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As seems to blast thy (else immortal) bays,

When thine own tongue proclaims thy itch of


Such thirst will argue drought. No; let be burld INSTANT LEAVES HER, COMPLAINS THUS.

Upon thy works, by the detracting world, Oh whither is my fair sun fled,

What malice can saggest ; let the rout say,

The running sands, that (ere thou make a play) Bearing his light not heat away?

Count the slow minutes, might a Goodwin' frame, If thou repose in the most bed

To swallow, when th' hast done, thy shipwreck'd Of the sea-queen, bring back the day

name; To our dark clime, and thou shalt lie

Let them the dear expense of oil upbraid, Bath'd in the sea-flows from mine eye,

Suck'd by thy watchful lamp, that hath betray'd

To theft the blood of martyr'd authors, spilt Upon what whirlwind didst thou ride

Into thy ink, whilst thou grow'st pale with guilt: Hence, remain fixt in my heart,

Repine not at the taper's thrifty waste, From me, and to me; Aed, and ty'd ?

That sleeks thy terser poems; Dor is baste Dark riddles of the amorous art ;

Praise, but excuse; and if thou overcome Love lent thee wings to fly ; so he

A knotty writer, bring the booty home; Unfeather'd now must rest with me.

Nor think it theft, if the rich spoils, so torn

From conquer'd authors, be as trophies word. Help, help, brave youth! I burn, I bleed !

Let others glut on thee th' extorted praise The cruel god with bow and brand

Of vulgar breath, trust i hou to after-days: Pursues the life thy valour freed;

Thy labour'd works shall live, when time derous Disarm him with thy conquering hand;

Th’ abortive off-spring of their hasty hours: And that thou may'st the wild boy tame,

Thou art not of their rank; the quarrel lies
Give me his dart, keep thou his flame.

Within thine own verge; then let this suffice,
The wiser world doth greater thee confess
Than all men else, than thyself only less.







"Trs true (dear Ben.) thy just chastising hand

Hath fix'd upon the sotted age a brand,

To their swoln pride and empty scribbling due :
It can nor judge, nor write ; and yet, 'tis true, Tech me (my love) since Hymen tyd
Thy comic Muse from the exalted line

The holy knot, hast thou not felt
Touch'd by the alchymist, doth since decline

A new infused spirit slide From that her zenith, and foretels a red

Into thy breast, whilst thine did melt? And blushing evening, when she goes to bed; Yet such as shall out-shine the glimmering light With which all stars shall gild the following night. First tell me (sweet) whose words were those ? Nor think it much (since all thy eaglets may Endure the sunny trial) if we say

For though your voice the air did break,

Yet did my soul the sense compose,
This hath the stronger wing, or that doth shine
Trick'd up in fairer plumes, since all are thine.

And through your lips my heart did speak.
Who hath his flock of cackling geese compar'd
With thy tun'd quire of swans? or else who dar'd
To call thy births deform’d? But if thou bind,

Then I perceive, when from the game By city custom, or by gavel kind,

Of love my scorch'd soul did retire In equal shares thy love on all thy race,

Your frozen heart iu her place came, We may distinguish of their sex, and place;

And sweetly melted in that fire.
Though one hand form them, and through one brain

Souls into all, they are not all alike. (strike
Why should the follies then of this dull age 'Tis true; for when that mutual change
Draw from thy pen such an immodest rage

Of souls was made with equal gain,

I straight might feel diffus'd a strange 1 This was the last of Ben. Jonson's dramatic But gentle heat through every vein. productions, and it bore every mark of departing genius. The New-Inn gave him more rexation than all his former pieces bad done. It was ex-Oh blest disunion! that doth so hibited at the theatre without any success : but a Our bodies from our souls divide, great poet is never tired of fame; he appealed. As two do one and one four grow, from the stage to the closet, and published his Fach by contraction multiply'd. comedy, having prefixed to it an ode addressed to himself, in which he corrplimented his own abili- * Carew here alludes to the Goodwin Sands in ties, and set the critics at defiance. To this ode Kent, which have proved fatal to such a number our poet here alludes.

of vessels and their crews.





Brida. Thy bosom then I'll make my nest, Others, in task, shall thy choice virtues share; Since there my willing soul doth perch.

Some shall their birth,some theirripe growth declare, Grooy. And for my heart in thy chaste breast Though niggardTime left much unhatch'd by deeds: l'll make an everlasting search.

They shall relate how thou badst all the seeds CHORUS. Oh blest disunion, &c.

Of every virtue, which in the pursuit
Of time must have brought forth admired fruit;
Thus shalt thou from the mouth of Envy raise
A glorious journal of thy thrifty days,

Like a bright star shot from his sphere, whose race OBSEQUIES TO THE LADY ANNE HAY”. In a continued line of flames we trace.

This, if survey'd, shall to thy view impart I heard the virgins sigh; I saw the sleek

How little more than late thou wert, thou art: And polish'd courtier channel bis fresh cheek This shall gain credit with succeeding times, With real tears; the new betrothed maid

When nor by bribed pens, nor 'partial rhimes
Smil'd not that day; the graver senate laid Of engag'd kindred, but the sacred truth
Their business by; of all the courtly throng Is storied by the partners of thy youth ;
Grief seal’d the heart, and silence bound the tongue: Their breath shall saint thee, and be this thy pride,
I that ne'er more of private sorrow knew

Thus ev'n by rivals to be deify'd.
Than from my pen some froward mistress drew,
And for the public woe had my dull sense
So sear'd with ever-adverse influence,
As the invader's sword might have, unfelt,

Pierc'd my dead bosom, yet began to melt:
Grief's strong instinct did to my blood suggest
In th' unknown loss peculiar interest.
But when I heard the noble Carlisle's gem,
The fairest branch of Denny's ancient stem,

Madam, men say you keep with dropping eyes Was from that casket stolen, from this trunk torn, Your sorrows fresh, wat’ring the rose that lies I found just cau-e why they, why I should mourn. Fall'n from your cheeks upon your dear lord's hearse, But who shall guide my artless pen, to draw

Alas! those odours now no more can pierce Those blooming beauties which I never saw ? His cold, pale nostril, nor the crimson dye How shall posterity believe my story,

Present a graceful blush to his dark eye. If I her crowded graces, and the glory

Think you that flood of pearly moisture hath Due to her riper virtues, shall relate

The virtue fabled of old Eson's bath? Without the knowledge of her mortal state? You may your beauties and your youth consume Shall I, as once Appelles, here a feature,

Over his urn, and with your sighs perfume There steal a grace; and rifling so whole nature The solitary vault, which, as you groan, Of all the sweets a learned eye can see,

In hollow echoes shall repeat your moan: Figure one Venus, and say, « Such was she ?" There you may wither, and an autumn bring Shall I her legend fill with what of old

Upon your self, but not call back his spring. Hath of the worthies of her sex been told;

Forbear your fruitless grief then; and let those And what all pens and times to all dispense, Whose love was doubted, gain belief with shows Restrain to her by a prophetic sense?

To their suspected faith ; you whose whole life Or shall I, to the moral and divine

In every act crown'd you a constant wife, Exactest laws, shape by an even line

May spare the practice of that vulgar trade, A life so straight, as it should shame the square Which superstitious custom only made : Left in the rules of Katherine or Clare,

Rather, a widow now of wisdom prove And call it hers ? Say, “ So did she begin ; The pattern, as a wife you were of love. And, had she liv'd, such had her progress been?" Yet since you surfeit on your grief, 'tis fit These are dull ways, by which base pens, for hire, I tell the world upon what cares you sit Daub glorious Vice, and from Apollo's quire

Glutting your sorrows; and at once include Steal holy ditties, which profanely they

His story, your excuse, my gratitude.
Upon the bearse of every strumpet lay.

You, that behold how yon sad lady blends
We will not bathe thy corpse with a forc'd tear, Those ashes with her tears, lest, as she spends
Nor shall thy train borrow the blacks they wear ; Her tributary sighs, the frequent gust
Such vulgar spice and gums embalm not thee; Might scatter up and down the noble dust;
Thou art the theme of truth, not poetry.

Know, when that heap of atoms was with blood Thou shalt endure a trial by thy peers ;

Kneaded to solid flesh, and firmly stood Virgins of equal birth, of equal years,

On stately pillars, the rare form might move Whose virtues held with tbine an emulous strife, The froward Ino's, or chaste Cynthia's love, Shall draw thy picture, and record thy life: In motion, active grace; in rest, a calm; Dne shall ensphere thine eyes, auother shall Attractive sweetness brought both wound and balne Impearl thy teeth, a third thy white and small To every heart; he was compos'd of all Hand shall besnow, a fourth incarnadine

The wishes of ripe virgins, when they call Thy rosy cheek; until each beauteous line, For Hymen's rites, and in their fancies wed Drawn by her hand in whom that part excels,

A shape of studied beauties to their bed. Meet in one centre, where all beauty dwells.

" This was Elizabeth, the wife of the renownell "She was the daughter of James Hay, first earl Arthur Annesley, first earl of Anglesey, and daugh of Carlisle.

ter of sir James Altham. VOL V.

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Within this curious palace dwelt a soul

Dry as the sand that measures it, might lay Gave lustre to each part, and to the whole : Upon the ashes on the funeral day? This drest his face in courteous smiles; and so Have we not tune, nor voice? Didst thoa dispense From comely gestures sweeter manners flow. Through all our language both the words and sense? This courage join'd to strength; so the hand, bent, 'T is a sad truth. The pulpit may her plain Was Valour's; open'd, Bounty's instrument; And sober christian precepts still retain; Which did the scale and sword of Justice hold, Doctrines it may, and wholsome uses, frame, Knew how to brandish steel and scatter gold. Grave homilies, and lectures ; but the flame This taught him not t'engage his modest tongue Of thy brave soul (that shot such heat and light In suits of private gain, though public wrong; As burnt our Earth, and made our darkness bright, Nor misemploy (as is the great man's use) Committed holy rapes upon the will, His credit with his master, to traduce,

Did through the eye the melting hearts distil, Deprave, malign, and ruin Innocence,

And the deep knowledge of dark truths so teach In proud revenge of some mis-judg'd offence: As sense might judge what fancy could not reach) But all his actions had the noble end

Must be desir'd for ever. So the fire To advance desert, or grace some worthy friend. That fills with spirit and heat the Delphic quire, He chose not in the active stream to swim, Which, kindled first by the Promethean breath, Nor hunted Honour, which yet hunted him; Glow'd here a while, lies quench'd now in thy death. But like a quiet eddy that hath found

The Muses' garden, with pedantic weeds Some hollow creek, there turns his waters round, O'erspread, was purg'd by thee; the lazy seeds And in continual circles dances, free

Of servile imitation thrown away. From the impetuous torrent; so did he

And fresh invention planted. Thou didst pay Give others leave to turn the wheel of state, The debts of our penurious bankrupt age: (Whose steerless motion spins the subject's fate) Licentious thefts, that make poetic rage Whilst he, retir'd from the tumultuous noise A mimic fury, when our souls must be Of court, and suitors' press, apart enjoys

Possest or with Anacreon's ecstasy Freedom, and mirth, himself, his time, and friends, Or Pindar's, not their own; the subtle cheat And with sweet relish tastes each hour he spends. Of sly exchanges, and the juggling feat I could remember how his noble heart

Of two-edg'd swords; or whatsoever wrong First kindled at your beauties; with what art By ours was done the Greek or Latin tongue, He chas'd his game through all opposing fears, Thou hast redeem'd; and opend us a mine When I his sighs to you, and back your tears Of rich and pregnant fancy; drawn a line Convey'd to him ; how loyal then, and how Of masculine expression, which had good Constant he prov'd since to his marriage vow, Old Orpheus seen, or all the ancient brood So as his wandring eyes never drew in

Our superstitious fools admire, and hold One lustful thought to tempt his soul to sin; Their lead more precious than thy burnish'd gold, But that I fear such mention rather may

'Thou hadst been their exchequer, and no more Kindle new grief, than blow the old away.

They each in other's dung had search'd for ore. Then let him rest, joiu'd to great Buckingham, Thou shalt yield no precedence, but of time, And with his brother's mingle his bright flame. And the blind fate of language, whose tun'd chime Look up, and meet their beams, and you from thence More charms the outward sense: yet thou may'st May chance derive a cheerful influence.

From so great disadvange greater fame, [claim Seck him no more in dust, but call again

Since to the awe of thy imperious wit Your scatter'd beauties home; and so the pen, Our troublesome language bends, made only fit Which now I take from this sad elegy,

With her tough thick-rib'd hoops to gird about Shall sing the trophies of your conqu’ring eye. Thy giant fancy, which had prov'd too stout

For their soft, melting phrases. As in time
They had the start, so did they cull the prime

Buds of invention many a hundred year,

And left the rifled fields, besides the fear
To touch their barvest; yet from those bare lands

Of what was only thine, thy only hands
TIIE DEATH OF DOCTOR DONNE', (And that their smallest work) have gleaned more

Thau all those times and tongues conld reap before.

But thou art gone, and thy strict laws will be Can we not force from widow'd Poetry,

Too hard for libertines in poetry; Now thou art dead, great Donne, one elegy

They will recall the goodly, exil'd train To crown thy hearse? Why yet did we not crust,

Of gods and goddesses, which in thy just reiga Though with unkneaded, dough-bak'd prose, thy

Was banish'd noble poems. Now, with these, dust;

The silenc'd tales i' th' Metamorphoses Such as th' uncizar'd lect'rer from the flow'r

Shall stuff their lines, and swell the windy page; Of fading rhetoric, short-liv'd as his hour,

Till verse, refin'd by thee, in this last age
Turn ballad-rhime, or those old idols be

Ador'd again with new apostacy. + This excellent poet is better known in our age by his Satires, which were modernised and versified him ; for in another place he exalts him abore all by Mr. Pope, than by his other works, which are the other bards, ancient and modern :

If he was not the greatest poet, he was at least the greatest wit, of James the First's reign

- Donne, worth all that went before. Carew seems to have thought still more bighly o. He died in the year 1631.





Oh pardon me! that break with untund verse They'll think bis acts things rather feign’dthandone, The reverend silence that attends thy hearse; Like our romances of the Knight o'th' Sup. Whose solemn, awful murmurs were to thee,

Leave we him then to the grave chronicler, More than those rude lines, a loud elegy;

Who though to annals he cannot refer That did proclaim in a dumb eloqueuce

His too-brief story, yet his journals may The death of all the arts, whose influence,

Stand by the Cæsar's years, and every day Grown feeble, in these panting numbers lies, Cut into minutes, each shall more contain Gasping short-winded accents, and so dies : Of great designinent than an emperor's reign : So doth the swiftly-turning wheel not stand And (since 't was but his church-yard) let him hare I'th' instant we withdraw the moving hand,

For his own ashes now no narrower grave But some short-time retains a faint, weak course,

Than the whole German continent's vast womb, By virtue of the first impulsive force;

Whilst all her cities do but make his tonb. And so, whilst I cast on thy funeral pile

Let us to Supreme Providence commit Thy crown of bays, oh let it crack a while, The fate of monarchs, which first thought it tit And spit disdain, till the devouring flashes

To rend the empire from the Austrian grasp), Suck all the moisture up, then turn to ashes.

And next from Sweden's, even when he did clasp I will not draw the envy, to engross

Within his dying arms the sov’reignty All thy perfections, or weep all the loss;

Of all those provinces, that men might see Those are too numerous for one elegy,

The Divine Wisdom would not leave that land And 't is too great to be express'd by me:

Subject to any one king's sole command. Let others carve the rest; it shall suffice,

Then let the Germans fear, if Cæsar shall, I on thy grave this epitaph incise.

Or the united princes, rise and fall; “ Here lies a king that rul'd as he thought fit

But let us that in myrtle bowers sit, The universal monarchy of wit ;

Under secure shades, use the benefit
Here lies two flamens ?, and both those the best; Of peace and plenty, which the blessed hand
Apollo's first, at last the true God's pricst." Of our good king gives this obdurate land:

Let us of revels sing, and let thy breath
(Which flld Fame's trumpet with Gustavus' death,

Blowing his name to Heaven) gently inspire

Thy past'ral pipe till all our swains adınire
Thy song and subject, whilst they both comprise

The beauties of the Shepherd's Paradises:
AN ELEGIACAL LETTER UPON THE DEITII OF THE For who, like thee, (whose loose discourse is far

More neat and polish'd than our poems are,

Whose very gait's more graceful than our dance) FROM AURELIAN TOWNSEND, INVITING ME TO WRITE

In sweetly fowing numbers may advance

The glorious night: when, not to act foul rapes, Way dost thou sound, my dear Aurelian,

Like birds, or beasts, but in their angel-shapes In so shrill actions, from thy Barbican,

A troop of deities came down to guide A loud alarum to my drowsy eyes“,

Our steerless barks in Passion's swelling tide Bidding them wake in tears and elegies

By Virtue's card, and brought us from above For mighty Sweden's fall ? Alas ! how may

A pattern of their own celestial love. My lyric feet, that of the smooth, soft way

Nor lay it in dark sullen precepts drown'd; Of Love and Beauty only know the tread,

But with rich fancy and clear action crown'd, In dancing paces celebrate the dead

Through a mysterious fable (that was drawn Victorious king, or bis majestic hearse

Like a transparent veil of purest lawa Profane with th' humble touch of their low verse?

Before their dazzling beauties) the divine Virgil nor Lucan, no, nor Tasso, more

Venus did with her heavenly Cupid shine: Than both; not Donne, worth all that went before; The story's curious web, the masculine stile, With the united labour of their wit

The subtle sense, did time and sleep beguile: Could a just poem to this subject fit.

Pinion's and charm’d, they stood to gaze upon His actions were too mighty to be rais'd

Th' angel-like forms, gestures, and motion ; Higher by verse: let bim in prose be prais'd,

To hear those ravishing sounds, that did dispense In modest faithful story, which his deeds

Knowledge and pleasure to the soul and sense. Shall turn to poems: when the next age reads

It fill'd us with amazement to behold Of Francfort, Leipsic, Warsburgh, of the Rhine,

Love made all spirit; his corporeal mold, The Leck, the Danube, Tilley, Wallestein,

Dissected into atoms, melt away Bavaria, Dapenheim, Lutzen field, where he

To empty air, and from the gross allay
Gain'd after death a posthume victory,

Of mixtures and compounding accidents,
Refin'd to immaterial elements.

But when the queen of beauty did inspire Alluding to his being both a poet and a divine. The air with perfumes, and our hearts with fire, 3 Gustavus Adolphus, the great protector of the Breathing, from her celestial organ, sweet protestants in Germany ; who, after having sub- Harmonious notes, our souls fell at her feet. dued Ingria, Livonia, and Pomerania, was killed at And did with humble, reverend duty, more the battle of Lutzen, near Leipsic.

Her rare perfections than high state adore. * Onr author in this passage lost sight of his usual correctness. To “sound an alarum to the eyes” is a harsh expression on this side of the Irish 5 The title of a poem written by Aurelian TownChannel.-But, quandoque dormitat Homerus. send.


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These harmless pastimes let my Townsend sing
To rural tunes; not that thy Muse wants wing
To soar a loftier pitch, (for she hath made

A noble flight, and plac'd th' heroic shade
Above the reach of our faint, flagging rhime ;) Sir, I arrest you at your country's suit,
But these are subjects proper to our clime.

Who, as a debt to her, requires the fruit
Tornies“, masks, theatres better become

Of that rich stock, which she by Nature's hand Our Halcyon days. What though the German drum

Gave you in trust, to th' use of this whole land : Bellow for freedom and revenge? the noise Next she indites you of a felony, Concerns not us, nor should divert our joys; For stealing what was her propriety', Nor ougbt the thunder of their carabins

Yourself, from hence; so seeking to convey Drown the sweet airs of our tun'd violins.

The public treasure of the state away. Believe me, friend, if their prevailing pow'rs More: y' are accus'd of ostracism, the fate Gain them a calm security like ours,

Impos'd of old by the Athenian state They'll hang their arms upon the olive bough,

Ou eminent virtue; but that curse which tbey And dance and revel then as we do now.

Cast on their men, you on your country lay:
For, thus divided from your noble parts,
This kingdom lives in exile, and all hearts

That relish worth or bonour, being rent
UPON. MR. W. MOUNTAGUE From your perfections, suffer banishment.

These are your public injuries; but I

Have a just private quarrel, to defy

And call you coward ; thus to run away Lead the black bull to slaughter, with the boar

When you had pierc'd my heart, not daring stay And lamb; then purple with their mingled gore Till I redeem'd my honour: but I swear The Ocean's curled brow, that so we may

By Celia's eyes, by the same force to tear The sea-gods for their careful waftage pay: Your heart from you, or not to end this strife, Send grateful incense up in pious smoke

Till I or find revenge, or lose my life.
To those mild spirits that cast a curbing yoke But as in single fights it oft hath been
Upon the stubborn winds, that calmly blew

In that unequal equal trial seen,
To the wish'd shore our long'd-for Mountague: That he who had receiv'd the wrong at first,
Then, whilst the aromatic odours burn

Came from the combat oft too with the worst; In honour of their darling's safe return,

So if you foil me wben we meet, I'll then The Muse's quire shall thus with voice and hand

Give you fair leave to wound me so again.
Bless the fair gale that drove his ship to land.

Sweetly-breathing vernal air,
That with kind warmth do'st repair
Winter's ruins; from whose breast

All the gums and spice of th' east
Borrow their perfumes; whose eye

Gilds the morn, and clears the sky;
Whose dissheveld tresses shed

Such should this day be, so the Sun should hide Pearls upon the riolet bed;

His bashful face, and let the conquering bride On whose brow, with calm smiles dress'd, Without a rival shine, wbilst he forbears The halcyon sits and builds her pest;

To mingle his unequal beams with hers; Beauty, youth, and endless spring,

Or if sometimes he glance his squinting eye Dwell upon thy rosy wing.

Between the parting clouds, 't is but to spy, Thou, if stormy Boreas throws

Not emulate her glories, so comes drest Down whole forests when he blows,

In veils, but as a masker to the feast. [blow, With a pregnant flow'ry birth

Thus Heav'n should lowr, such stormy gusts should Canst refresh the teeming earth:

Not to denounce ungentle fates, but show, If he nip the early bud,

The cheerful bridegroom to the clouds and wind If he blast what's fair or good,

Hath all his tears and all his sigbs assign'd. If he scatter our choice flowers,

Let tempests struggle in the air, but rest If he shake our bills or bowers,

Eternal calms within thy peaceful breast! If his rude breath threaten us;

Thrice happy youth! but ever sacrifice Thou canst stroke great Folus,

To that fair hand that dry'd thy blubber'd eyes, And from him the grace obtain

That crown'd thy head with roses, and turn'd all To bind him in an iron chain.

The plagues of love into a cordial,

When first it join'd her virgin snow to thine, Thus, whilst you deal your body'mongst your friends, which when to day the priest shall recombine, And fill their circling arms, my glad soul sends

From the mysterious, holy touch, such cbarms This her embracc: thus we of Delphos greet; Will flow, as shall unlock her wreathed arms, As lay-men clasp their hands, we join our feet.

And open a free passage to that fruit

Which thou bast toil'd for with a long pursuit. 6 This species of entertainment, we suppose, was

But ere thou feed, that thoa mayst better taste a-kin to our modern routs, the expression seeming Thy present joys, think on thy torments past : to be borrowed from the Spanish tornado, or hurri

· Property.




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