unexperienc'd he,

Who ne'er, alas! before had been at fea!

He' enjoys thy calmy fun-fhine now,

And no breath ftirring hears; In the clear heaven of thy brow

No fmalleft cloud appears.

He fees thee gentle, fair, and gay, And trufts the faithlefs April of thy May, Unhappy, thrice unhappy, he,

T" whom thou untry'd doft shine! But there's no danger now for me,

Since o'er Loretto's fhrine,

In witness of the fhipwreck paft, My confecrated veffel hangs at laft.

But books, and wife difcourfe, gardens and fields,

And all the joys that unmixt Nature yields;
Thick fummer fhades, where winter ftill does lie,
Bright winter fires, that fummer's part fupply;
Sleep, not control'd by cares, confin'd to night,
Or bound in any rule but appetite;
Free, but not favage or ungracious mirth,
Rich wines, to give it quick and eafy birth;

A few companions, which curfelves fhould chufe,
A gentle miftrefs, and a gentler Mufe.

Wondrous beautiful her face: But fo weak and fmall her wit, That fhe to govern was unfit,

And fo Sufanna took her place. But when Ifabella came,

Arm'd with a refiftlefs flame, And th' artillery of her eye; Whilft the proudly march'd about, Greater conquests to find out,

She beat out Sufan by the bye.

fhould be

Our place, our bufinefs, and our company.
Now to himself, alas! does neither live,
But fees good funs, of which we are to give
A ftrict account, fet and march thick away;
Knows a man how to live, and does he itay?

THE

CHRONICLE.

A BALLAD.

ARGARITA first poffeft,
If I remember well, my breast,
Margarita first of all;

But when awhile the wanton maid
With my reflefs heart had play'd,
Martha took the flying ball.

Martha foon did it refign

To the beauteous Catharine. Beauteous Catharine gave place (Though loth and angry fhe to part With the poffeffion of my heart)

To Eliza's conquering face.
Eliza till this hour might reign,

Had fhe not evil counfels ta'en.
Fundamental laws fhe broke,
And fill new favourites fhe chofe,
Till up in arms my paffions refe,
And caft away her yoke.

Mary then, and gentle Anne,

Both to reign at once began;
Alternately they fway'd;

And fometimes Mary was the fair,

And fometimes Anne the crown did wear,

And fometimes both I' obcy'd.

Another Mary then arofe,

And did rigorous laws impofe;
A mighty tyrant fhe!

Long, alas! fhould I have been
Under that iron-fcepter'd queen,

Had not Rebecca fet me free.

When fair Rebecca fut me free,

'Twas then a golden time with me:
But foon thofe pleafures fled;

For the gracious princefs dy'd,
In her youth and beauty's pride,

And Judith reigned in her ftead.

One month, three days, and half an hour, Judith held the fovereign power;

Black-ey'd Befs, her viceroy-maid;
To whom enfued a vacancy:
Thoufand werfe paflions then poffeft
The interregnum of my breast;

Blefs me from fuch an anarchy!

Gentle Henrietta then,

And a third Mary, next began;
Then Joan, and Jane, and Audria;
And then a pretty Thomafine,
And then another Katharine,

And then a long et cætera.

But fhould I now to you relate,

The ftrength and riches of their state;
The powder, patches and the pins,

The ribbons, jewels, and the rings,
The lace, the paint, and warlike things,
That make up all their magazines;

If I fhould tell the politic arts

To take and keep men's hearts; The letters, embaffies, and fpics, The frowns, and fmiles, and flatteries, The quarrels, tears, and perjuries

(Numberlefs, nameless, mysteries!)

And all the little lime-twigs laid,

By Machiavel the waiting-maid;
I more voluminous fhould grow
(Chiefly if I like them fhould tell
All change of weathers that befell)
Than Holinfhed or Stow.

But I will briefer with them be,

Since few of them were long with me.
An higher and a nobler strain

My prefent Empere fs does claim,

Heleonora, first o' th' name;

Whom God grant long to reign!