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thine eye.

If yet thou feelest not the smart

Where'er I see an excellence,
Of thoms and scourges in thy heart; I must admire to see thy well knit sense,
If that be yet not crucified;

Thy numbers gentle, and thy fancies high;
Look on bis hands, look on his feet, look on his side! Those as thy forehead smooth, these sparkling as
Open, oh! open wide the fountains of thine eyes,

'Tis solid, and 'tis manly all,
And let them call
Their stock of moisture forth where'er it lies!

Or rather 'tis angelical ;
For this will ask it all.

For, as in angels, we 'Twould all, alas ! too little be,

Do in thy verses see Though thy salt tears come from a sea.

Both improv'd sexes eminently meet ; Canst thou deny him this, when he

They are than man more strong, and inore than woHas open'd all his vital springs for thee ?

man sweet. Take heed; for by his side's mysterious flood

They talk of Nine, I know not who,
May well be understood,

Female chimeras, that o'er poets reign;
That he will still require some waters to his blood. I ne'er could find that fancy true,

But have invok'd them oft, I'm sure, in vain;

They talk of Sappho; but, alas ! the shaine!

Ill-manners soil the lustre of her fame;
Orinda's inward virtue is so bright,

That, like a lantern's fair enclosed light,

It through the paper shines where she does write.

Honour and friendship, and the generous scorn
We allow'd you beauty, and we did submit

Of things for which we were not born
To all the tyrannies of it;

(Things that can only by a fond disease, Ah ! cruel sex, will you depose us too in wit?

Like that of girls, our vicious stomachs please) Orinda ? does in that too reign ;

Are the instructive subjects of her pen; Does man behind her in proud triumph draw,

And, as the Roman victory
And cancel great Appollo's Salique law.

Taught our rude land arts and civility,
We our old title plead in vain,

At once she overcomes, enslaves, and betters, men.
Man may be head, but woman's now the brain.
Verse was Love's fire-arms heretofore,

But Rome with all her arts could ne'er inspire In Beauty's campit was not known ;

A female breast with such a fire : Too many arms besides that conqueror bore:

The wailike Amazonian train, 'Twas the great cannon we brought down

Who in Elysium now do peaceful reign, T assault a stubborn town;

And Wit's mild enipire before arms prefer, Orinda first did a bold sally make,

Hope 'twill be settled in their sex by her. Our strongest quarter take,

Merlin, the seer, (and sure he would not lye, And so successful prov'd, that she

In such a sacred company) Turn'd upon Love himself his own artillery.

Does prophecies of learn’d Orinda show,

Which he had darkly spoke so long ago;
Women, as if the body were their whole,

Ex'n Boadicia's angry ghost
Did that, and not the soul,

Forgets her own misfortune and disgrace,
Transmit to their posterity;

And to her injur'd daughters now does boast,
If in it sometime they conceiv'd,

That Rome's o'ercome at last, by a woman of her Th' abortive issue never liv'd.

"Twere shame and pity', Orinda, if in thee
A spirit so rich, so noble, and so high,

Should unmanur'd or barren lie.
But thou industriously hast sow'd and tillid

The fair and fruitful field;

And 'tis a strange increase that it does yield. Be gone (said I) ingrateful Muse! and see
As, when the happy gods above

What others thou canst fool, as well as me.
Meet altogether at a feast,

Since I grew man, and wiser ought to be,
A secret joy unspeakable does move

My business and my hopes I left for thee: In their great mother Cybele's contented breast :

For thee (which was more hardly given away) With no less pleasure thou, methinks, should see,

I left, even when a boy, my play.
This, thy no less immortal progeny,
And in their birth thou no one touch dost find,

But say, ingrateful mistress ! say,

What for all this, what didst thou ever pay?
Of th'ancient curse to woman-kind :

Thou ’lt say, perhaps, that riches are
Though brug'st not forth with pain ;

Not of the growth of lands where thou dost trade, It neither travail is nor labour of the brain :

And I as well my country might upbraid
So easily they from thee come,

Because I have no vineyard there.
And there is so much room

Well : but in love thou dost pretend to reign; In the unexhausted and unfathom'd womb,

There thine the power and lordship is; That, like the Holland countess, thou may'st bear

Thou bad'st me write, and write, and write again; A child for every day of all the fertile year.

'Twas such a way as could not miss. Thou dost my wonder, wouldst my envy, raise, 1, like a fool, did thee ubey: , If to be prais'd I lov'd more than to praise : I wrote, and wrote, but still I wrote in rain;

For, after all my expense of wit and pain, 2 Mrs. Catharine Phillips

A rich, unwriting hand, carried the prize away.

Thus I complain'd, and strait the Muse reply'd, Instead of my own likeness, only find
That she bad given me fame.

The Lright idea there of the great writer's mind?
Bounty immense! and that too must be try'd
When I myself am nothing but a name.

Who now, what reader does not strive
T invalidate the gift whilst we're alive?

For, when a poet now himself doth show,
As if he were a cominon foe:

MR. COWLEY'S BOOK PRESENTING ITSELF TO THE All draw upon him, all around,

UNIVERSITY LIBRARY OF OXFORD. And every part of him they wound,

HALL, Learning's Pantheon ! Hail, the sacred ark Happy ihe man that gives the deepest blow: Where all the world of science does embark ! And this is all, kind Muse! to thee we owe. Which ever shall withstand, and hast su long with. Then in rage I took,

stood, And out at window threw,

Insatiate Time's devouring flood. Ovid and Horace, all the chiming crew;

Hail, tree of knowledge! thy leaves fruit! which Homer himself went with them too;

well Handly escap'd the sacred Mantuan book :

Dost in the midst of Paradise arise, I my own offspring, like Agave, tore,

Oxford ! the Muse's Paradise, And I resolv'd, nay, and I think I swore,

From which may never sword the bless'd expel ! That I no more the ground would till and sow, Hail, bank of all past ages ! where they lie Where only flowery weeds instead of corn did gror. T'enrich with interest posterity! When (see the subtile ways which Fate does find Hail, Wit's illustrious galaxy ! Rebellious man to biod!

Where thousand lights into one brightness spread ; Just to the work for which he is assign'd)

Hail, living University of the dead ! The Muse came in more chearful than before, Unconfus'd Babel of all tongues ! which e'er And bade me quarrel with her now no more: The mighty linguist, Fame, or Time, the mighty “ Lo! thy reward ! !ook, here and see

traveller, What I have made” (said she)

That could speak, or this could hear.
“ My lover and belor'd, my Broghill, do for thee ! Majestic monument and pyramid !
Though thy own verse no lasting fame can give, Where still the shades of parted souls abide
Thou shalt at least in his for ever live.

Embalm'd in verse ; exalted souls which now
What critics, the great Hectors now in wit,

Enjoy those arts they woo'd so well below; Who rant and challenge all men that have writ,

Which now all wonders plainly see, Will dare t' oppose thee, wben

That have been, are, or are to be,
Broghill in thy defence has drawn his conquering In the mysterious library,

The beatific Bodley of the Deity ;
I rose and bow'd my head,

Will you into your sacred throng admit
And pardon ask'd for all that I had said :

The meanest British wit ?
Well satisfy'd and proud,

You, general-council of the priests of Fame,
I strait resolvid, and solemnly I vow'd,

Will you not murmur and disdain,
That from her service now I ne'er would part;

That I a place among you claim,
So strongly large rewards work on a grateful heart! The humblest deacon of her train?
Nothing so soon the drooping spirits can raise Will you allow me th' honourable chain?
As praises from the men whom all men praise :

The chain of ornament, which here 'Tis the best cordial, and which only those

Your noble prisoners proudly wear; Who have at home th' ingredients can compose ;

A chain which will more pleasant seem to me A cordial that restores our fainting breath, Than all my own Pindaric liberty ! And keeps up life e'en after death!

Will ye to bind me with those mighty names submit, The only danger is, lest it should be

Like an Apocryphawith Holy Writ?
Too strong a remedy ;

Whatever happy book is chained here,
Lest, in removing cold, it should beget

No other place or people need to fear;
Too violent a heat;

His chain's a passport to go every where.
And into madness turn the lethargy,

As when a seat in Heaven
Ah! gracious God! that I might see

Is to an unmalicious sinner given,
A time when it were dangerous for me

Who, casting round his wondering eye,
To be o'er-heat with praise!

Does none but patriarchs and apostles there espy; But I within me bear, alas! too great allays.

Martyrs who did their lives bestow, 'Tis said, Apelles, when he Venus drew,

And saints, who martyrs liv'd below; Did naked women for his pattern view,

With trembling and amazement he begins And with his powerful fancy did refine

To recollect his frailties past and sins; Their human shapes into a form divine :

He doubts almost his station there; Nune who had sat could her own pictore see, His soul says to itselt, “ How came I here?” Or say, one part was drawn for me:

It fares no otherwise with me,
So, though this nobler painter, when he writ, When I myself with conscious wonder seo
Was pleas'd to think it fit

Amidst this purify'd elected company.
That my book should before him sit,

With hardship they, and pain,
Not as a cause, but an occasion, to his wit;

Did to this happiness attain : Yet what have 1 to boast, or to apply

No la'your I, nur merits, can pretend; To my advantage out of it; since I

I think predestination only was my friendo




Ah, that my author had been ty'd like me

Than those have done or seen, To such a place and such a company!

Ev'n since they goddesses and this a star has been) Instead of several countries, several men,

As a reward for all her lalwur past, And business, which the Muses bate,

Is made the seat of rest at last. Ile might have then improv'd that small estate

Let the case now quite alter'd be, Which Nature sparingly did to him give;

And, as thou wentest abroad the world to see, He might perhaps have thriven then,

Let the world now come to see thee ! And settled upon ine, his child, somewhat to live,

The world will do't ; for curiosi!y 'T har happier been for him, as well as me; Does, no less than devotion, pilgrims make; For when all, alas! is done,

And I myself, w'io now luve quiet to). We Books, I mean, you Books, will prove to be As much almost as any Cha r can do, The best and noblest conversation;

Would yet a journ y tale, For, though some errours will get in,

An old wheel of that chariot to see, Like tinctures of original sin;

Which Phaeton so rashly brake : Yet sure we from our fathers' wit

Yet what could that say more than these remains of Draw all the strength and spirit of it,

Drake? Leaving the grosser parts for conversation,

Great Relie! thou too, in this port of ease,
As the best blood of man's employ'd in generation, Hast sull one way of making voyages;

The breath of Fame, like an auspicious gale

(The great tra le-wind which ne'er does fail)

Shall drive thee round the world, and thou shalt run, SITTING AND DRINKING IN THE CHAIR MADE OUT OF

As long around it as the Sun. THE RELICS OF SIR FRANCIS DRAKE'S SHIP.

The streights of Time too narrow are for thee;

Launch forth into an undiscover'd sea,
Cheer up, my mates, the wind does fairly blow,
Clap on more sail, and never spare;

And steer the endlest course of rast Eternity ! Farewell all lands, for now we are

Take for thy sail this verse, and for thy pilot me!
In the wide sea of drink, and merrily we go.
Bless me, 'tis hot ! another bowl of wine,

And we shall cut the burning line :
Hey, hoys! she scuds away, and by my head I know THE EARL OF BALCARRES.

We round the world are sailing now.
What dull men are those that tarry at home,

Tis fully all, that can be said, When abroad they might wantonly roam,

By living mortals, of th' inimortal dead, And gain such experience, and spy too

And I'm afraid they laugh at the rain tears we shed. Such countries and wonders, as I do!

'Tis as if we, who stay behind But prythee, good pilot, take heed what you do, In expectation of the wind, And fail not to touch at Peru !

Should pity those who pass'd this streight before, With gold there the vessel we'll store,

And touch the universal shore. And never, and never be poor,

Ah, happy man! who art to sail no more! No, never be poor any more.

And, if it seem ridiculous to grieve What do I mean? What thoughts do me misguide?

Because our friends are newly come from sea, As well upon a staff may witches ride

Though ne'er so fair and calm it be;

What would ali sober men beliere,
Their fancy'd journeys in the air,
As I sail round the ocean in this Chair!

If they should hear us sighing say,

“ Balcarres, who but th' other day 'Tis true; but yet this Chair which here you

Did all our love and our respect command; see, For all its quiet now, and gravity,

At whose great parts we ali amaz'd did stand; Has wander'd and has travell’d more

Is from a storm, alas! cast suddenly on land ?" Than ever beast, or fish, or bird, or ever tree, be- If you will say—“Few persons upon Earth fore :

Did, more than be, deserve to have In every air and every sea 't has been,

A life exempt from fortune and the grave; "T has compass'd all the Earth, and all the Heavens Whether you look upon his birth it has seen.

And ancestors, whose fame's so widely spreadLet not the pope's itself with this compare,

But ancestors, alas! who long ago are dead This is the only universal Chair.

Or whether you consider more The pious wanderer's Aeet, sav'd from the same

The vast increase, as sure you ought, (Which still the relics did of Truy pursue,

Of honour by his labour bought,

And added to the former store :"
And took them for its due),
A squadron of immortal nymphs became :

All I can answer, is, “ That I allow
Still with their arms they row about the seas,

The privilege you plead for; and avow And still make new and greater voyages:

That, as he well deserv’d, be doth enjoy it now.” Nor has the first poetic ship of Greece

Though God, for great and righteous ends, (Though now a star she so triumphant show,

Which his unerring Providence intends And guide her sailing siiccessors below,

Erroneous mankind should not understand, Bright as her ancient freight the shining fleece) Would not permit Balcarres' hand, Yet to this day a quiet harbour found;

(That once with so much industry and art The tide of heaven still carries her around;

Had clos'd the gaping wounds of every part) Only Drake's sacred vessel (which before

To perfect his distracted nation's cure, Had done and had seen more

Or stop the fatal bondage 'twas t' endure;

Yet for his pains he soon did him remove,

His passage after her withstood. Frein all th' oppression and the woe

What should she do ? through all the moving wood Of bis frail bouly's native soil below,

Of lives endow'd with sense she took her flight: To his soul's true and peaceful country above : Harvey pursues, and keeps her still in sight. So godlike kings, for secret causes, known

But as the deer, long-hunted, takes a flood, Sometimes, but to themselves alone,

She Jeap'd at last into the winding streams of One of their ablest ministers elect,

blood; And sent abroad to treaties, which they' intend Of man's meander all the purple reaches made, Shall never take effect;

Till at the heart she stay'd; But, though the treaty wants a happy end,

Where turning head, and at a bay, The happy agent wants not the reward,

Thus by well-purged ears was she v'erheard to For which he labour'd faithfully and hard;

say; His just and righteous master calls bim home And gives him, near himself, some honourable room.

“ Here sure shall I be safe" (said she)

“ None will be able sure to see Noble and great endeavours did he bring

This my retreat, but only he To save his country, and restore his king;

Who made both it and me. And, whilst the maniy half of bim (which those

The heart of man what art can e'er rercal? Who know not lore, to be the whole suppose)

A wall impervious between Perform'd all parts of Virtue's rigorous life;

Divides the very parts within, The beauteous half, his lovely wife,

And doth theheart of man er'n from itself conceal." Did all his labours and his cares divide;

She spoke: but, ere she was aware, Nor was a lame nor paralytic side :

Harvey was with her there; In all the turns of human state,

And held this slippery Proteus in a chain, And all th' unjust attacks of Fate,

Till all her mighty mysteries he descry'd; Sbe bore her share and portion still,

Which from his wit th' attempt before to hide
And would not suffer any to be ill.

Was the first thing that Nature did in vain,
Unfortunate for ever let me be,
If I believe that such was he

He the young practice of new life did sce, Whom in the storms of bad success,

Whilst, to conceal its toilsome poverty, And all that errour calls unhappiness,

It for a living wrought, both hard and privately. His virtue and his virtuous wife did still accompany;

Before the liver understood

The noble scarlet dye of blood; With these companions 'twas not strange

Before one drop was by it made, That nothing could his temper change.

Or brought into it, to set up the trade; His own and country's union had not weight

Before the untaught heart began to beat Enough to crush his mighty mind:

The tuneful march to vital heat; He saw around the hurricanes of state,

From all the souls that living buildings rear, Fixt as an island 'gainst the waves and wind.

Whether employ'd for earth, or sea, or airs Thus far the greedy sea may reach;

Whether it in womb or egg be wronght; All outward things are but the beach;

A strict account to him is hourly brought A great man's soul it doth assault in vain!

How the great fabric does proceed, Their God himself the ocean doth restrain

What time, and what materials, it does nced; With an imperceptible chain,

He so exactly does the work survey, And bid it to go back again.

As if he hir'd the workers by the day. His wisdom, justice, and his picty,

Thus Harvey sought for truth in Truth's own book, His courage both to suffer and to die,

The creatures-—which by God himself was writ: His virtues, and his lady too,

And wisely thought 'twas fit,
Were things celestial.
And we see,

Not to read comments only upon it, · In spite of quarrelling Philosophy,

But on th' original itself to look.
How in this case 'tis certain found,

Methinks in Art's great circle others stand
That Heaven stands still, and only Earth goes round.

Lock'd-up together, hand in hand;
Every one leads as he is led;

The same bare path they tread,

And dance, like fairies, a fantastic round,

But neither change their motion nor their ground: UPOX DR. HARVEY.

Had Harvey to this road confin'd his wit, Cor Nature (which remain'd, though aged grown,

His noble circle of the blood had been untrodden

yet. A beauteous virgin still, enjoy'd by none,

Great Doctor! th’art of curing's cur'd by thee ; Nor seen unveil'd by any one)

We now thy patient, Physic, see When Harvey's violent passion she did see,

From all inveterate diseases free,
Began to tremble and to flee;

Purg'd of old errours by thy care,
Took sanctuary, like Daphne, in a tree :
There Daphne's lover
stopp'd, and thought it much New dieted, put forth to clearer air ;

It now will strong and healthful prove;
The very leaves of her to touch :
But Harvey, our Apollo, stopp'd not so;

Itself before lethargic lay, and could not move!
Into the bark and root he after her did go ? These useful secrets to his pen we owe!
No smallest fibres of a plant.

And thousands more 'twas ready to bestow; For which the eye-beams point doth sharpness of which a barbarous war's unlearned rage want,

Has rubb'd the ruin'd age:

O cruel loss! as if the golden fleece,

With so much cost and labour bought, And from afar by a great herd brought,

Had sunk ev'n in the ports of Greece. O cursed War! who can forgive thee this?

Houses and towns may rise again;

And ten times easier 'tis
To rebuild Paul's, than any work of his:
That mighty task none but himself can do,

Nay, scarce himself too, now;
For, though his wit the force of age withstand,
His body, alas! and time, it must ammand;
and Nature now, so leng by him surpass'd,
Will sure have her revenge on him at last,

And to faithful Acme's mind
Septimius was all human-kind.
If the gods would please to be
But advis'd for once by me,
I'd advise them, when they spy
Any illustrious piety,
To reward her, if it be she-
To reward him, if it be hem
With such a husband, such a wife;
With Acme's and Septimius' life.




Whilst on Septimius' panting breast
(Meaning nothing less than rest)
Acme lean'd her loving head,
Thus the pleas'd Septimius said:
“ My dearest Acme, if I be
Once alive, and love not thee
With a passion far above
All that e'er was called love;
In a Libyan desert inay
I become some lion's prey;
Let him, Acme, let him tear
My breast, when Acme is not there."
The god of love, who stood to hear him
('The god of love was always near him)
Pleas'd and tickled with the sound,
Sneez'd aloud ; and all around
The little Loves, that waited by,
Bow'd, and blest the augury.
Acme, enflam’d with what he said,
Rear'd her gently-bencing head;
And, her purple mouth with joy
Stretching to the delicious boy,
Twice (and twice could scarce suffice)
She kist bis drunken rolling eyes.
“ My little life, my all!” (said she)
So may we ever servants be
To this best god, and ne'er retain
Our hated liberty again!
So may thy passion last for me,
As I a passion have for thee,
Greater and fiercer much than can
Be conceiv'd by thee a inan!
Into my marrow is it gone,
Fixt and settled in the bone;
It reigns not only in my heart,
But runs, like life, through every part."
She spoke; the god of love aloud
Sneez'd agajn; and all the crowd
Of little Loves, that waited by,
Bow'd, and blest the augury.
This good omen thus from Heaven
Like a happy signal given,
Their loves and lives (all four) embrace,
And hand in hand run all the race.
Tv poor Septimius (who did now
Nothing else but Acme grow)
Acme's bosom was alone
The whole world's imperial throne ;

UPON HIS MAJESTY'S BESTORATION AND RETURY. -Quod optanti divům promittere nemo Auderet, volvenda dies, en, attulit ultro.

Virg. Now blessings on you all, ye peaceful stars, Which meet at last so kindly, and dispense Your universal gentle influence To calm the stormy world, and still the rage of wars!

Nor, whilst around the continent Plenipotentiary beams ye sent,

Did your pacific lights disdain

In their large treaty to contain
The world apart, o'er which do reign
Your seven fair brethren of great Charles his wain;
No star amongst ye all did, I believe,

Such vigorous assistance give,
As that which, thirty years ago,
At Charles's birth }, did, in despite

Of the proud Sun's meridian light,
His future glories and this year foreshow.

No less effects than these we may
Be assur'd of from that powerful ray,
Which could out-face the Sun,and overcome the day,

Auspicious star! again arise,
And take thy noon-tide station in the skies,

Again all heaven prodigiously adorn;
For lo! thy Charles again is born.
He then was born with and to pain;
With and to joy he's born again.
And, wisely for this second birth,

By which thou certain were to bless
The land with full and Aourishing happiness,

Thou mad'st of that fair month thy choice,

In which heaven, air, and sca, and earth, And all that's in them, all, does sinile and does re.

joice. 'Twas a right season; and the very ground Ought with a face of Paradise to be found,

Then, when we were to entertain Felicity and Innocence again. Shall we again (good Heaven!) that blessed pair be

Which the abused people fondly sold
For the bright fruit of the forbidden tree,

By seeking all like gods to be?
Will Peace her halcyon nest venture to build

Upon a shore with shipwrecks fill'd,
And trust that sea, where she can hardly say,
She has known these twenty years one calmy day?

3 The star that appeared at noon, the day of the king's birth, just as the king his father was riding to St. Paul's to give thanks to God for that blessing.

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