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No wonder death mov'd not his generous mind;
Whilf sleep does our duil bodies tie, You, and a new-born You, he left behind :
Methinks at home they should not stay, Ev’n Fate expressd his love to his dear wife,
Content with dreams, but boldly fiy And let him ond your picture with his life. 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, PROMETHEUS ILL-PAINTED.
Though we perceive 'r not to be fo!
Like loving stars, which oft combine, How wretched docs Prometheus' state
Yet not themselves their own conjunctions know, appear, Whilst he his fecond misery fuffers here!
"Twere an ill world, I'll swear, for every friend, Draw him no more; left, as he tortur'd stands,
If distance could their union end; He blame great Jove's less than the painter's hands.
But Lore itself does far advance It would the Vulture's crucity outgo,
Above the power of time and space; If once again his liver thus thould grow,
1t scorns fuch outward circumstance, Pity him, Jove! and his bold theit allow ;
His time’s for ever, every where his place.
Lodgid in each other's heart;
Absence itself does bounteous prove, ODE.
And strangely ev’n our prcsence multiply. TERE's to thee, Dick; this whining love
Pure is the flame of Friendship, and divine, despise;
Like that which in Heaven's fun does shine; Pledge me, my friend; and drink till thou be'st
He in the upper air and sky wife.
Does no effects of heat bestow ;
But, as his beams the farther fly,
He begets warmth, life, beauty, here below.
Friendship is less apparent when too nigh,
Like objects if they touch the eye.
Less meritorious then is love ;
For when we friends together see
So much, so much both one do prove,
That their love then seems but self-love to be.
For thee make hours canonical.
By every wind that comes this way, Whom vould it c'er persuade to court and love;
Send me, at least a sigh or two;
Such and so many I'li repay,
As shall themselves make winds to get to you.
To mock our separation.
Alas! ten thousand will not do :
My beart will thus no longer day;
No longer 'twill be kept from you,
But knocks against the breast to get away.
And, when no art affords me help or case,
I seek with verse my griefs i'appease; Here's to thee avain; thy fenfilcfs sorrows
Just as a bird, that flies about drown;
And beats itself against the cage,
Finding at latt no passage out,
It fits and fings, and so o'ercomes its rage.
TO THE BISHOP OF LINCOLN,
UPON HIS ENLARGEMENT OUT OF THE TOWER. FRIENDSHIP IN ABSENCE.
ARDON, my lord, that I am come fo late
My thoughts awhile, like you, imprison'd lay;
'Twas Nature taught you this rare art, Great joys, as well as forrows, make a stay ;
In such a little much to fhew;
Who, all the good she did impart
Is, as the ancients did not doubt to fing,
The turning years be well compar'à to'a ring The throng of gratulations now would be
We'll write wiatt'er from you we hear; Another loss to you of liberty.
For that's the posy of the year. When of your freedom men the news did hear.
'This difference only will remainWhere it was with 'd-for, that is every where,
That Time his frmer face does thew, "Twas like the fptech which from your lips does
Winding into himself again ; As soon as it was heard, it ravilh'd all.
But your unweary'd wit is always new. So cloquent Tully did from exile come;
'Tis said that conjurers have an art found out Thus long-d-for he return'd, and cherish'd Rome; | To carry spirits contin'd in rings about ; Which could no more his tongue and counsels
The wonder vow will less appear,
When we behold your magic here. Rome, the world's head, was nothing without You, by your rinys, do prisoners take, his.
And chain them with your mystic spells, Wrong to those sacred ashes I should do,
And, the strong witchcraft full to make, Should I compare any to him but you;
Love, the great devil, charm'd to those circles, You, to whom Art and Nature did dispense
dwells. The confulfhip of wit and eloquence.
They who above do various eircles find,
Say, like a ring th' Equator heaven does bind,
When heaven shall be adorn'd by thee For the whole world, without a native home,
(Which then more Heaven than 'tis will Is nothing but a prison of larger room.
be), But like a melting woman fusier'd he,
'Tis thou nust write the pery there; He who before out-did humanity;
Forji wanteth one as yet, Nor could his spirit conftant and stedfast prove,
Tho' the sun pass thro' 't twice a year; Whose art 't had been, and greatest end, to move.
The sun, who is eitcem'd the god of wit.
Harpy the hands which wear thy facred rings, Had your prosperity always clearly gone,
They'll teach trio hands to write myftcrious As your high merits would have led it on,
things. You 'ad half been loft, and an example then
Let other rings, with jewels bright, But for the happy-the least part of men.
Calt around their costly light; Your very sufferings did so graceful shew,
Let them want no roble stone, 'That some ftrait envy'd your affliction too;
By nature rich and art refind; For a clear conscience and heroic mind
Yet hall thy rings give place to none, la ills their busiаess and their glory find.
But only that which must thy marriage bind. So, though less worthy stones 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 opprel 'd than help'd by day. Your soul then molt thew'd her unconquer'd
PROLOGUE TO THE GUARDIAN: power, Was stronger and more armed than the Tower.
HO save the rimes do learning dilallow? Sare unkind Fate will compt your spirit no more; Sh' has try'd her weakness and your ftrength | When you appear, great Prince! our night is done;
before. T' oppose him ftill, who once has conquer'd so,
You are our morning-itar, and shall lo' our fun.
But our scene's Lon lon now; and by th: rout Were now to be your rebel, not your foe; Fortune henceforth will more of providence have,
We perish, if the Round-heads be about;
For now no ornament the head must wear, Aad rather be your friend than be your llav..
No bays, no mitre, not so much as hair.
Our only hope is this, thai it may be
A play may pass too, nade extempore.
Though oiher arts poor and neglected grow,
They'll adonit Poefy, which was always so.
And scorn no less their censure than their praise;
Our Muse, blest Prince! dues only' on you rely; Thou to few words all sense dost give. Would gladly live, but not refusu to die.
I LITTLE thought the time would ever be,
ON THE DEATH OF
Accept our hasty zeal! a thing that's play'd Say, for you saw us, ye immortal lights,
How oft unweary'd have we spent the nights,
Wonder'd at us from abovc! At other times expect our wit or art;
We spent them not in toys, in lusts, or wine; This comedy is acted by the heart.
But search of deep Philosophy,
Wit, Eloquence, and Poetry, drts which I lov’d, for they, my friend, were thine,
Ye fields of Cambridge, cur dear Cambridge, say THE EPILOGUE.
Have ye not seen u walking every day?
Was there a tree about which did not know 'HE play, great Sir! is done; yet needs must The love betwixt us two? fcar,
Henceforth, ye gentle trees, for ever fade; Though you brought all your father's mercies here,
Or your fad branches thicker join, It may offend your Highness; and we'ave now
And into darksome shades combine, Three hours done treason here, for aught we know. Dark as the grave wherein my friend is laid! But power your grace can above Nature give, It can give power to make abortives live;
Henceforth, no learned youths beneath you fing, 2. which, if our bold wishes fhould be croft,
Till all the tuneful birds to your boughs they 'Tis but the life of one poor week 'c has lost;
bring : Though it soould fall beneath your mortal scorn,
No tunelul birds play with their wonted chear, Scarec could it die more quickly thau 'twas borp.
And call the learned youths to hear;
But all with sad sole ninity,
Mute and unmoved be,
Mute as the grave wherein my friend does lie. MR. WILLIAM HERVEY.
To him my Muse made haste with every strain,
Whilft it was new and warm yet from the brain; “Immodicis brevis efi atas, S rara fenečius.”-MART.
He lov'd my worthless rhymes, and, like a friend,
Would find out fomething to commend. T was a and a night,
Hence now, my Muse! thou canst not me de
Be this my latest verse,
And this my grief, without thy help, shall write.
Had I a wreath of bays about my brow, Of some intolerable fate.
I should contemn that flourishing honour now; What bell was that? ah me! too much I know.
Condemn it to the fire, and joy to h ar
It rage and crackle there.
Cypress, which tombs does beautify;
Not Phæbus gricv'd, so much as I, O, thou hart left me all alone!
For him who first was made that niournful tree. Thy snul and body, when Death's agony Bufieg'd around thy noble heart,
Large was his soul; as large a soul as e'er Did not with more reluctance part,
Submitted to inform a body here; Than I, my dearest friend! do part from thee.
High as the place iwas shortly' in heaven to have,
But low and humble as his grave; My dearest friend, would I had dy'd for thee! So highı, that all the Virtues there did come, Liic and this world henceforth will tedious be.
As to their chiefcit feat
Conspicuous and great;
He scorn'd this busy world below, and all
That we, miitaken mortals! pleasure call; Alas! my treasure's gone! why do I say?
Was fild with innocent gallantry and truth,
Triumphant o'er the sins of youth. 'ie was my friend, the true st friend on earth; He, like the stars, to which he now is gone, 1 trong and mighty influence join'd our birth; That shine with beams like flame, lor did we envy the most founding name
l'et burn not with the same, By frienasip given of old to fame.
Had all the light of youth, of the fire none.
Knowledge he only sought, and so foon caughs. Ardevin in that we did agree,
As is for him Kowledge had rather sought; cur much above myself I lov'd them too.
Nor did more Learning ever crowded lie
In such a fort mortality.
I Scarce coufar the morn drive on the unwilling
Whene'er the skilful youth discours d or writ, There, whilft immortal hymns thou dost rehearse, Still did the notions throng
Thou dost with holy picy see About his eloquert tongue,
Our dull and earthly poesy, Nor could his ink flow faster than his wit. Where grief and misery can be join'd with verse. So strong a wit did Nature to him frame, As all things but his judgment overcame; His judgment like the heavenly moun did show, Tempering that mighty sea below.
IN IMITATION OF Horace's ODE,
Quis multâ gracilis te puer in rosa
Lib. I. OD.si His mirth was the pure fpirits of various wit,
O whom now, Pyrrha, art thou kind? Yet never did his God or friends forget;
To what heart-ravish'd lover And, when deep talk and wisdom came in view, Dost thou thy golden locks unbind, Retir'd, and gave to them their due:
Thy hidden sweets discover, For the rich help of books he always took,
And with large bounty open set Though his own searching mind before All the bright stores of thy rich cabinet ? Was so with notions written o'er
Ah, simple youth! how oft will he As if wife Nature had made that her book.
Of thy chang'd faith complain! So many virtues join'd in him, as we
And his own fortunes find to be Can scarce pick here and there in history;
So airy and fo vain, More than old writers' practice c'er could reach;
Of so camelion-like an hue, As much as they could ever teach.
That fill their colour changes with it too! These did Religion, Queen of virtues! fway ;
How oft, alas! will he admire And all their sacred motions steer,
The blackness of the skies! Just like the firit and higherł sphere,
Trembling to hear the wind found higher, Which wheels about, and turns all heaven one
And see the billows rise ? way.
Poor unexperienc'd he, With as much zeal, devotion, piety,
Who ne'er, alas! before had been at sea! He always liv'd, as other saints do die.
He' enjoys thy calmy sun-shine now, Still with his soul fevere account he kept,
And no breath stirring hears; Weeping all debts out ere hé lept;
In the clear heaven of thy brow Then down in peace and innocence he lay,
Nu smallest cloud appears. Like the sun's laborious light,
He sees thee gentle, fair, and gay, Which Still in water fets at night,
And trusts the faithless April of thy May. Unsullied with his journey of the day.
Unhappy, thrice unhappy, he, Wondrous young man! why wert thou made fo
T' whom thou untry'd doft fine ! good,
But there's no danger now for me, To be înaich'd hence ere better understood ?
Since o'er Loretto's fhrine, Snatch'd before half of thee enough was feca ! In witness of the shipwreck past, Thou ripe, and yet thy life but green!
My consecrated veel hangs at last. Nor could thy friends take their last fad farewell;
But danger and infectious death
Maliciously feiz'd on that breath
“ Si tecum mibi, cbare Martialis," 8°c. L. 5. Ep. 21. The place now only free from those. There 'mong the blest thou doft for ever r shine,
TF, dearest friend, it my good fate might be And, whercloe'er thou casts thy view, Upon that white and radiant crew,
If we for happiness could leisure find, Sce't not a foul cloath'd with more light than And wandering time into a method bind; thine,
We should not sure the great-men's favour need, And, if the glorious faints cease not to know Nor on long hopes the court's thin diet, feed; Their wretched friends who fight with life We should not patience find daily to hear below,
The calumınics and flatteries spoken there; Thy flame to me does still the same abide,
We should not the lords' tables humbly use, Only more pure and rarefy'd.
Or talk in ladies' chambers love and news; VOL. II.
IN IMITATION OF
But books, and wife discourse, gardens and Wondrous beautiful her face! fields,
But so weak and small her wit, And all the joys that unmixt Nature yields ; That she to govern was unfit, Thick summer shades, where winter still does lie,
And so Susanna took her place. Bright winter fires, that summer's part supply;
But when Isabella came, Sleep, not control'd by cares, confin'd to night,
Arm'd with a resistless flame, Or bound in any rule but appetite;
And th' artillery of her eye; Free, but not savage or ungracious mirth,
Whilst the proudly march'd about, Rich wines, to give it quick and easy birth;
Greater conquests to find out,
She beat out Susan by the bye.
Black-cy'd Pess, her viceroy-maid;
To whom ensued a vacancy:
Thousand werse paslions then posest
Bless me from such an anarchy!
Gentle Henrietta then,
And a third Mary, next began ;
Then Joan, and Jane, and Audria ;
And then a pretty Thomasine,
And then another Katharine,
And then a long et catera.
But should I now to you relate, MARC temember well , my breast,
The strength 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 should tul the politic arts
To take and keep men's hearts;
The letters, emballies, and spics,
The frowns, and smiles, and flatteries, (Though loth andargry she to part
The quarrils, tears, and perjuries With the poflcfiion of my heart)
(Numberless, nameless, mysteries :) Tu Eliza's conquering face.
And all the little lime-twigs laid,
By Machiavel the waiting-maid;
I more voluminous should grow
(Chiefly if I like them should tell Ard ilill new lavourites she chosc,
All change of weathers that befell)
Than Holinched or Stow.
But I will briefer with them be,
Since few of them were long with me.
An higher and a nobler strain
My present Emperess dues claim,
Helconora, firit o' th' name;
Whom God grant long to reign! -
And did rigorous laws impose;
TO SIR WILLIAM DAVENANT,
FIRST BOOKS OF GONDIBERT,
FINISHED BEFORE HIS VOYACE TO AMERICA.
ETHINKS heroic poesy till now.
Like some fantastic fairy-land did show;
Gods, devils, nymphs, witches, and giants' race, For the gracious princels dy'd, In her youth and beauty's pride,
And all but man, in man's chief work had place.
Thou, like some worthy knight with lacres And Judith reigned in her stead.
arms, One month, three days, and half an hour, Doft drive the monsters thence, and end the
Judith held the sovereign power;
UTO X HIS