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THE CHARACTER Great lies they tell, preach our church cannot err; OF AN ANTI-COVENANTER, OR MALIGNANT, Less lies, who say the king's not head of her; Great lies, who cry we may shed other's blood, Would you know these royal knaves, Less lies, who swear dumb bishops are not good;

Of freemen would turn us slaves; Great lies they vent, say we for God do fight,

Who our union do defame Less lies, who guess the king does nothing right;

With rebellion's wicked name? Great lies and less lies all our aims descry;

Read these verses, and ye 'll spring 'em
To pulpits some, to camp the rest apply.

Then on gibbets straight cause hing 'em.
They complain of sin and folly;

In these times so passing holy,

They their substance will not give,
Libertines that we may live.

Hold those subjects too, too wanton,

Under an old king dare canton.
THERE, INCLOSED IN A PLASTER MADE IN THE FIGURE Neglect they do our circ'lar tables,

Scorn our acts and laws as fables ;
Thrice, royal sir, here I do you beseech,

Of our battles talk but meekly, Who art a lion, to hear a lion's speech.

With four sermons pleas'd are weekly ; A miracle; for, since the days of Æsop,

Swear king Charles is neither papist, No lion till these times his voice dar'd raise up

Arminian, Lutheran, or atheist. To such a majesty: then, king of men,

But that in his chamber-pray'rs, The king of beasts speaks to thee from his den;

Which are pour'd 'midst sighs and tears, Who, though he now enclosed be in plaster,

To avert God's fearful wrath,
When he was free, was Lithgow's wise schoolmaster.

Threat'ning us with blood and death;
Persuade they would the multitude,

This king too holy is and good.
A COUNTRY majd Amazon-like did ride,

They avouch we'll weep and groan

When hundred kings we serve for one;
To sit more sure, with leg on either side:

That each shire but blood affords,
Her mother who her spied, said that ere long
She should just penance suffer for that wrong;

To serve th' ambition of young lords ;
For when time should on her more years bestow,

Whose debts ere now had been redoubled,

If the state had not been troubled.
That horse's hair between her thighs would grow.
Scarce winter twice was come, as was her told, Slow they are our oath to swear,
When she found all to frizzle there with gold; Slower for it arms to bear :
Which first made her afraid, then turn'd her sick, They do concord love, and peace,
And forc'd her keep her bed almost a week. Would our enemies embrace,
At last her mother calls, who scarce for laughter Turn men proseiytes by the word,
Could bear the pleasant story of her daughter; Not by musket, pike, and sword.
But, that this phrenzy should no more her vex,
She swore thus bearded were their weaker sex ;

They swear that for religion's sake
Which when denied, “Think not,” said she, “I scorn;

We may not massacre, burn, sack:
Behold the place, poor fool, where thou wast born.” That the beginning of these pleas,
The girl that seeing cried, now void of pain, Sprang from the ill-sped A B Cs,
Ah! mother, you have ridden on the mane?"

For servants that it is not well
Against their masters to rebel.

That that devotion is but slight,

Doth force men first to swear, then fight.
God's judgments seldom use to cease, unless That our confession is indeed
The sins which them procur'd men do confess. Not the apostolic creed;
Our cries are Baal's priests, our fasting vain; Which of negations we contrive,
Our pray’rs not heard, nor answer'd us again : Which Turk and Jew may both subscrive.
Till perjury, wrong, rebellion, be confest,
Think not on peace, nor to be freed of pest.

That monies should men's daughters marry,
They on frantic war miscarry.
Whilst dear the soldiers they pay,

At last who will snatch all away.

And, as times turn worse and worse,
The king gives yearly to his senate gold;

Catechise us by the purse.
Who can deny but justice then is sold ?

That debts are paid with bold stern looks;
That merchants pray on their 'compt books;

That Justice dumb and sullen frowns,

To see in croslets bang'd her gowns;
HERE Rixus lies, a novice in the laws,

That preachers' ordinary theme Who 'plains he came to Hell without a cause. Is 'gainst monarchy to declaim.

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That, since leagues we'gan to swear,

Vice did ne'er so black appear';
Oppression, bloodshed, ne'er more rife,

From jests prophane and flattering tongues,

From baudy tales and beastly songs,
Foul jars between the man and wife;
Religion so contemn'd was never,

From after-supper suits, that fear
Whilst all are raging in a fever,

A parliament or council's ear;

From Spanish treaties, that may wound They tell by devils, and some sad chance,

The country's peace, the gospel's sound; That that detested league of France,

From Job's false friends, that would entice Which cost so many thousand lives,

My sovereign from Heaven's paradise; And two kings, by religious knives,

From prophets such as Achab's were, Is amongst us, though few descry;

Whose flatterings sooth my sovereign's ear; Though they speak truth, yet say they lie. His frowns more than his Maker's fearing,

Bless my sovereign and his hearing.
He who says that night is night,
That cripple folk walk not upright,

That the owls into the spring
Do not nightingales out-sing,

From all fruit that is forbidden,
That the seas we may not plough,

Such for which old Eve was chidden; Ropes make of the rainy bow,

From bread of labours, sweat and toil; That the foxes keep not sheep,

From the poor widow's meal and oil; That men waking do not sleep,

From blood of innocents oft wrangled That all's not gold doth gold appear

From their estates, and from that's strangled; Believe him not, although he swear.

From the candid poison'd baits

Of Jesuits, and their deceits ; To such syrens stop your ear,

Italian sallads, Romish drugs, Their societies forbear.

The milk of Babel's proud whore's dugs; Ye may be tossed like a wave,

From wine that can destroy the brain; Verity may you deceive;

And from the dangerous figs of Spain; Just fools they may make of you ;

At all banquets, and all feasting,
Then hate them worse than Turk or Jew.

Bless my sovereign and his tasting.
Were it not a dangerous thing,
Should we again obey the king;

Lords lose should sovereignty,
Soldiers hast back to Germany;

Prom prick of conscience, such a sting
Justice should in our towns remain,

As slays the soul, Heav'n bless the king ;

From such a bribe as may withdraw
Poor men possess their own again;
Brought out of Hell that word of plunder,

His thoughts from equity or law;
More terrible than devil, or thunder,

From such a smooth and beardless chin Should with the covenant fly away,

As may provoke or tempt to sin;

From such a hand, whose moist palm may And charity amongst us stay; Peace and plenty should us nourish,

My sovereign lead out of the way; True' religion ’mongst us flourish?

From things polluted and unclean,

From all things beastly and obscene ; When you find these lying fellows,

From that may set his soul a reeling,
Take and flower with them the gallows.

Bless my sovereigo and his feeling.
On others you may too lay hold,
In purse or chest, if they have gold.

Who wise or rich are in this nation,
Malignants are by protestation,

WHERB myrrh and frankincense are thrown,
The altar's built to gods unknown,
O let my sovereign never dwell;
Such damn'd perfuines are fit for Hell.

Let no such scent his nostrils stain;

From smells that poison can the brain

Heav'ns still preserve him. Next I crave, I. SEEING.

Thou wilt be pleas'd, great God! to save From such a face, whose excellence'

My sov'reign from a Ganymede, May captivate my sovereign's sense,

Whose whorish breath hath pow'r to lead And make hiin (Phæbus like) his throne,

His excellence which way it listResign to some young Phaëton,

O let such lips be never kiss'd ! Whose skilless and unstayed hand

From a breath so far excelling,
May prove the ruin of the land,

Bless my sovereign and his smelling.
Unless great Jove, down from the sky,
Beholding Earth's calamity,
Strike with his hand that cannot err
The proud usurping charioter;

And cure, though Phæbus grieve, our woe-

From such a face as can work so,
Wheresoever thou 'st a being,

And now, just God, I humbly pray,
Bless my sovereign and his seeing,

That thou wilt take the slime away

That keeps my sovereign's eyes from seeing
The things that will be our undoing.


Here Aretine lies, most bitter gall,

Who whilst he liv'd spoke evil of all; Then let him hear, good God, the sounds

Only of God the arrant Scot As well of men as of his hounds.

Nought said, but that he knew him not.

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Alas! ye look but up the hill on me,

Which shows to you a fair and smooth ascent ; Nor amaranths por roses do bequeath

The precipice behind ye cannot see, Unto this hearse, but tamarists and wine;

On which high fortunes are too pronely bent: Forthat same thirst, though dead, yet doth him pine, If there I slip, what former joy or bliss Which made bim so carouse while he drew breath. Can heal the bruise of such a fall as this ?

E. P.



In shells and gold pearls are not kept alone,
A Margaret here lies beneath a stone;

Who love enjoys, and placed hath bis mind
A Margaret that did excel in worth

Where fairer virtues fairest beauties grace ; All those rich gems the Indies both send forth;

Then in himself such store of worth doth find, Who, had she liv'd when good was lov'd of men,

That he deserves to find so good a place; Had made the Graces four, the Muses ten; And forc'd those happy times her days that claim'd, whose fears condemn his own, doubt others' worth?

To chilling fears how can he be set forth From her, to be the Age of Pearl still nam'd; She was the richest jewel of her kind, Grac'd with more lustre than she left behind, Desire, as flames of zea), fear, horrours meets, All goodness, virtue, bounty; and could cheer They rise who fall of falling never prov'd. The saddest minds; now Nature knowing here Who is so dainty, satiate with sweets, How things but shown, then hidden, are lov'd best, | To murmur when the banquet is remov'd ? This Margaret 'shrin'd in this marble chest. The fairest hopes tine in the bud destroys,

When sweet are memories of ruin'd joys.


It is no hill, but Heaven where you remain; This beauty fair, which death in dust did turn,

And whom desert advanced hath so high And clos'd so soon within a coffin sad,

To reach the guerdon of his burning pain, Did pass like lightning, like the thunder burn,

Must not repine to fall, and falling die: So little life, so much of worth it had.

His hopes are crown'd. What years of tedious breath Heav'ns, but to show their might, bere made it shine; Can them compare with such a happy death? And, when admir'd, then in tbe world's disdain, O tears! O grief! did call it back again, Lest Earth should vaunt she kept what was divine.

UPON THE DEATH OF JOHN EARL OF LAUDERWhat can we hope for more, what more enjoy,

Sith fairest things thus soonest have their end;
And, as on bodies shadows do attend,

Of those rare worthies who adorn'd our north, Sith all our bliss is follow'd with annoy?

And shone like constellations, thou alone She is not dead, she lives where she did love, Remainedst last, great Maitland! charg'd with worth, Her memory on Earth, her soul above.

Second, in virtue's theatre, to none,

But finding all eccentric in our times,

Most debonnaire, in courtesy supreme; Religion into superstition turn'd,

Lovid of the mean, and honour'd by the grest; Justice silenc'd, exiled, or in-urn'd;

Ne'er dash'd by fortune, nor cast down by fate; Truth, faith, and charity reputed crimes;

To present and to after times a theme. The young men destinate by sword to fall,

Aithen, thy tears pour on this silent grave, And trophies of their country's spoils to rear; And drop them in thy alabaster care, Strange laws the ag'd and prudent to appal,

And Niobe's imagery here become; And forc'd sad yokes of tyranny to bear;

And when thou hast distilled here a tomb, And for no great nor virtuous minds a room

Enchase in it thy pearls, and let it bear, Disdaining life, thou shroud'st into thy tomb.

“ Aithen's best gem and honour shrin'd lies bere" When misdevotion every where shall take place, And lofty orators, in thund'ring terms,

Pame, register of time, Shall move you, people, to arise in arms,

Write in thy scroll, that I, And churches hallow'd policy deface;

Of wisdom lover, and sweet poesy, When you shall but one general sepulchre Was cropped in my prime; (As Arerioes did one general soul)

And ripe in worth, though green in years, did die On high, on low, on good, on bad confer, And your dull predecessors rites controulAh! spare this monument, great guests! it keeps Justice, Truth, Peace and Hospitality, Three great justiciars, whom true worth did raise ; Friendship, and Love being resolved to die, The Muses' darlings, whose loss Phoebus weeps;

In these lewd times, have chosen here to have Best men's delight, the glory of their days. With just, true, pious -- their grare; More we would say, but fear, and stand in awe Them cherished he so much, so mych did grace, To turn idolaters, and break your law.

That they on Earth would chuse none other place.



Do not repine, bless'd soul, that humble wits
Do make thy worth the matter of their verse:

When Death, to deck his trophies, stopt thy breat, No high-strain'd Muse our times and sorrows fits;

Rare ornament and glory of these parts! And we do sigh, not sing, to crown thy hearse.

All with moist eyes might say, and ruthful bears, The wisest prince e'er manag'd Britain's state That things immortal vassald were to Death. Did not disdain, in numbers clear and brave, What good in parts on many shar'd we see, The virtues of thy sire to celebrate,

From Nature, gracious Heaven, or Fortune tow; And fix a rich memorial on his grave.

To make a master-piece of worth below,
Thou didst deserve no less; and here in jet, Heaven, Nature, Fortune gave in gross to thee.
Gold, touch, brass, porphyry, or Parian stone,
That by a prince's hand no lines are set

In honour, bounty, rich-in valour, wit, for thee--the cause is, now this land hath none.

In courtesy; born of an ancient race;

With bays in war, with olives crown'd in peace;
Such giant moods our parity forth brings,
We all will nothing be, or all be kings.

Match'd great with offspring for great actions fil
No rust of times, nor change, thy virtue waa
With times to change; when truth, faith,lore,decay.

In this new age, like fate thon fixed staid,
ON THE DEATH OF A NOBLETIAN IN SCOTLAND, Of the first world an all-substantial man.

As erst this kingdom given was to thy sire,

The prince his daughter trusted to thy care, AITHEN, thy pearly coronet let fall;

And well the credit of a gem so rare Clad in sad robes, upon thy temples set

Thy loyalty and merit did require. The weeping cypress, or the sable jet.

Years cannot wrong thy worth, that now appean Mourn this thy nurseling's loss, a loss which all By others set as diamonds among pearls : Apollo's choir bemoans, which many years

A queen's dear foster, father to turee earls, Cannot repair, nor influence of spheres.

Enough on Earth to triumph are o'er years.

Life a sea voyage is, death is the haren,
Ah! when shalt thou find shepherd like to him, And freight with honour there thou hast arird;
Who made thy banks more famous by his worth, Which thousands seeking, have on rocks been driven:
Than all those gemsthyrocks and streams send forth? That good adorns thy grave which with thee liv'd.

For a frail life, which bere thou didst enjoy,
His splendour others glow-worm light did diin: Thou now a lasting hast, freed of annoy.
Sprung of an aucieut and a virtuous race,
He virtue more than many did embrace.
He fram’d to mildness thy half-barbarous swains;
The good man's refuge, of the bad the fright,

Unparallell'd in friendship, world's delight!


LET holy David, Solomon the wise, For hospitality along thy.plains

That king whose breast Egeria did inflame, Far-fam'd a patron; and a pattern fair

Augustus, Helen's son, great in all eyes, Of piety; the Muses' chief repair;

Do homage low to thy mausolean frame ;


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And bow before thy lanrel's anadem ;

Virtue is but a name abstractly trimm'd,
Let all those sacred swans, which to the skies Interpreting what she was in effect;
By never-dying lays have rais'd their name, A shadow from her frame which did reflect,
From north to south, where Sun doth set and rise. A portrait by her excellences limm'd.
Religion, orphan'd, waileth o'er thy urn;

Thou whom free-willor chance hath hither brought, Justice weeps out her eyes, now truly blind;

And read'st, here lies a branch of Maitland's stem, To Niobes the remnant virtues turn; Fame but to blaze thy glories stays behind

And Seyton's offspring; know that either name

Designs all worth yet reach'd by human thought. l'th' world, which late was golden by thy breath, Is iron turu’d, and horrid by thy death.

Tombs elsewhere use life to their guests to give,

These ashes can frail monuments make live. Fond wight, who dream'st of greatness, glory, state; 고 And worlds of pleasures, honours, dost devise; 1 Awake, learn how that here thou art not great

ANOTHER ON THE SAME SUBJECT. Nor glorious: by this monument turn wise.

Like to the garden's eye, the flow'r of flow'rs, One it enshrineth sprung of ancient stem,

With purple pomp that dazzle doth the sight; And (if that blood nobility can make)

Or, as among the lesser gems of night, From which some kings have not disdain'd to take The usher of the planet of the hours; Their prond descent, a rare and matchless gem.

Sweet maid, thou shinedst on this world of ours,

Of all perfections having trac'd the height; A beauty here it holds by full assurance,

Thine outward frame was fair, fair inward pow'rs, Than which no blooming rose was more refind,

A sapphire lanthorn, and an incense light. Nor morning's blush more radiant ever shin'd;

Hence the enamour'd Heaven, as too, too good Ah! too, too like to morn and rose at last!

On Earth's all-thorny soil long to abide, It holds her who in wit's ascendant far

Transplanted to their fields so rare a bud, Did years and sex transcend; to whom the Heaven | Where from thy Sun no cloud thee now can hide. More virtue than to all this age had given; Earth moan'd her loss, and wish'd she had the grace For virtue meteor turn'd, when she a star.

Not to have known, or known thee longer space. Fair mirth, sweet conversation, modesty, And what those kings of numbers did conceive By Muses nine, and Graces more than three,

Hard laws of mortal life! Lie clos'd within the compass of this grave.

To which made thralls we come without consent,

Like tapers, lighted to be early spent, Thus death all earthly glories doth confound, Our griefs are always rife, Lo! how much worth a little dust doth bound. When joys but halting march, and swiftly fly,

Like shadows in the eye:

The shadow do h not yield unto the Sun, “ Far from these banks exiled be all joys,

Bat joys and life do Waste e'en 'when begun. Contentments, pleasures, music (care's relief)! Tears,sighs,plaints, horrours, frightments,sad annoys, Invest these mountains, fill all hearts with grief. Within the closure of this narrow grave “ Here, nightingales and turtles, vent your moans;

Lie all those graces a good wife could have:

Bat on this marble they shall not be read,
Amphrisian shepherd, here come feed thy flock,
And read thy hyacinth amidst our groans ;

For then the living envy would the dead.
Plain, Echo, thy Narcissus from our rocks.
“ Lost have our mcalls their beauty, hills their gems,

The daughter of a king of princely parts, Our brooks their crystal, groves their pleasant shade:

In beauty eminent, in virtues chief; The fairest flow'r of all our anadems

Loadstar of love, and loadstone of all hearts, Death cropped hath; the Lesbia chaste is dead !”'

Her friends' and husband's only joy, now grief; Thus sigh'd the Tyne, then shrunk beneath his urn;

Is here pent up within a marble frame, And meads, brooks, rivers, hills, about did mourn.

Whose parallel no times, no climates claim.

Verses frail records are to keep a name, The fow'r of virgins, in her prime of years, Or raise from dust nen to a life of fame; By ruthless destinies is ta’en away;

The sport and spoil of ignorance; but far And rap'd from Earth, poor Earih! before this day | More frail the frames of touch and marble are, Which ne'er was rightly nam'd a vale of tears. Which envy, avarice, time, ere long confound,

Or misdevotion equals with the ground. Beauty to Heaven is fled, sweet modesty

Virtue alone doth last, frees man from death; No more appears; she whose harinonious sounds Did ravish sense, and charm mind's deepest wounds, And, though despis’d, and scorned here beneath,

Stands grav’n in angels' diamantine rolls, Embalm'd with many a tear now low doth lie!

And blazed in the courts above the poles. Fair hopes now vanish'd are. She would have grac's Thou wast fair virtue's temple, they did dwell, A prince's marriage-bed! but, lo! in Heaven And live ador'd in thee; nought did excel, Plest paramours to her were to be given !

Bilt what thou either didst possess or love, She liv'd an angel, now is with them plac'd. The Graces' darling, and the maids of Jore;

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