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I'm glad that city, t'whom I ow'd before

His learning had out-run the rest of heirs, (But, äh inc! Fate hath crost that willing score)

Stolin beard from Time, anil leapt to tucnty years, A father, gave me a godfather too;

And, as the Sun, though in full glory bright,
And I'm more glad, because it gave me you ; Shines upon all men with impartial light,

Whom I inay rightly think, and term, to be And a good-morrow to the beggar brings
Of the whole city an epitome.

With as full rays as to the mightiest kings :

So he, although his worth just state might claim, I thank my careful Fate, which found out one

And give to pride an honourable name, (When Nature had not licensed my tongue

With courtesy to all, cloath'd virtue so, Farther than cries) who should my office do ;

That 'twas not higher than his thoughts were low. I thank her more, because she found out you: In whose each look I may a sentence see;

In 's body tou no critique eye could find

The smallest blemish, to belye his mind; In whose each deed, a teaching homily,

He was all pureness, and his outward part How shali I pay this debt to you? My fate But represents the picture of his heart. Denies ine Indian pearl or Persian plate;

When waters swallow'd mankind, and did cheat Which though it did not, to requite you thus, The hungry worm of its expected meat; Were to send apples to Alcinous,

When gems, pluckt from the shore by ruder hands, And sell the cunning'st way.-No! when I can, Peturud 2 gain unto their native sands ;

In every lue., in every verse, write Man; 'Mongst all those spoils, there was not any prey When my quill relisheth a school no more;

Could equal whai this brook hath stul'n away. When my pen-feather'd Muse hath learnt to soar,

Weep then, sad Flood; and, though thou’rt innocent, And gotten wings as well as feet; look then

Weep because Fate made thee her instrument: For equal thanks from my unwearied pen :

And, when long grief hath drunk up all thy store, Till future ages say, 'twas you did give

Coine to our eyes, and we will lend thce more.
A name to me, and I made yours to live.

A TRANSLATION OF
AN ELEGY

VERSES UPON THE BLESSED VIRGIN,
ON THE
DEATH OF JOHN LITTLETON, ESQUIRE,

WRITTEN IN LATIN BY THE RIGHT WORSHIPFUL DR. A.
SON AND HEIR TO SIR THOMAS LITTLETON,
WHO WAS DROWNED LEAPING INTO THE WATER TO

AVE MARIA.
SAVE HIS YOUNGER BROTHER.

Once thou rejoiced'st, and rejoi e for ever,
And must these waters smile again, and play

Whose time of joy shall be expired never :
About the shore, as they did yesterday?

Who in her womb the hive of comfort bears,
Will the Sun court them still? and shall they show Let her drink comfort's honey with her ears.
No conscious wrinkle furrow'd on their brow,
That to the thirsty traveller may say,

You brought the word of joy, in which was born

An ha il to all! let us an hail return ! I am accurst ; go turn some other way?"

From you “God save” into the world there cames It is unjust: black Flood ! thy guilt is more,

Our echo hail is but an empty naine.
Sprung from his loss, than all thy watery store
Can give thee tears to mourn for: birds shall be,

GRATIA PLENA.
And beasts, henceforth afraid to drink of thee.

What have I said? my pious rage hath been How loaded hives are with their honey 6ll'd, Too hut, and acts, whilst it aconseth, sin.

From divers flowers by chymic bees distilld! Thou’rt innocent, I know, still clear and bright, How full the collet with his jewel is, Fit whence so pure a soul should take its fight. Which, that it cannot take by love, doth kiss : How is angry zeal confin'd! for he

How full the Moon is with her brother's ray, Must quarrel with his love and piety,

When she drinks-up with thirsty orb the day! That would revenge his death. Oh, I shall sin, How full of grace the Graces' dances are ! And wish anon he had less virtuous been.

So full doth Mary of God's light appear.
For when his brother (tears for liim I'd spill,

It is no wonder if with Graces she
But they're all challeng'd by the greater ill) Be full, who was full of the Deity.
Struggled for life with the rude wares, he too
Leapt in, and when hope no faint beam could show,

DOMINUS TECUM.
His charity shone most: “Thou shalt,” said he,

The fall of mankind under Death's extent “ Live with me, brother, or I'll die with thee;"

The quire of blessed angels did lament, And so he did! Had he been thine, O Rome!

And wish'd a reparation to see Thou would'st hare call'd this death a martyrdom,

By him, who manhood join'd with deity. And sainted him. My conscience give me leave,

How grateful should man's safety then appear I'll do so too: if Fate will us bereave

Thimself, whose safety can the angels cheer!
Of him we honour'd living, there must be
A kind of reverence to his memory,
After his death ; and where more just than here,

BENEDICTA TU IN MULIERIBUS,
Where life and end were both so singular?

Deatu came, and troops of sad Diseases led
He that had only talk'd with him, might find To th' Earth, by woman's hand solicited :
A little academy in his mind;

Life came so too, and troops of Graces led
Where Wisdom master was, and fellows all

To th' Earth, by woman's faith solicited. Which we can good, which we can virtuous, call: As our life's springs came from thy blessed womb, Reason, and Holy Fear, the proctors were,

So from our mouths springs of iby praise shad To apprehend those words, those thoughts, that err. come:

SPIRITUS SANCTUS SUPERVENIET IN TE.

IS TO

Who did life's blessing give, 'tis fit that she, The laurel to the poet's hand did bow,
Above all women, should thrice blessed be.

Craving the honour of his brow;

And every loving arm embracd, and made EI BENEDICTUS FRUCTUS VENTRIS TUI.

With their of ious leaves a shade. Wira mouth divine the Father doth protest,

The beasts too strove his au fitors to be,

Forgetting their old tyranny. He a good word sent from bis stored breas: ; 'Twas Christ : which Mary, without carnal thought,

The fearfal bart next to the lion came, From theu nfathom'd depth of goodness brought: Nightingales, harmless Syreas of the air,

And wolf was shepherd to the lamb. The word of blessing a just cause alforos

And Muses of the place, were there; To be oft blessed with reduubled words !

Who, when their little windpipes they had found

Unequal to so strange a sound,

O'ercome by art and grief they did expire,
As when soft west-win's strook the gar len-rose, And fell upon the conquering lyre.
A shower of sweeter air salutes the nose;

Happy, O happy they, whose tomb might be, The breath gives sparing kisses, nor with power

Mausolus! envied by thee!
Unlocks the virgin-bosom of the flower:

ODE II.
So the Holy Spirit upon Mary blow'd,
And from her sacred box whole rivers flowed :

THAT A PLEASANT POVERTY

BE PREFERRED Yet loos'd not thine eternal chastity;

BEFORE DISCONTENTED RICHES. Thy rose's folds do still entangled lie.

W Believe Christ born from an unbruised womb,

HY, O! doth gandy Tagus ravish thee, So from ur.bruiseu bark the odours coine.

Though Neptune's treasure-house it be?

Why doth Pactolus thee bewitch,

Infected yet with Midas' glorious itch?
ET VIRTUS ALTISSIMI OBUWBRABIT TIBI.
God his great Son begot ere time begin;

Their dull and sleepy streams are not at all,

Like other floods, poetical ;
Mary in time bruught furth her l't le son,
Of double subs"ance Ove; life he began,

They have no dance, no wanton sport,
God without mother, without father, man.

No gentle murmur, the lov'd shore to court. Great is the birth; and 'tis a stranger deed

No fish inhabit the adulterate flood, That she no man, thau Gud po wie, sh uld need ;

Nor can it feed the neighbouring wood ; A shade delighted the child-bearing maid,

No flower or herb is near it found, And God himself became to her a shade.

But a perpetual winter starves the ground. O strange descent! who is light's anthor, he Give me a river which doth scorn to show Will to his creature thus a shadow be.

An added beauty; whose clear brow As unseen light did from the Faiher flow,

May be my looking-glass to see So did seen light from Virgin Mary grow.

What my face is, and what my mind should be! When Moses sought God in a sharle to see, The father's shade was Christ the Deity.

Here waves call waves, and glide along in rank, Let's seek for day, we darkress, whilst our sight

Anil prattle to the smiling bank;
In light finds darkness, and in darkness light.

Here sad king-fishers tell their tales,
And fish enrich the brook with silver scales,

Daisies, the first-born of the teeming spring,
ODE I.

On each side their embroidery bring;

Here lilies wash, and grow more white,
ON THE PRAISE OF POFTRY,

And daffodils, to see themselves, delight. "Tis not a pyramid of marble s one,

Here a fresh arbour gires her amorous shade, Though high as our ambition ;

Which Nature, the best gardener, made. 'Tis not a tomb cut out in brass, which can

Here I would sit and sing rude lays, Give life to th' ashes of a man ;

Such as the nymphs and me myseif should please. But verses only: they shall fresh appear, Whilst there are men to read or hear.

Thus I would waste, thus end, my careless days; When Time shall make the lasting brass decay,

And robin-red-breasts, whom men praise And eat the pyramid away ;

For pious birds, should, when I die, Turning that monument wherein men trust

Make both my monument and elegy.
Their i.ames, to what it keeps, poor dust;

ODE UNI.
Then shall the epitaph remain, and be
New-graven in eternity.

TO HIS MISTRESS,
Poets by Death are conquerd; but the wit
Of poets triumph over it.

Tyrian dye why do you wear,
What cannot verse ? When Thracian Orpheus

You whose cheeks best scarlet are? took

Why do you fondly pin His lyre, and gently on it strook,

Pure linen o'er your skin, The learned stones came dancing all along,

(Your skin that's whiter far) And kept time to the charming song.

Casting a dusky cloud before a star. With artificial pace the wariike pine,

Why bears your neck a golden chain? The elm and his wife the ivy twine,

Did Nature make your hair in vain, With all the better trees, which erst had stood

Of gold most pure and fine ? Unmov'd, forsook their native wood.

With geins why do you shine ? TOL. VII.

They, neighbours to your eyes,
Show but iike Phosphor when the Sun doth rise.
I would have all my mistress' parts
One more to Natuje than to arts;

I would not wou the dress,
Or one whose nights give less

Contentment han the day,
She's fair, whose beauty only makes her gay.
For 'tis not buildings make a court,
Or pomp, but 'tis the king's resort:

If Jupiter down pur
Himself, and in a shower

Hide such bright majesty, le than a golden one it cannot be.

Then Revenge, married to Ambition,
Begat black War; then Avarice crept on;

Then limits to each field were strain'd,
And Terminus a god-head gain'd,

To men before was found,

Besides the sea, no bound.
In what plain, or what river, hath not heen
War's story writ in blood (sad story!) seen?

This truth too well our England knows:
'Twas civil slaughter dy'd her rose ;

Nay, then her lily too

With blood's loss paler grew.
Such griefs, nay worse than these, we now should

feel,
Did not just Charles silence the rage of steel ;

He to our land best l'eace doth bring,
Ali neighbour cointries envying.

Happy who did ri main

Unborn till Charles's reign!
Where dreaming chymics! is your pain and cost ?
Huw is your oil, how is your labour lost!

Our Charles, blest alchymist! (though strange,
Believe it, future times !) did change

The iron-age of old
Into an age of gold.

ODE IV.

ON THE UNCERTAINIY OF FORTUNE.

A TRANSLATION,

Leave off unfit complaints, and clear
From sighs your breast, and from black clouds

your brow,
When the Sun shines not with his wonted cheer,
And Fortune throws an advers' cast for you!

That sea which vext with Notus is,
The merry East-winds will to morrow wiss.

The Sun to day riles d.owsily,
To-morrow 'twill put up a li ok more fair:
Laughter and groaning do alternately
Return and tears sport's nearest neighbours are.

'Tis by the gods appointed so,
That g d fare should with ming ed dangers flow.

W'hidrave his oxen yesterr'ay,
Do, 5 (ver the noblest Romans reign,
Anl tle Gab i aud ihe Cures lay
The yo!'e which from his ogen he had ta’en:

Whm Hesperus saw poor and low,
The Morn ng's eye bi holds him greatest now.

If Fortune knit amongst her play
But ser ousness, he shall again go home
To his old couniry-farm of yesterday,
To scoffing people no mean jest become;

An with the crowned axe, which he
Had ruld the world, co back and prune some tree;

Nay, ifle want the fuel cold requires,
With his own fasces he shall make him fires.

ODE VI.
UPON THE SHORTNESS OF MAN'S LIfe.
Mark that switt arrow! how it cuts the air,

Hoa it out-runs thy following eye!

Use all persuasions now, and try
If thou canst call it back, or stay it tuere.

That way it went ; but thou shalt find

Ny tract is left behind.
Fool! 'tis thy lite, and the fond archer thou.'

Oi all the time thou 'st shot away,

I'll b.d thee ieich but yesterday,
And it shall be too haru a task to do.

Besides repentance, what canst find

That it hach left behind ?
Our life is carried with too strong a tide;

A doubtful cloud our substance bears,

And is the horse of all our years.
Each day doth on a winged whirlwind ride.

We and our glass run out, and must

Both render up our dust.
But his past lite who withou grief can see;

Who never thinks his end too near,

But says to Fame, “ Thou art mine heir;"
That man extends life's natural brevity-

This is, this is the only way
To out-live Nestor in a day.

ODEV.

IN COMMENDATION OF THE TIME WE LIVE I'NDER, THE

REIGN OF OUR GRACIOUS KING CHARLES.

Curst be that wretch (Death's factor sure) who AN ANSWER TO AN INVITATION TO brought

CAMBRIDGE.
Dire s' ords into the peaceful world, and taught
Smiths (who before could only make

Nichols, my better self! forbear;
The spade, the plough-share, and the rake)

For, if thou tellist what Cambridge pleasures Arts, in most cru. I wise

aie, Man's life t epitomize!

The schoolboy's sin will light on me, Then men (find men, alas !) r de post to th' grave.

I shall, in mund at least, a truant be. And cut those threads which yet the Pates would

Tell me not how you feed your mind

With Hainties of philosophy;
save ;

In Ovid's nut I shall not find
Then Charon sweated at his trade,
And had a larger ferry made;

The taste once pleased me.
Then, then the silver bair,

O tell ne not of logic's diverse cheer!
Frequent before, grew rare,

I shall begin to loathe our crainbo here,

Tell me not how the waves appear

Why do I stay then? I would meet of Cam, or how it cuts the learned shire;

Thee there, but plummets hang upon my feet ; I shall contemn the troubled Thames

'Tis my chief wish to live with thee,
On her chief holiday ; ev'n when her streams But not till I deserve thy company :
Are with rich folly gilded; when

Till then, we'll scorn to let that toy,
The quondam dung-boat is made gay,

Some forty miles, divide our hearts:
Just like the bravery of the men,

Write to me, and I shall enjoy
And graces with fresh paint that day ;

Friendship and wit, thy better parts. When th' city shines with flags and pageants there, Though envious Fortune larger bindrance brings, And satin doublets, seen not twice a year.

We'll easily see each other, Love hath wings.

MISCELLANIES.

THE MOTTO.

And, whilst with wearied steps we upwards 50,

See us, and clouds, below.
TENTANDA VIA EST, &c.
WH
HAT shall I do to be for ever known,

ODE. OF WIT.
And make the age to come my own?
I shall, like beasts or common people, die,

Tell me, O tell, what kind of thing is Wit,
Unless you write my elegy ;

Thou who master art of it? Whilst others great, by being born, are grown ;

For the first matter loves variety less; Their mothers' labour, not their own.

Less women love 't, either in love or dress. In this scale gold, in th’ other fame does lie,

A thousand different shapes it bears, The weight of that mounts this so high.

Comely in thousand shapes appears. These men are Fortune's jewels, moulded bright; 'Yonder we saw it plain; and here 'tis wow, Brought forth with their own fire and light:

Like spirits, in a place we know not how. If I, her vulgar stone, for either look,

London, that vents of false ware so much store, Out of myself it must be strook.

In no ware deceives us more; Yet I must on. What sound is 't strikes mine ear? For men, led by the colour and the shape, Sure I Fame's trumpet hear:

Like Zeuxis' birds, fly to the painted grape. It sounds like the last trumpet ; for it can

Some things do through our judgment Raise up the buried man.

pass l'npast Alps stop me; but I'll cut them all,

As through a multiplying-glass; And march, the Muses' Hannibal.

And sometimes, if the object be too far, Hence, all the flattering vanities that lay

We take a falling meteor for a star. Nets of roses in the way!

Hence 'tis, a Wit, that greatest word of fame, Hence, the desire of honours or estate,

Grows such a common name; And all that is not above Fate !

And Wits by our creation they become,
Hence, Love himself, that tyrant of my days !

Just so as titular bishops made at Rome,
Which intercepts my coming praise.

"Tis not a tale, 'tis not a jest Come, my best friends, my books! and lead me

Admir'd with laughter at a feast, on ;

Nor florid talk, which can that title gain;
'Tis time that I were gone.

The proofs of Wit for ever must remain.
Welcome, great Stagyrite! and teach me now
All I was born to know :

'Tis not to force some lifeless verses meet Thy scholar's victories thou dost far out-do;

With their five gouty feet. He conquer'd th’ earth, the whole world you. All, every where, like man's, must be the soul, Welcome, learn’d Cicero! whose blest tongue and And Reason the inferior powers controul. wit

Such were the numbers which could call Preserves Rome's greatness yet:

The stones into the Theban wall.
Thou art the first of orators; only he

Such miracles are ceas'd; and now we see
Who best can praise thee, next must be.

No towns or houses rais'd by poetry.
Welcome the Mantuan swan, Virgil the wise! Yet 'tis not to adorn and gild each part;
Whose verse walks highest, but not flies;

That shows more cost than art.
Who brought green Poesy to her perfect age,

Jewels at nose and lips but ill appear;
And made that art which was a rage.

Ratner than all things Wit, let none be there, Tell me, ye mighty Three! what shall I do

Several lights will not be seen,
To be like one of you?

If there be nothing else between.
But you have climb'd the mountain's top, there sit Men doubt, because they stand so thick i' th’sky,
On the calm flourishing head of it,

If those be stars which pai t the galaxy.

ON THE DEATH OF

Tis not when two like words make up one noise W’hilst we, like younger brothers, get at best

(Jests for Dutch men and English boys); But a small stock, and must work out the rest. In which who finds out Wit, the same may see How could he answer 't, should the state think fit In an'grams and acrostic poetry :

To question a monopoly of wit ?
Much less can that have any place

Such is the man whom we require the same
At which a virgin hides her face.

We lent the North ; untouch'd, as is his fame.
'Such dross the fire must purge away: 'tis just He is too good for war, and ought to be
The author blush there, where the reader must. As far from danger, as from fear he's free.
Tis not such lines as almost crack the stage

Those men alone (and those are useful too)
When Bajazet begins to rage ;

Whose valour is the only art they know
Nor a tall metaphor in the bombast way;

Were for sad war and bloody battles born;
Nor the dry chips of short-lung'd Seneca ;

Let then the state defend, and he adorn.
Nor upon all things to obtrude

And force some odd similitude.
What is it then, which, like the power divine,
We only can by negatives define?

SIR HENRY WOOTTON.
In a true piece of Wit all things must be,

What shall we say, since sileut now is he
Yet all things there agree;
As in the ark, join'd without force or strise.,

Who when he spoke, all things would silent be? All creatures dwelt; all creatures that had life:

Who had so many languages in store,
Or, as the primitive forins of all

That only Fame shall speak of him in more; (If we compare great things with small)

Whom England now no more return'd must see ; Which, without discord, or confusion, lie

He's gone to Heaven on his fourth embassy.

On Earth he travell’d often ; not to say In that strange mirror of the Deity.

H’ had.been abroad, or pass loose time away. But Love, that moulds one man up out of two, In whatsoever land he chanc'd to come,

Makes me forget, and injure you : He read the men and manuers, bringing home
I took you for myself, sure, when I thought Their wisdom, learning, and their piety,
That you in any thing were to be taught.

As if he went to conquer, not too see.
Correct my errour with thy pen ;

So well he understood the mu 7 and best
And, if any ask me then

Of tongues, that Babel sent into the W'est; What thing right Wit and height of genius is, Spoke them so truly, that he had (you'd swear) I'll only show your lines, and say, "Tis this.

Not only liv'd, but been born every where.
Justly each nation's speech to him was known,
Who for the world was made, not us alone;

Nor onght the language of that inan be less,
TO THE LORD FALKLAND, Who in bis breast had all things to express.

We say, that learning's endless, and blame Fate
For not allowing life a lovger date :

He did the utmost bounds of knowledge find, Great is thy charge, O North! be wise and just, He found them nut so large as was his mind; England commits her Falkland to thy trust; But, like the brave Pellæan youth, did moan Retuin bim safe; Learning would rather choose Because that'art had no more worlds than one; Her Bedley or her Vatican to lose :

And, when he saw that he through all had past, All things that are but writ or printed there, He dy'd, lest he should idle grow at last. In his unbounded breast engraven are. There all the sciences together meet, And every art does all her kindred greet, Yet justle nöt, nor quarrel; but as well Agree as in some common principle.

ON THE DEATH OF MR. JORDAN, Si, in an army govern'd right, we see

SECOND MASTER AT WESTMINSTER SCHOOL. (Though out of several countries rais'd it be) That all their order and their place maintain,

Hence, and make room for me, all you who come The English, Dutch, the Frenchman, and the Dane: Only to read the epitaph on this tomb ! So thousand divers species fill the air,

Here lies the master of my tender years, Yet neither crowd nor mix confus'dly there; The guardian of my parents' hope and fears; Beasts, houses, trees, and men, together lie, Whose government ne'er stood me in a tear; Yet enter undisturb'd into the eye.

All weeping was reserv'd to spend it here. And this great prince of knowledge is by Fate Come hither, all who his rare virtues knew, Thrust into th' noise and business of a state.

And mourn with me: he was your tutor too. All virtues, and some customs of the court,

Let's join our sighs, till they fy far, and shew Other men's Jabour, are at least his sport;

His native Belgia what she's now to do. Whilst we, who can no action undertake,

The league of grief bids her with us lament; Whom idleness itself might learned make;

By her he was brought forth, and bither sent Who hear of nothing, and as yet scarce know, In payment of all men we there had lost, Whether the Scots in England be or no;

And all the English blood those wars have cost. Pace dully on, oft tire, and often stay,

Wise!y did Nature this learn'd man divide; Yet see his nimble Pegasus fly away.

His birth was theirs, his death the mournful pride 'Tis Nature's fault, why did thus partial grow, Of England ; and, t'avoid the envious strife And her estate of wit on one bestow ,

Of other lands, all Europe had his life,

FOR HIS SAFE RETURN FROM TUE NORTHERN

EXPEDITION AGAINST THE scors.

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