TO THE DUTCHESS OF

They build themselves a nest :

To strike me: doubtless there had been a fray, From too much poetry, which shines

Had not I providently skipp'd away
With gold in nothing but its lines,

Without replying; for to scold is ill,
Free, O you powers ! my breast. Where every tongue's the clapper of a mill,
And from astronomy, which in the skies

And can out-sound Homer's Gradivus ; so
Finds fish and bulls, yet doth but tantalize. Away got I: but ere I far did go,
From your court-madams' beauty, which doth I flung (the darts of wounding poetry)

These two or three sharp curses back: “May he At morning May, at night a January : (carry

Be by his father in his study took
From the grave city brow

At Shakespeare's plays, instead of my lord Coke ! (For though it want an R, it has The letter of Pythagoras)

May he (though all his writings grow as si in

As Butter's out of estimation)
Keep me, O Fortune, now !
And chines of beef innumerable send me,

Get him a poet's name, and so ne'er come

Into a serjeant's or dead judge's room! Or from the stomach of the guard defend me.

May he become some poor physician's prey,
This only grant me, that my means may lie Who keeps men with that conscience in delay
Too low for envy, for contempt too high.

As he his client doth, till his health be
Some honour I would have,

As far-fetcht as a Greek noun's pedigree !
Not from great deeds, but good alone;

Nay, for all that, may the disease be gone
Th' unknown are better than ill-known;

Never but in the long vocation !
Rumour can ope the grave !

May neighbours use all quarrels to decide;
Acquaintance I would have; but when 't depends But if for law any to London ride,
Not from the number, but the choice, of friends. Of all those clients let not one be his,
Books should, not business, entertain the light;

Unless he come in forma pauperis !
And sleep, as undisturb'd as death, the night.

Grant this, ye gods that favour poetry!
My house a cottage more

That all these never-ceasing tongues may be
Than palace; and should fitting be

Brought into reformation, and not dare For all my use, no luxury.

To quarrel with a thread-bare black: but spare My garden painted o'er

Them who bear scholars' names, lest some one take With Nature's hand, not Art's

; that pleasures yield Spleen, and another Ignoramus make.”
Horace might envy in his Sabine field.
Thus would I double my life's fading space;
For he that runs it well, twice runs his race.

BUCKINGHAM.
And in this true delight,

If I should say, that in your face were seen
These unbought sports, and happy state,

Nature's best picture of the Cyprian queen ;
I would not fear, nor wish, my fate;

If I should swear, under Minerva's name,
But boldly say, each night,

Poets (who prophets are) foretold your fame; To morrow let my Sun his beams display,

The future age would think it flattery; Or in clouds hide them; I have liv'd to day? But to the present, which can witness be,

"Twould seem beneath your high deserts, as far A POETICAL REVENGE.

As you above the rest of women are.

When Manners' name with Villiers' join'd I set W ESTMINSTER-hall a friend and I agreed

How do I reverence your nobility!
To meet in ; he (some business 'twas did breed But when the virtues of your stock I view,
His absence) came not there; I up did go

(Envy'd in your dead lord, admir'd in you) To the next court; for though I could not know i half adore them; for what woman can, Much what they meant, yet I might see and hear Besides yourself (nay, I might say what man) (As most spectators do at theatre)

But sex, and birth, and fate, and years excel Things very strange: Fortune did seem to grace In mind, in fame, in worth, in living well? My coming there, and helpt me to a place.

Oh, how had this begot idolatry, But, being newly settled at the sport,

If you had liv'd in the world's infancy, A semi-gentleman of the inns of court,

When man's too much religion made the best In a satin suit, redeem'd but yesterday,

Or deities, or semi-gods at least !
One who is ravish'd with a cock-pit play,

But we, forbidden this by piety,
Who prays God to deliver him from no evil Or, if we were not, by your modesty,
Besides a taylor's bill, and fears no devil

Will make our hearts an altar, and there pray Besides a serjeant, thrust me from my seat:

Not to, but for, you ; nor that England may At which I 'gan to quarrel, till a neat

Enjoy your equal, when you once are gone, Man in a ruff (whom therefore I did take

But, what's more possible, t'enjoy you long.
For barrister) open'd his mouth and spake;
Boy, get you gone, this is no school.” “Oh no;

TO HIS VERY MUCH HONOURED
For, if it were, all you gown'd men would go
Up for false Latin.” They grew straight to be

GODFATHER, MR. A. B.
Incens'd; I fear'd they would have brought on me

I LOVE (for that upon the wings of Fame An action of trespass: till the young man

Shall perhaps mock Death or Time's darts) my Aforesaid, in the satin suit, began

I love it more, because'twas given by you ; * The three concluding stanzas of this poem are I love it most, because 'twas your name too ; introduced by Mr. Cowley in his Essays in Verse For if I chance to slip, a conscious shame and Prose, N.

Plucks me, and bids me not defile your name,

name.

I'm glad that city, t'whom I ow'd before
(But, ah me! Fate hath crost that wiiling score)
A father, gave me a godfather too;
And I'm more glad, because it gave me you ;

Whom I may rightly think, and term, to be

Of the whole city an epitoine.
I thank my careful Fate, which found out one
(When Nature had not licensed my tongue
Farther than cries) who should my office do ;
I thank hier more, because she found out you:

In whose each look I may a sentence see;

In whose each deed, a teaching homily. llow shall I pay this debt to you? My fate Denies me Indian pearl or Persian plate; Which though it did not, to requite you thus, Were to send apples to Alcinous,

And sell the cunning'st way.-No! when I can,

In every leaf, in every verse, write Man;
When my quill relisheth a school no more ;
When my pen-feather'd Muse hath leamt to soar,
And gotten wings as well as feet; look then
For equal thanks from my unwearied pen:

Till future ages say, 'twas you did give'
A name to me, and I made yours to live.

His learning bad out-run the rest of heirs,
Stol'n beard from Time, and leapt to twenty years.
And, as the Sun, though in full glory bright,
Shines upon all men with inpartial light,
And a good-morrow to the beggar brings
With as full rays as to the mightiest kings :
So he, although his worth just state might claim,
And give to pride an honourable name,
With courtesy to all, cloath'd virtue so,
That 'twas not higher than his thoughts were low.
In 's body tou no critique eye could find
The smallest blemish, to belye his mind;
He was all pureness, and his outward part
But represents the picture of his heart.
When waters swallow'd mankind, and did cheat
The hungry worin of its expected meat;
When gems, pluckt from the shore by ruder hand's,
Return'd again unto their native sands;
Mongst all those spoils, there was not any prey
Could equal what this brook hath stul'n away.
Weep then, sad Flood; and, though thou’rt innocent,
Weep because Fate madthee her instrument:
And, when long grief hath drunk up all thy store,
Come to vur eyes, and we will lend thee more.

A TRANSLATION OF

VERSES UPON THE BLESSED VIRGIN,

WRITTEN IN LATIN BY THE RIGHT WORSHIPFUL DR. A.

AVY MARIA.

Once thou rejoiced'st, and rejoi e for ever,
Whose time of joy shall be expired nerer :
Who in her womb the hive of comfort bears,
Let her drink comfurt's honey with her ears.
You brought the word of joy, in which was bom
An bail to all! let us an hail return !
From you “God save" into the world there came;
Our coho hail is but an empty name.

AN ELEGY
ON THE DEATH OP JOHN LITTLETON, ESQUIRE,

SON AND HEIR TO SIR THOMAS LITTLETON,
WHO WAS DROWNED LEAPING INTO THE WATER TO

SAVE HIS YOUNGER BROTHER.
And must these waters smile again, and play
About the shore, as they did yesterday?
Will the Sun court them still? and shall they show
No conscious wrinkle furrow'd on their brow,
That to the thirsty traveller may say,
“ I am accurst; go turn some other way?"

It is unjust: black Flood ! thy guilt is more,
Sprung from his loss, than all thy watery store
Can give thee tears to mourn for: birds shall be,
And beasts, henceforth afraid to drink of thee.

What have I said ? my pious rage hath been
Too hut, and acts, whilst it accuseth, sin.
Thou’rt innocent, I know, still clear and bright,
Fit whence so pure a soul should take its flight.
How is angry zeal confin'd! for he
Must quarrel with his love and piety,
That would revenge his death. Oh, I shall sin,
And wish anon he had less virtuous been.
For when his brother (tears for him I'd spill,
But they 're all challeng'd by the greater ill)
Struggled for life with the rude waves, he too
Leapt in, and when hope no faint beaṁ could show,
His charity shone most: “Thou shalt,” said he,
“ Live with me, brother, or I'll die with thee;"
And so he did! Had he been thine, O Rome!
Thou would'st hare call'd this death a martyrdom,
And sainted him. My conscience give me leave,
I'll do so too: if Fate will us bereave
Of him we honour'd living, there must be
A kindof reverence to his memory,
After his death; and where more just than here,
Where life and end were both so singular?
He that had only talk'd with him, might find
A little academy in his mind ;
Where Wisdom master was, and fellows all
Which we can good, which we can virtuous, call:
Reason, and Holy Fear, the proctors were,
To apprehend those words, those thoughts, that err,

GRATIA PLENA.
How loaded hives are with their honey filld,
From divers flowers by chymic bees distill'd!
How full the collct with his jewel is,
Which, that it cannot take by love, doth kiss :
How full the Moon is with her brother's ray,
When she drinks-up with thirsty orb the day!
How full of grace the Graces' dances are !
So full doth Mary of God's light appear.
It is no wonder if with Graces she
Be full, who was full of the Deity.

DOMINUS TECUM.
The fall of mankind under Death's extent
The quire of blessed angels did lament,
And wish'd a reparation to see
By him, who mavhood join’d with deity.
How grateful should man's safety then appear
Thimself, whose safety can the angels cheer!

BENEDICTA TU IN MULIERIRUS.
Death came, and troops of sad Diseases led
To th' Earth, by woman's hand solicited :
Life came so too, and troops of Graces led
To th’ Earth, by woman's faith solicited.
As our life's springs came from thy blessed womb,
So from our mouths springs of thy praise sball

THAT

A PLEASANT POVERTY IS TO

BEFORE DISCONTENTED RICIES.

Who did life's blessing give, 'tis fit that sbe, The laurel to the poet's hand did bow,
Above all women, should thrice blessed be.

Craving the honour of his brow;

And every loving arm embrac'd, and made ET BENEDICTUS FRUCTUS VENTRIS TUI,

With their officious leaves a shade. Wrre mouth divine the Father duth protest,

The beasts too strove his auditors to be, He a good word sent from bis stored breast;

Forgetting their old tyranny.

The fearful bart next to the lion came,
'Twas Christ : which Mary, without carnal thought,
From the u nfathom'd depth of goodness brought : Nightingales, harmless Syrens of the air,

And wolf was shepherd to the launb.
The word of blessing a just cause affords
To be oft blessed with redoubled words !

And Muses of the place, were there;
Who, when their little winipipes they had found

Unequal to so strange a sound,
SPIRITUS SANCTUS SUPERVENIET IN TE.

O'ercome by art and grief they did expire,
As when soft west-winds strook the garden-rosé, And fell upon the conquering lyre.
A shower of sweeter air salutes the nose;

Happy, O happy they, whose tomb might be, The breath gives sparing kisses, nor with power

Mausolus! envied by thee!
Unlocks the virgin-bosom of the flower:

ODE II.
So the Holy Spirit upon Mary blow'd,
And from her sacred box whole rivers flowed :

BE PREFERRED
Yet loos'd not thine eternal chastity;
Thy rose's folds do still entangled lie.
Believe Christ born from an unbruised womb,

Why, O! doth gaudy Tagus ravish thee, Su from unbruised barl. the odours come.

Though Neptune's treasure-house it be?

Why doth Pactolus thee bewitch, ET VIRTUS ALTISSIMI OBUMBRABIT TIBI.

Infected yet with Midas' glorious itch? God his great Son begot ere time begun;

Their dull and sleepy streams are not at all, Mary in time brought forth her little son,

Like other foods, poetical ; Of double substance One; life he began,

They have no dance, no wanton sport, God without mother, without father, man.

No gentle murmur, the lov'd shore to court. Great is the birth ; and 'tis a stranger deed

No fish inhabit the adulterate food, That she no man, than God no wife, should need;

Nor can it feed the neighbouring wood; A shade del ghted the child-bearing majd,

No flower or herb is near it found, And God himself became to her a shade.

But a perpetual winter starves the ground.
O strange descent! who is light's author, he Give me a river which doth scorn to show
Will to his creature thus a shadow be.

An added beauty; whose clear brow
As unseen light did from the Father flow,
Su did seen light from Virgin Mary grow.

May be my looking-glass to see

What my face is, and what iny mind should be! When Moses sought God in a shade to see, The father's shade was Christ the Deity.

Here waves call waves, and glide along in rank, Let's seek for day, we darkness, whilst our sight

And prattle to the smiling bank;
In light finds darkness, and in darkness light.

Here sad king-fishers tell their tales,
And fish enrich the brook with silver scales.

Daisies, the first-born of the teeming spring,
ODE 1.

On each side their embroidery bring;

Here lilies wash, and grow more white,

And daffodils, to see themselves, delight. 'Tis not a prramid of marble stone,

Here a fresh arbour gives her amorous shado, Though high as our ambition ;

Which Nature, the best gardener, made. 'Tis not a tomb cut out in brass, which can

Here I would sit and sing rude lays, Give life to th' ashes of a man ;

Such as the nymphs and me myself should please. But verses only: they shall fresh appear, Whilst there are men to read or hear.

Thus I would waste, thus end, my careless days i When Time shall make the lasting brass decay,

And robin-red-breasts, whom men praise And eat the pyramid away ;

For pious birds, should, when I die, Turning that monument wherein men trust

Make both my monument and elegy.
Their games, to what it keeps, poor dust;

ODE III,
Then shall the epitaph remain, and be
New-graven in eternity.

TO HIS MISTRESS,
Poets by Death are conquerd; but the wit

Tyrian dye why do you wear,
Of poets triumph over it.
What cannot versc? When Thracian Orpheus

You whose checks best scarlet are:
took

Why do you fondly pin His lyre, and gently on it strook,

Pure linen o'er your skin, The learned stones came dancing all along,

(Your skin that's whiter far) And kept time to the charming song.

Casting a dusky cloud before a star. With artificial pace the warlike pine,

Why bears your neck a golden chain? The elm and his wife the ivy twine,

"Did Nature make your hair in vain, With all the better trees, which erst had stood

Of gold most pure and fine? Unmov'd, forsook their nati od.

With geins why do you shine! VOL. 11.

ON THE PRAISE OP POETRY

your brow,

They, neighbours to your eyes,

Then Revenge, married to Ambition,
Show but like Phosphor when the Sun doth rise. Begat black War; then Avarice crept on;
I would have all my mistress' parts

Then limits to each field were strain'd,

And Terminus a god-head gain'd,
One more to Nature than to arts;

To men before was found,
I would not woo the dress,

Besides the sea, no bound.
Or one whose nights give less
Contentment than the day,

In what plain, or what river, hath not been
She's sair, whose beauty only makes her gay, War's story writ in blood (sad story!) seen?

This truth too well our England knows: For 'tis not buildings make a court,

'Twas civil slaughter dy'd her rose; Ur pomp, but 'tis the king's resort :

Nay, then her lily too
If Jupiter down pour

With blood's loss paler grew.
Himself, and in a shower
Hide such bright majesty,

Such griefs, nay worse than these, we now should le than a golden one it cannot be.

feel,

Did not just Charles silence the rage of steel ;
ODE IV.

He to our land blest Peace doth bring,

All neighbour countries envying.
ON THE UNCERTAINTY OF FORTUNE,

Happy who did remain
A TRANSLATION.

Unborn till Charles's reign!
Leave off unfit complaints, and clear

Where dreaming chymics! is your pain and cost?

How is your oil, how is your labour lost ! From sighs your breast, and from black clouds

Our Charles, blest alchymist! (though strange,

Believe it, future times !) did change When the Sun shines not with his wonted cheer,

The iron-age of old
And Fortune throws an adverse cast for you!

Into an age of guld.
That sea which vext with Notus is,
The merry East-winds will to morrow hiss.

ODE VI.
The Sun to day rides drowsily,

UPON THE SHORTNESS OF MAY'S LIFE.
To-morrow 'twill put on a look more fair:
Laughter and groaning do alternately

Mark that swift arrow! how it cuts the air,
Return, and tears sport's nearest neighbours are.

How it out-runs thy following eye! 'Tis by the gods appointed so,

l'se all persuasions now, and try Tlat good fare should with mingled dangers flow.

If thou canst call it back, or stay it there.
Who drave his oxen yesterday,

That way it went ; but thou shalt find
Doth now over the noblest Romans reign,

No tract is left behind. And on the Gabii and the Cures lay

Fool! 'tis thy life, and the fond archer thou.
The yoke which from his oxen he had ta'cn:

Of all the time thou 'st shot away,
Whom Hesperus saw poor and low,

L'll bid thee fetch but yesterday,
The Morning's eye beholds him greatest now. And it shall be too hard a task to do.
If Fortune knit amongst her play

Besides repentance, what canst find

That it hath left behind ? But seriousness, he shall again go home

Our life is carried with too strong a tide; To his old country-farm of yesterday,

A doubtful cloud our substance bears,
To scoffing people no mean jest become;

And is the horse of all our years.
And with the crowned axe, which he
Had rul'd the world, go back and prune some tree;

Each day doth on a winged wbirlwind ride.

We and our glass run out, and must
Nay, if he want the fuel cold requires,

Both render up our dust.
With his own fasces he shall make him fires.

But bis past life who without grief can see;

Who never thinks his end too near,
ODEV.

But says to Fame, “ Thou art mine heir;".

That man extends life's natural brevityIN COMMENDATION OF THE TIME WE LIVE UNDER, THE

This is, this is the only way

To out-live Nestor in a day.
REIGN OF OUR GRACIOUS KING CHARLES,

Curst be that wretch (Death's factor sure) who

brought
Dire swords into the peaceful world, and taught

Smiths (who before could only make
The spade, the plough-share, and the rake)

Arts, in most cruel wise

Man's life t' epitomize!
Then men (fond men, alas!) ride post to th' grare.
And cut those threads which yet the Fates would

save;
Then Charon sweated at his trade,
And had a larger ferry made;

Then, then the silver hair,
Frequent before, grew rare,

AN ANSWER TO AN INVITATION TO

CAMBRIDGE.
Nicuols, my better self! forbear;

For, if thou tell'st what Cainbridge pleasures

are,

The schoolboy's sin will light on me,
I shall, in mind at least, a truant be.
Tell me not how you feed

your

mind
With dainties of philosophy;
In Ovid's nut I shall not find

The taste once pleased me.
O tell me not of logic's diverse cheer!
I shall begin to loathe our crambo here.

Tell me not how the waves appear

Why do I stay then? I would meet Of Cam, or how it cuts the learned shire;

Thee there, but plummets hang upon my feet; I shall contemn the troubled Thames

'Tis my clief wish to live with thee, On her chief holiday; ev'n when her streams

But not till I deserve thy company :
Are with rich folly gilded; when

Till then, we'll scorn to let that toy,
The quondam dnng-boat is made gay,

Some forty miles, divide ou hearts:
Just like the bravery of the men,

Write to me, and I shall enjoy
And graces with fresh paint that day;

Friendship and wit, thy better parts. When th' city shines with flags and pageants there, Though envious Fortune larger hindrance brings, And satin doublets, seen not twice a year,

We'll easily see each other; Love hath wings.

MISCELLANIES.

TIE MOTTO.

And, whilst with wearied steps we upwards go,

See us, and clouds, below.
TENTANDA VIA EST, &c.
WHAT
shall I do to be for ever known,

ODE. OF WIT,
make to ?
I shall, like beasts or common people, die,

Tell

me, Otell, what kind of thing is Wit, Unless you write my elegy ;

Thou who master art of it? Whilst others great, by being born, are grown;

For the first matter loves variety less; Their mothers' labour, not their own.

Less women love't, either in love or dress. In this scale gold, in the other fame does lie,

A thousand different shapes it bears, The weight of that mounts this so high.

Comely in thousand shapes appears. These men are Fortune's jewels, moulded bright;

Yonder we saw it plain ; and here 'tis now,
Brought forth with their own fire and light: Like spirits, in a place we know not how.
If I, her vulgar stone, for either look,

London, that vents of false ware so much store, Out of myself it must be strook,

In no ware deceives us more; Yet I must on. What sound is 't strikes mine ear?

For men, led by the colour and the shape, Sure I Fame's trumpet hear:

Like 2 euxis' birds, fly to the painted grape. It sounds like the last trumpet; for it can

Same things do through our judgment Raise up the buried man.

pass Unpast Alps stop me; but I'll cut them all,

As through a multiplying-glass; And march, the Muses' Hannibal.

And sometimes, if the object be too far, Hence, all the flattering vanities that lay

We take a falling meteor for a star, Nets of roses in the way!

Hence 'tis, a Wit, that greatest word of fame, Hence, the desire of honours or estate,

Grows such a common name; And all that is not above Fate !

And Wits by our creation they become, Hence, Love himself, that tyrant of my days !

Just so as titular bishops made at Rome. Which intercepts my coming praise.

'Tis not a tale, 'tis not a jest Come, my best friends, my books! and lead me

Admir'd with laughter at a feast, on ;

Nor florid talk, which can that title gain; 'Tis time that I were gone.

The proofs of Wit for ever must remain.
Welcome, great Stagyrite! and teach me now
All I was born to know :

'Tis not to force some lifeless verses mect Thy scholar's victories thou dost far out-do;

With their five gouty feet. He conquer'd th' earth, the whole world you.

All, every where, like man's, must be the soul, Welcome, learn'd Cicero! whose blest tongue and

And Reason the inferior powers controul. wit

Such were the numbers which could call Preserves Rome's greatness yet:

The stones into the Theban wall. Thou art the first of orators; only he

Such miracles are ceas'd; and now we see Who best can praise thee, next must be.

No towns or houses rais'd by poetry. Welcome the Mantuan swan, Virgil the wise ! Yet 'tis not to adorn and gild each part; Whose verse walks highest, but not flies;

That shows more cost than art. Who brought green Poesy to her perfect age,

Jewels at nose and lips but ill appear ; And made that art which was a rage.

Rather than all things Wit, let none be there. Tell me, ye mighty Three! what shall I do

Several lights will not be seen, To be like one of you?

If there be nothing else between. But you have climb’d the mountain's top, there sit Men doubt, because they stand so thick i’ th' sky, On the calm tourishing head of it,

If those be stars which paint the galaxy.