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THE CHARACTER OF AN HOLY-SISTER.
Expect not you his fate, though Hotham thrives We thank you for true real fears, at last,
Which free us from so many false ones past; Nor fewer churches hupes, than wives, to see We thank you for the blood which fats our coast, Buried, and then their lands his own to be.
As a just debt paid to great Strasford's ghost; Ye boundless tyrants ! how do you outvy
We thank you for the ills receiv'd, and all Th’Athenians: Thirty, Rome's Decemviry ! Which yet by your good care in time we shall; In rage, injustice, cruelty, as far
We thank you, and our gratitude's as great Abore those men, as you in number are.
As yours, when you thank'd Gud for being beat, What mysteries of iniquity do we see! New prisons made to defend liberty ! Our goods forc'd from us for property's sake; And all the real nonsense which ye make! Ship-money was unjustly ta'en, ye say ;
She that can sit three sermons in a day, L'njustlier far, you take the ships away.
And of those three scarce bear three words away; The High Commission you calld tyranny :
She that can rob her husband, to repair
She that with lamp-black purifies her shoes,
And with half-eyes and Bible softly goes ; To the king's will, the laws men strove to draw:
She that her pockets with lay-gospel stuifs, The subjects' will is now become the law.
And edifies her looks with little ruffs; 'Twas fear'd a new religion would begin:
She that loves sermons as she does the rest, All new relig ons, now, are enter'd in.
Still standing stiff that longest are the best ; The king delinquents to protect did strive :
She that will lye, yet swear she hates a lyar, What clubs,pikes, halberts,lighters, sav'd the Five! Except it be the man that will lie by her; You think th' parl'ment like your state of grace ;
She that at christenings thirsteth for more sack, Whatever sins men do, they keep their place.
And draws the broadest handkerchief for cake; Invasions then were fear'd against the state;
She that sings psalms devoutly next the street, And Strode swore last year: would be eighty-eight. And beats her maid i' th’ kitchen, where none You bring-in foreign aid to your designs,
see 't; First those great foreign forces of divines,
She that will sit in shop for five hours space, With which ships from America were fraught;
And register the sins of all that pass, Rather may stinking tobacco still be brought
Damn at first sight, and proudly cares to say, From thenee, I say; next, ye the Scots invite,
That none can possibly be sav'd but they Which you term brotherly-assistance, right;
That hang religion in a naked ear, Por England you intend with them to share :
And judge men's hearts according to their hair; They, who, alas! but younger brothers are,
That could afford to doubt, who wrote best sense, Must have the monies for their portion;
Moses, or Dod on the commandements; The houses and the lands will be your own.
She that can sigh, and cry “Queen Elizabeth," We thank you for the wounds which we endure, Rail at the pope, and scratch-out “sudden death :" Whilst scratches and slight prichs ye seek to cure;
Anri for all ihis can give no reason why :
This is an holy-sister, verily. * viz. 1642.
II. DRINKING. The thirsty earth soaks up the rain, And drinks, and gapes for drink again, The plants suck-in the earth, and are With constant drinking fresh and fair; The sea itself (which one would think Should have bat little need of drink) Drinks twice ten thousand rivers up, So fill'd that they o'erflow the cup. The busy Sun (and one would guess By 's drunken fiery face no less) Drinks up the sea, and, when he 'as done, The Moon and stars drink up the Sun: They drink and dance by their own light; They drink and revel all the night. Nothing in nature 's sober found, But an eternal health go :s round. Fill up the bowl then, fill it high, Fill all the glasses there ; for why Should every creature drink but I ; Why, man of morals, tell me why!
Liberal Nature did dispense
VI. THE ACCOUNT. When all the stars are by thee told (The endless sums of heavenly gold); Or when the hairs are reckon'd all, From sickly Autumn's head that fall; Or when the drops that make the sca, Whilst all her sands thy counters be ; Thou then, and thou alone, mays't prove Th'arithmetician of my love. An hundred loves at Athens score, At Corinth write an humdred more : Fair Corinth does such beauties bear, So few is an escaping there. Write then at Chios seventy-three ; Write then at Lesbos (let me see) Write me at Lesbos ninety down, Full ninety loves, and half a one. And, next to these, let me present The fair Ionian regiment ; And next the Carian company; Five hundred both effectively. Three hundred more at Rhodes and Crete ; Three hundred 'tis, I'm sure, complete; For arms at Crete each face does bear, And every eye's an archer there. Go on: this stop why dost thon make? Thou think'st, perhaps that I mistake. Seems this to thee too great a sum? Why many thousands are to come i The mighty Xerxes could not boast Such different nations in his host. On; for my love, if thou be'st weary, Must find some better secretary. I have not yet my Persian told, Nor yet my Syrian loves cnrolld, Nor Indian, nor Arabian; Nor Cyprian lores, nor African ; Nor Scythian nor Italian flames; There's a whole map behind of namen Of gentle loves i' th' temperate zone, And cold ones in the frigid one, Cold frozen loves, with which I pine, And parched loves beneath the lines
IV. THE DUEL.
Yes, I will love then, I will love ;
X. THE GRASSHOPPER. A MICHTY pain to love it is,
appy Insect! what can be And 'tis a pain that pain to miss ;
In happiness compard to thee? But, of all pains, the greatest pain
Fed with nourishment divine, It is to lure, but love in vain.
The dewy Morning's gentle wine ! Virtue now, nor noble blood,
Nature waits upon thee still, Nor wit by love is understood ;
And thy verdant cup does fill; Gold alune does passion move,
'Tis fill'd wherever thou dost tread, Gold monopolizes love ;
Nature's self's thy Ganymede. A curse on her, and on the man.
Thou dost drink, and dance, and sing; Who this traffic first began !
Happier than the happiest king! A curse on him who found the ore!
All the fields which thou dost see, A curse on him who digg'd the store !
All the plants, belong to thee; A curse on him who did refine it!
All that summer-hours produce, A curse on him who first did coin it!
Fertile made with early juice. A curse, all curses else above,
Man for thee dues sow and plow; On him who usd it first in love!
Farmer he, and landlord thou ! Gold begets in brethren hate;
Thou dust imiocently joy; Gold in families debate ;
Nor does thy luxury destroy ; Gold does friendships seperate ;
The shepherd gladly heareth thee, Gold dues civil wars create.
More harmonious than he. These the smallest harms of it!
Thee country binds with gladness hear,
Prophet of the ripen’d year!
Phæbus is himself thy sire.
To thee, of all things upon Earth.
Life is no longer than thy mirth,
Happy insect, happy thou ! Around our temples roses twine!
Dost neither age nor winter know; And let us cheerfully awhile,
But, when thou'st drunk, and danc'd, and suns Like the wine and roses, smile.
Thy fill, the flowery leaves among Crown'd with roses, we contemn
(Voluptuous, and wise withal, Gyges' wealthy diadem.
Epicurean animal!) To day is ours, what do we fear?
Sated with thy summer feast,
Thou retir'st to endless rest.
XI. THE SWALLOW.
Foolish Prater, what dost thou
With thy tuneless serenade?
Well 't had been had Tereus made
Thee as dumb as Philomel;
There his knife had done but well. On flowery beds supinely laid,
In thy undiscovered nest With odorous oils my head o'er-flowing,
Thou dost all the winter rest, And around it roses growing,
And dreamest o'er thy summer joys, What should I do but drink away
Free from the stormy seasons' noise : The heat and troubles of the day
Free from th’ill thou'st done to me; In this more than kingly state
Who disturbs or seeks-out thee? Love himself sball on me wait.
Hadst thou all the charming notes Fill to me, Love, nay fill it up ;
Of the wood's poetic throats, And mingled cast into the cup
All thy art could never pay Wit, and mirth, and noble fires,
What thou hast ta'en from me away. Vigorous health and gay desires.
Cruel bird ! thou'st ta’en away
A dream out of my arms to-day;
A dream, that ne'er must equall'd be
By all that waking eyes may see. Let the motion pleasant be.
Thou, this damage to repair,
Nothing half so sweet or fair,
Nothing half so good, canst bring,
Though men say thou bring'st the Spring. l'pon the monuments of the dead? Nothing they but dust can show,
ELEGY UPON ANACREON. Or bones that hasten to be so. Crown me with roses whilst I live,
WHO WAS CHOAKED BY A GRAPE-STONE Now your wines and ointments give;
SPOKEN BY THE GOD OF LOVE,
How shall I lament thine end,
My best servant and my friend?
Nay, and, if from a deity
Than the downy feathers are
Some do but their youth allow me,
Had I the power of creation, As I have of generation, Where I the matter must obey, And cannot work plate out of clay, My creatures should be all like thee, 'Tis thou shouldst their idea be: They, like thee, should thoroughly hate Business, honour, title, state; Other wealth they should not know, But what my living mines bestow; The pomp of kings, they should confess, At their crownings, to be less Than a lover's humblest guise, When at his mistress' feet he lies. Rumour they no more should mind Than men safe landed do the wind; Wisdom itself they should not hear, When it presumes to be severe; Beauty alone they should admire, Nor look tune's vain attire,
Nor ask what parents it can shew;
Till my Anacreon by thee fell,
It grieves me when I see what fate
How the eternal Father did bestow
His own eternal Son as ransom for his foe. TAKEN OUT OF A GREEK ODE, WRITTEN BY MR.
I'll sing aloud, that all the world may hear MASTERS, OF NEW-COLLEGE IN OXFORD.
The triumph of the buried Conqueror.
How Hell was by its prisoner captive led, Enough, my Muse! of earthly things,
And the great slayer, Death, slain by the dead. And inspirations but of wind;
Methinks, I hear of murdered men the voice, 'Take up thy lute, and to it bind
Mixt with the murderers' confused noise, Loud and everlasting strings;
Sound from the top of Calvary ; And on them play, and to them sing,
My greedy eyes fly up the hill, and see The happy mournful stories,
Who 'tis hangs there the midmost of the three ; The lamentable glories,
Oh, how unlike the others he! Of the great crucified King.
Look, how he bends his gentle head with blessings Mountainous heap of wonders! which dost rise
from the tree! Till Earth thou joinest with the skies!
His gracious hands, ne'er stretch'd but to do good, Too large at bottom, and at top too high,
Are nail'd to the infamous wood ! To be half seen by mortal eye!
And sinful man dues fondly bind How shall I grasp this boundless thing? The arms, which he extends t embrace all humanWhat shall I play; what shall I sing?
kind. I'll sing the mighty riddle of mysterious love, Which neither wretched men below, nor blessed Unhappy man! canst thou stand by and see
All this as patient as he? spirits above,
Since he thy sins does bear, With all their comments can explain;
Make thou his sufferings thine own, How all the whole world's life to die did not dis
And weep, and sigh, and groan, dain!
And beat thy breast, and tear
Thy garments and thy hair,
And let thy grief, and let thy love, The depths unfathom'd yet
Through all thy bleeding bowels move. By reason's plummet and the line of wit; Dost thou not see thy prince in purple clad all o'er, Too light the plummet, and too short the line! Not purple brought from the Sidonian shore,
But made at home with richer gore? * These verses were not included among those Dost thou not see the roses which adorn which Mr. Cowley himselt styled Miscellanies; The thorny garland by him worn ? but were classed by Bishop Sprat under the title Dost thou not see the livid traces by which they are here distinguished. N.
Of the sharp scourges' rude embraces ?