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These did Religion, queen of virtues ! sway;
He sees thee gentle, fair, and gay,
And trusts the faithless April of thy May.
T” whom thou untry'd dost shine!
But there's no danger now for me, He always livd, as other saints do die.
Since o'er Loretto's shrine,
In witness of the shipwreck past,
My consecrated vessel hangs at last.
Like the Sun's laborious light,
IN IMITATION OF
Si tecum mihi, chare Martialis, &c.
L. v. Ep. xx.
IF, dearest friend, it my good fate might be
If we for happiness could leisure find,
And wandering Time into a inethod bind; Where life, spirit, pleasure, always us'd to dwell. We should not sure the great-men's favour need, But happy thou, ta’en from this frantic age,
Nor on long hopes, the court's thin diet, feed; Where ignorance and hypocrisy does rage!
We should not patience find daily to hear A fitter time for Heaven no soul ere chose,
The calumnnies and flatteries spoken there ;
We should not the lords' tables humbly use,
Or talk in ladies chambers love and news;
But books, and wise discourse, gardens and fields,
And all the joys that unmixt Nature yields; non that white and radiant crew,
Thick summer shades, where winter still does lie, See'st not a soul cloth'd with more light than thine.
Bright winter fires, that summer's part supply: And, if the glorious saints cease not to know
Sleep, not control'd by cares, confin d to night, Their wretched frienu's who fight with life below, Or bound in any rule but appetite : Thy flame to ine does still the same abide, Free, but not savage or ungracions mirth, Only more pure and rarefy'd.
Rich wines, to give it quick and easy birth; There, whilst immortal hymus thou dost rehearse, A few companions, which ourselves should chuse, Thou dost with holy pity see
A gentle mistress, and a gentler Muse. Our dull and earthy poesy,
Such dearest friend! such, without doubt, should Where grief and misery can be join'd with verse. be
Our place, our business, and our company.
But sees good suns, of which we are to give
A strict account, set and march thick away:
Knows a man how to live, and does he stay?
Lib. I. Od. v.
MARGARITA first possest,
If I remember well, my breast,
Margariis first of all;
But when awhile the wanton inaid
With my restless heaa t had play'd,
Martha took the lying ball.
Martha soon did it resign
To the beauteous Catharine.
Beauteous Catharine gave place
(Though loth and angry she to par:
With the possession of my heart)
To Eliza's conquering face.
Eliza till this hour might reign,
Had she not evil counsels ta'en.'
Fundamental laws she broke,
And still new favourites she chose,
Till up in arms my passions rose,
And cast away her yoke.
Mary then, and gentle Anne,
Both to reign at once began;
Alternately they sway'd,
TO SIR WILLIAM DAVENANT; And soinetimes Mary was the fair, And sometimes Anne the crown did wear,
UPON HIS TWO FIRST BOOKS OF GONDIBERT, And sometimes both I obey'd.
FINISHED BEFORE HIS VOYAGE TO AMERICA. Another Mary then arose,
Methinks heroic poesy till now,
Like some fantastic fairy-land did show;
Gods, devils, nymphs, witches, and giants' race, Long, alas ! should I have been
And all but man, in man's chief work had place. Under that iron-scepter'd queen,
Thou, like some worthy knight with sacred arms, Had not Rebecca set me free.
Dost drive the monsters thence, and end the charms,
Instead of those dost men and manners plant, When fair Rebecca set me free, 'Twas then a golden time with me:
The things which that rich soil did chiefly want.
Yet ev'n thy mortals do their gods excel,
Taught by thy Muse to fight and love so well.
By fatal hands whilst present empires fall, In her youth and beauty's pride,
Thine from the grave past monarchies recall; And Judith reigned in her stead,
So much more thanks frem human-kind does One month, three days, and half an hour,
The poet's fury than the zealot's spirit :
And from the grave thou mak’st this empire rise, But so weak and small her wit,
Not like some dreadful ghost, t' affright our eyes, That she to govern was unfit,
But with more lustre and triumphant state,
Than when it crown'd at proud Verona sate.
So will our God rebuild man's perish'd frame, Arm'd with a resistless fame,
And raise him up much better, yet the same : And th' artillery of her eye;
So god-like poets do past things rehearse, Whilst she proudly march'd about,
Not change, but heighten, Nature by their verse.
With shame, methinks, great Italy must sec Greater conquests to find out, She beat out Susan by the by.
Her conquerors rais'd to life again by thee :
Rais'd by such powerful verse, that ancient Rome But in her place I then obey'd
May blush no less to see her wit o'ercome.
Some men their fancies, like their faith, derive,
And think all ill but that which Rome does give ; Thousand worse passions then possest
The marks of old and Catholic would find; The interregnum of my breast;
To the same chair would truth and fiction bind. Bless me from such an anarchy !
hou in those beaten paths disdain'st to tread,
And scorn'st to live by robbing of the dead. Gentle Henrietta then,
Since Time does all things change, thou think'st And a third Mary, next began;
not fit Then Joan, and Jane, and Audria;
This latter age should see all new but wit; And then a pretty Thomasine,
Thy fancy, like a fiame, its way does make, And then another Katharine,
And leave bright tracts for following pens to take. And then a long et cætera.
Sure'twas this noble boldness of the Muse
Did thy desire to seek new worlds infuse;
And ne'er did Heaven so much a voyage bless,
If thou canst plant but there with like success,
That make up all their magazines ;
A COPY OF VERSES
SENT ME TO JERSEY.
As to a northern people (whom the Sun
Uses just as the Romish church has done The quarrels, tears, and perjuries,
Her prophane laity, and does assign
A rich Canary fleet welcome arrives;
Such comfort to us here your letter gives,
Frought with brisk racy verses ; in which we (Chiefly if I like them should tell
The soil from whence they came taste, smell, and All change of weathers that befell)
see; Than Holinshed or Stow.
Such is your present to us; for you must know,
Sir, that verse does not in this island grow,
No more than sack: one lately did not fear
But it produc'd such base, rough, crabbed, hedge, My present emperess does claim,
Rhymes, as ev’n set the hearers' ears on edge : Heleonora, first o'th' name;
- esquire, the Whom God grant long to reiga !
Year of our Lord six hundred thirty-three.
AX ANSWER TO
THE USE OF IT IX DIVINE MATTERS.
Brare Jersey Muse ! and he's for this high style And seeks by useless pride,
With slight and withering leaves that nakedness to Alas! to men here no words less hard be
hide. To rhyme with, than + Mount Orgueil is to me;
“ Henceforth,” said God," the wretched sons of Mount Orgueil ! which, in scorn o'th' Muses law,
Earth With no yoke-fellow word will deign to draw.
Shall sweat for food in vain, Stubborn Mount Orgueil !' tis a work to make it
That will not long sustain; Come into rhyme, more hard than 'twere to take it.
And bring with labour forth each fond abortive birth. Alas! to bring your tropes and figures here,
That serpent too, their pride, Strange as to bring camels and elephants were;
Which aims at things deny'd; And metaphor is so unknown a thing,
That learn'd and eloquent lust; 'Twould need the preface of God save the king.
Instead of mounting high, shall creep upon the Yet this I'll say, for th' honour of the place,
Some blind themselves, 'cause possibly they may From th'actual sin of bombast too they are,
Be led by others a right way; (That other crying sin o' th’ English Muse) That even Satan himself can accuse
They build on sands, which if unmovid they find,
"Tis but because there was no wind. None here (no not so much as the divines) For th' motus primò primi to strong lines.
Less hard 'tis, not to err ourselves, than know
If our forefathers err'd or no.
When we trust men concerning God, we then
Trust not God concerning men. As who did first wild beasts int' islands bring; Visions and inspirations some expect Unless you think that it might taken be,
Their course here to direct; As Green did Gondibert, in a prize at sea :
Like senseless chymists their own wealth destroy, But that's a fortune falls not every day ;
Imaginary gold t enjoy : 'Tis true Green was made by it ; for they say So stars appear to drop to us from sky, The parl'ament did a noble bounty do,
And gild the passage as they fly; And gave him the whole prize, their tenths and But when they fall, and meet th’ opposing ground, fifteenths too.
What but a sordid slime is found ?
And fast, that they may dream of meat ;
Sometimes ill spirits their sickly souls delude,
And bastard forms obtrude;
So Endor's wretched sorceress, although
She Saul through his disguise did know,
Yet, when the devil comes up disguis'd, she cries, The Phenix Truth did on it rest,
“ Behold! the Gods arise." And built his perfum'd nest :
In yain alas ! these outward hopes are try'd; That right Porphyrian tree which did true logic Reason within's our only guide; shew.
Reason, which (God be prais’d!) still walks, for all
Its old orig'nal fall;
And, since itself the boundless Godhead join'd
With a reasonable mind,
May with our reason join. meat;
The holy book,like the eighth sphere, does shine A certain death doth sit,
With thousand lights of truth divine :
So numberless the stars, that to the eye
Yet Reason must assist too; for, in seas
So vast and dangerous as these,
Our course by stars above we cannot know,
Though Reason cannot through Faith's mysteries The only science man by this did get,
It sees that there and such they be ;
Leads to Heaven's door,and there does humbly keep, His ignorant poor estate, and was asham'd of it, And there through chinks and key-holes peep ; Yet searches probabilities,
Though it, like Moses, by a sad command, And rhetoric, and fallacies,
Must not come into th' Holy Land,
Yet thither it infallibiy does guide, The name of one of the castles in Jersey.
And from afar 'tis all descry'da
THAT THERE IS NO KNOWLEDGE.
Hail, bard triumphant! and some care bestow
On us the poets militant below!
Oppos'd by our old enemy, adverse Chance,
Attack'd by Envy and by Ignorance; 'The two most sacred names of Earth and Heaven;
Enchain'd by Beauty, tortur'd by desires, The hard and rarest union which can be,
Expos'd by tyrant Love to savage beasts and fires. Next that of Godhead with humanity.
Thou from low Earth in nobler flames didst rise, Long did the Muses' banish'd slaves abide,
And, like Elijah, mount alive the skies. And built vain pyramids to mortal pride ;
Elisha-like, (but with a wish mach less, Like Moses thou (though spells and charms with
More fit thy greatness and my littleness)
Lo! here I beg (I, whom thon once didst prove stand) Hast brought them nobly home back to their holy. Not that thy spirit might on me doubled be,
So humble to esteem, so good to love) land. Ah wretched we, poets of Earth! but thou
I ask but half thy mighty spirit for me: Wert living the same poet which thou’rt now;
And, when my Muse soars with so strong a wing, Whilst angels sing to thee their airs divine,
'Twill learn of things divine, and first of thee, to And joy in an applause so great as thine,
sing Equal society with them to hold, Thou need’st not make new songs, but say the old; A POEM ON THE LATE CIVIL WAR.“ And they (kind spirits!) shall all rejoice, to see How little less than they exalted man may be. Still the old Heathen gods in numbers dwell; The heavenliest thing on Earth still keeps up Hell; THE PUBLISHER TO TIE READER, 1679. Nor have we quite purg'd the Christian land; Still idols here, like calves at Bethel, stand. MEETING accidentally with this poem in maAnd, though Pan's death long since all oracles
nuscript, and being informed, that it was a piece broke,
of the incomparable Mr. A. C.'s, I thought it unYet still in rhyme the fiend Apollo spoke :
just to hide such a treasure from the world. I reNay, with the worst of heathen dotage, we
membered that our author, in his preface to his (Vain men!) the monster Woman deify ;
works,” makes mention of some poems written by Find stars, and tie our fates there in a face,
him on the late civil war, of which the following And Paradise in them, by whom we lost it, place.
copy is unqnestionably a part. In his most imperWhat different faults corrupt our Muses thus ? fect and unfinished pieces, you will discover the Wanton as girls, as old wives fabulous !
hand of so great a master. And (whatever his own Thy spotless Muse, like Mary, did contain
modesty might hare advised to the contrary) there The boundless Godhead; she did well disdain
is not one careless stroke of his but what should That her eternal verse employ'd should be
be kept sacred to posterity. He could write noOn a less subject than eternity;
thing that was not worth the preserving, being And for a sacred mistress scorn'd to take,
habitually a poet, and always inspired. In this But her whom God himself scorn’d not his spouse to piece the judicious reader will find the turn of the make.
verse to be his; the same copious and lively ima(in a kind) her miracle did do;
gery of fancy, the same warmth of passion and A fruitful mother was, and virgin too. How well (blest swan!) did Fate contrive thy And certainly no labours of a genius so rich in it
delicacy of wit, , that sparkles in all his writings. deaths,
self, and so cultivated with learning and manners, And made thee render up thy tuneful breath
can prove an unwelcome present to the world. In thy great mistress' arms, thou most divine And richest offering of Loretto's shrine !
WHAT rage does England from itself divide, Where, like some holy sacrifice t' expire,
More than the seas from all the world beside ? A fever burns thee, and Love lights the fire. From every part the roaring cannons play, Angels (they say) brought the fam'd chapel there, Froin every part blood roars as loud as they. And bore the sacred load in triumph through the What English ground but still some moisture bears, air:
Of young men's blood, and more of mothers' tears! 'Tis surer much they brought thee there; and they, What air's unthicken’d with the sighs of wives, And thou, their charge, went singing all the way. Though more of maids for their dear lovers' lives?
Pardon, my Mother Church ! if I consent Alas! what triumphs can this victory shew, That angels led him when from thee he went; That dyes us red in blood and blushes too! For ev'nin errour sure no danger is,
How can we wish that conquest, which bestows When juin'd with so much piety as his.
Cypress, not bays, upon the conquering brows? Ah, mighty God! with shame I speak't, and grief, It was not so when Henry's dreadful name, Ah, that our greatest faults were in belief!
Not sword, nor cause, whole nations overcame. And our weak reason were ev'n weaker yet,
To farthest West did his swift conquests run, Rather than thus our wills too strong for it! Nor did his glory set but with the Sun. His faith, perhaps, in some nice tenets might Be wrong; his life, I'm sure, was in the right; 6 This and the two following poems are not given And I myself a Catholic will be,
with certainty as Cowley's. They have been as. So far at least, great saint ! to pray to thee. cribed to him; are possibly genuine; and therefore 5 Mr. Crashaw died of a fever at Loretto, being
are preserved in this collection. newly chosen non of that church.
7 See p. 45 of this volume.
In vain did Roderic to his hold retreat,
Then only in books the learn'd could misery see, In vain had wretched Ireland call d him great; And the unlearn'd ne'er heard of misery. Ireland! which now most basely we begin
Then happy James with as deep quiet reign'd, To labour more to lose than he to win.
As in his heavenly throne, by death, he gain'd; It was not so when in the happy East,
And, best this blessing with his life should cease, Richard, our Mars, Venus's Isle possest: [play'd, He left us Charles, the pledge of future peace; 'Gainst the proud Moon, be th' English cross dis- Charles, under wbom, with much ado, no less Eclips'd one horn, and th' other paler made; Than sixteen years we endur'd our happiness ; When our dear lives we ventur'd bravely there, Till in a moment, in the North, we find. And digg'd our own to gain Christ's sepulchre. A tempest conjur'd up without a wind. That sacred tomb, which, should we now enjoy, As soon the North her kindness did repent; We should with as much zeal fight to destroy ! First the peace-maker, and next war, she sent. The precious signs of our dead Lord we scorn, Just Tweed, that now had with long peace forgot And see his cross worse than his body torn;
On wbich side dwelt the English, which the Scot, We hate it now both for the Greek and Jew, Saw glittering arms shine sadly on his face, To us 'tis foolishness and scandal too.
Whilst all th’affiighted fish sank down apace. To what with worship the fond papist falls,
No blood did then from this dark quarrel grow, That the fond zealot a curs'd idol calls:
It gave blunt wounds, that bled not out till now! So, 'twixt their double madness, here's the odds, For Jove,who might have us'd his thundering power, One makes false devils, t' other makes false gods. Chose to fall calıny in a golden shower!
It was not so when Edward prov'd his cause, A way we found to conquer, which by none By a sword stronger than the salique laws,
Of all our thrifty ancestors was known; Tho' fetch'd from Pharamond; when the French So strangely prodigal of late we are, did figbt,
We there buy peace, and here at home buy war. With women's hearts, against the women's right. How could a war so sad and barbarous please, Th'afflicted Ocean his first conquest bore,
But first by slandering those blest days of peace? And drove red waves to the sad Gallic shore: Through all the excrements of state they pry, As if he 'ad angry with tbat element been,
Like emp'ricks, to find out a malady; Which his wide soul bound with an island in. And then witb desperate boldness they endeavour, Where's now that spirit with which at Cressy we, Th' ague to cure by bringing in a fever: And Poictiers, forc'd from Fate a victory?
The way is sure to expel some ill, no doubt; Two kings at once we brought sad captives home, The plague, we know, drives all diseases out. A triumph scarcely known to ancient Rome! What strange wild fears did every morning breed, Two foreigo kings: but now, alas! we strive, Till a strange fancy made us siek indeed! Our own, our own good sovereign to captive! And cowardice did valour's place supply, It was not so when Agincourt was won ;
Like those that kill themselves for fear to die! Under great Henry serv'd the Rain and Sun: Wbat frantic diligence in these men appears, A nobler fight the Sun himself ne'er knew,
That fear all ills, and act o'er all their fears!
And learn to kill, as well as bury, now:
Lest thousand ghosts should come and shroud To her great Neptune homag'd all his streams,
them there. And all the wide-stretch'd ocean was her Thames. Petitions next from crery town they frame, Thus our forefathers fought, thus bravely bled, To be restor'd to them from whom they came: Thus still they live, whilst we alive are dead; The same style all, and the same sense, dues pen, Such acts they did, that Rome, and Cæsar too, Alas; they allow set forms of prayer to men, Might envy those whom once they did subdue. Oh happy we, if men would neither hear We're not their offspring ; sure our heralds lie; Their studied form, nor God their sudden prayer. But born we know not how, as now we die;
They will be heard, and, in unjustice wise, Their precious blood we could not venture thus: The many headed rout for justice cries; Some Cadmus, sure, sow'd serpent's teeth for us; They call for blood, which now I fear does call We could not else by mutual fury fall,
For blood again, much louder than they all, Whilst Rhine and Sequan for our armies call: In senseless clamours, and confused poise, Chuse war or peace, you have a prince, you know, We lost that rare, and yet unconquer'd voice ; As fit for both, as both are fit for you ;
So, when the sacred Thracian lyre was drown'd Furious as lightning, when war's tempest came, In the Bistonian women's mixen sound, But calm in peace, calm as a lambent name. The wondering stones, that came before to hear,
Have you forgot those happy years of late, Forgot themselves, and turn’d his murderers there, That saw nought ill, but us that were ingrate; The same loud storm blew the grave mitre down; Sach years, as if Earth's youth return'd had been, It blew d' that, and with it shook the crown. And that old serpent, Time, hai cast his skin? Then first a state, without a church, begun; As gloriously and gently did they move,
Comfort thyself, dea: Church ! for then 'twas done. As ihe bright Sun that measures them above;
The sam great storm to sea great ary drove;