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The real object must command
Each judgment of his eye and motion of his hand.
From these and all long errours of the way
In which our wandering predecessors went,
And, like th' old Hebrews, many years did stray
In deserts, but of small extent,

Bacon, like Moses, led us forth at last :
The barren wilderness he past;
Did on the very border stand

Of the blest Promis'd land;

And from the mountain's top of his exalted wit,
Saw it himself, and show'd us it.

But life did never to one man allow
Time to discover worlds, and conquer too;
Nor can so short a line sufficient be
To fathom the vast depths of Nature's sea.
The work he did we ought t' admire;
And were unjust if we should more require
From his few years, divided 'twixt th' excess
Of low affliction and high happiness:
For who on things remote can fix his sight,
That's always in a triumph or a fight?
From you, great champions! we expect to get
These spacious countries, but discover'd yet;
Countries, where yet, instead of Nature, we
Her images and idols worship'd see:
These large and wealthy regions to subdue,
Though Learning has whole armies at command,
Quarter'd about in every land,

A better troop she ne'er together drew:
Methinks, like Gideon's little band,
God with design has pick'd out you,
To do those noble wonders by a few:

When the whole host he saw, "They are" (said he)

"Too many to o'ercome for me :"
And now he chooses out his men,
Much in the way that he did then ;
Not those many whom he found
Idly extended on the ground,

To drink with their dejected head
The stream, just so as by their mouths it fled :
No; but those few who took the waters up,
And made of their laborious hands the cup.
Thus you prepar'd, and in the glorious fight
Their wondrous pattern too you take ;
Their old and empty pitchers first they brake,
And with their hands then lifted
up the light.
lo! sound too the trumpets here!
Already your victorious lights appear;
New scenes of Heaven already we espy,
And crowds of golden worlds on high,
Which from the spacious plains of earth and sea
Could never yet discover'd be,

By sailors' or Chaldeans' watchful eye.
Nature's great works no distance can obscure,
No smallness her near objects can secure ;
Y' have taught the curious sight to press
Into the privatest recess

Of her imperceptible littleness!

Y have learn'd to read her smallest hand,
And well begun her deepest sense to understand!
Mischief and true dishonour fall on those
Who would to laughter or to scorn expose
So virtuous and so noble a design,

So human for its use, for knowledge so divine.
The things which these proud men despise, and call
impertinent, and vain, and small,

Those smallest things of Nature let me know, Rather than all their greatest actions do! Whoever would deposed Truth advance

Into the throne usurp'd from it, Must feel at first the blows of Ignorance, And the sharp points of envious Wit. So, when, by various turns of the celestial dance, In many thousand years

A star, so long unknown, appears, Though Heaven itself more beauteous by it grow, It troubles and alarms the world below,

Does to the wise a star, to fools a meteor, show.

With courage and success you the bold work begin;

Your cradle has not idle been :
None e'er, but Hercules and you, would be
At five years age worthy a history:

And ne'er did Fortune better yet
Th' historian to the story fit:

As you from all old errours free
And purge the body of Philosophy;
So from all modern follies he
Has vindicated Eloquence and' Wit.
His candid style like a clean stream does slide,
And his bright fancy, all the way,
Does like the sun-shine in it play;

It does, like Thames, the best of rivers! glide,
Where the god does not rudely overturn,
But gently pour, the crystal urn,

And with judicious hand does the whole current guide:

"T has all the beauties Nature can impart, And all the comely dress, without the paint, of Art.



To this great ship, which round the globe has


And match'd in race the chariot of the Sun,
This Pythagorean ship (for it may claim
Without presumption so deserv'd a name,
By knowledge once, and transformation now)
In her new shape, this sacred port allow.
Drake and his ship could not have wish'd from

A more blest station, or more blest estate ;
For lo! a seat of endless rest is given
To her in Oxford, and to him in Heaven,



As, when the midland sea is no where clear
From dreadful fleets of Tunis and Argier-
Which coast about, to all they meet with foes,
And upon which nought can be got but blows---
The merchant-ships so much their passage doubt,
That, though full freighted, none dares venture

And trade decays, and scarcity ensues:
Just so the timorous wits of late refuse,

Though laded, to put forth upon the stage,
Affrighted by the critics of this age.
It is a party numerous, watchful, bold;
They can from nought, which sails in sight, with-

Nor do their cheap, though mortal, thunder spare;
They shoot, alas! with wind-guns charg'd with air.
But yet, gentlemen-critics of Argier,
For your own interest I'd advise ye here,
To let this little forlorn-hope go by

Safe and untouch'd. "That must not be" (you'll cry.)

If ye be wise, it must; I'll tell you why.
There are seven, eight, nine-stay-there are

Ten plays at least, which wait but for a wind,
And the glad news that we the enemy miss;
And those are all your own, if you spare this.
Some are but new trimm'd up, others quite new ;
Some by known shipwrights built, and others too
By that great author made, whoe'er he be,
That styles himself" Person of Quality."

All these, if we miscarry here to-day,
Will rather till they rot in th' harbour stay;
Nay, they will back again, though they were come
Ev'n to their last safe road, the tyring-room.
Therefore again I say, if you be wise,
Let this for once pass free; let it suffice
That we, your sovereign power here to avow,
Thus humbly, ere we pass, strike sail to you.


STAY, gentlemen: what I have said was all
But forc'd submission, which I now recall.
Ye're all but pirates now again; for here
Does the true sovereign of the seas appear,
The sovereign of these narrow seas of wit;
'Tis his own Thames; he knows and governs it
'Tis his dominion and domain: as he
Pleases, 'tis either shut to us, or free.
Not only, if his passport we obtain,
We fear no little rovers of the main ;
But, if our Neptune his calm visage show,
No wave shall dare to rise or wind to blow.

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J'AVE often wish'd to love; what shall I do?
Me still the cruel boy does spare;
And I a double task must bear,
First to woo him, and then a mistress too.
Come at last and strike, for shame,
If thou art any thing besides a name;
I'll think thee else no god to be,

But poets rather gods, who first created thee.
I ask not one in whom all beauties grow ;.
Let me but love, whate'er she be,
She cannot seein deform'd to me,
And I would have her seem to others so.
Desire takes wings and straight does fly,

It stays not dully to inquire the why.
That happy thing, a lover, grown,


Th' excess of heat is but a fable; We know the torrid zone is now found habitable. Among the woods and forests thou art found, There boars and lions thou dost tame; Is not my heart a nobler game? Let Venus, men; and beasts, Diana, wound! Thou dost the birds thy subjects make; Thy nimble feathers do their wings o'ertake:

Thou all the spring their songs dost hear; Make me love too, I'll sing to thee all the year { What service can mute fishes do to thee? Yet against them thy dart prevails, Piercing the armour of their scales; And still thy sea-born mother lives i' th' sea. Dost thou deny only to me

The no great privilege of captivity?

I beg or challenge here thy bow;

I shall not see with others' eyes, scarce with Either thy pity to me, or else thine anger, show.

mine own.

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So a destroving-angel's breath Blows in the plague, and with it hasty death: Such was the pain, did so begin, To the poor wretch, when Legion enter'd in. "Forgive me, God!" I cry'd; for I Flatter'd myself I was to die.

But quickly to my cost I found, 'Twas cruel Love, not Death, had made the wound; Death a more generous rage does use; Quarter to all he conquers does refuse:

Whilst Love with barbarous mercy saves The vanquish'd lives, to make them slaves.

I am thy slave then; let me know, Hard master! the great task I have to do: Who pride and scorn do undergo, In tempests and rough seas thy galleys row; They pant, and groan, and sigh; but find Their sighs increase the angry wind.

Like an Egyptian tyrant, some Thou weariest out in building but a tomb; Others, with sad and tedious art, Labour i' th' quarries of a stony heart: Of all the works thou dost assign, To all the several slaves of thine, Employ me, mighty Love! to dig the mine.


I'LL on; for what should hinder me
From loving and enjoying thee?
Thou canst not those exceptions make,
Which vulgar, sordid mortals take,
That my fate's too mean and low;
'Twere pity I should love thee so,
If that dull cause could hinder me
In loving and enjoying thee.

It does not me a whit displease,
That the rich all honours seize;
That you all titles make your own,
Are valiant, learned, wise, alone:
But, if you claim o'er women too
The power which over men ye do;
If you alone must lovers be;
For that, sirs, you must pardon me.
Rather than lose what does so near
Concern my life and being here,
I'll some such crooked ways invent,
As you, or your forefathers, went:
I'll flatter or oppose the king,
Turn Puritan, or any thing;
I'll force my mind to arts so new:
Grow rich, and love as well as you.
But rather thus let me remain,
As man in Paradise did reign;
When perfect love did so agree
With innocence and poverty,
Adam did no jointure give;
Himself was jointure to his Eve:
Intouch'd with avarice yet, or pride,
The rib came freely back t' his side.
A curse upon the man who taught
Women, that love was to be bought;
Rather doat only on your gold,
And that with greedy avarice hold;
For, if woman too submit

To that, and sell herself for it,

Fond lover! you a mistress have
Of her that's but your fellow-slave.`
What should those poets mean of old,
That made their god to woo in gold?
Of all men, sure, they had no cause
To bind Love to such costly laws;
And yet I scarcely blame them now;
For who, alas! would not allow,
That women should such gifts receive,
Could they, as he, be what they give.

If thou, my dear, thyself shouldst prize,
Alas! what value would suffice?
The Spaniard could not do 't, though he
Should to both Indies jointure thee.
Thy beauties therefore wrong will take,
If thou shouldst any bargain make;
To give all, will befit thee well;
But not at under-rates to sell.

Bestow thy beauty then on me,
Freely, as Nature gave 't to thee;
'Tis an exploded popish thought
To think that Heaven may be bought.
Prayers, hymns, and praises, are the way,
And those my thankful Muse shall pay:
Thy body, in my verse enshrin'd,
Shall grow immortal as thy mind.

I'll fix thy title next in fame
To Sacharissa's well-sung name.
So faithfully will 1 declare
What all thy wondrous beauties are,
That when, at the last great assize,
All women shall together rise,

Men straight shall cast their eyes on thee,
And know at first that thou art she.


THOUGH you be absent here, I needs must say
The trees as beauteous are, and flowers as gay,
As ever they were wont to be;
Nay, the birds' rural music too

Is as melodious and free,

As if they sung to pleasure you:

I saw a rose-bud ope this morn-I'll swear The blushing Morning open'd not more fair.

How could it be so fair, and you away?
How could the trees be beauteous, flowers so gay?
Could they remember but last year,
How you did them, they you, delight,

The sprouting leaves which saw you here,
And call'd their fellows to the sight,
Would, looking round for the same sight in vain,
Creep back into their silent barks again.

Where'er you walk'd, trees were as reverend · made,

As when of old gods dwelt in every shade.
Is 't possible they should not know,
What loss of honour they sustain

That thus they smile and flourish now,
And still their former pride retain ?
Dull creatures! 'tis not without cause that she,
Who fled the god of wit, was made a tree.

In ancient times, sure, they much wiser were,
When they rejoic'd the Thracian verse to hear
In vain did Nature bid them stay,
When Orpheus had his song begun-
They call'd their wondering roots away,
And bade them silent to him run,

How would those learned trees have follow'd | Oh, no; there's sense in this, and mystery➡


You would have drawn them and their poet too.

But who can blame them now? for, since you're gone,

They're here the only fair, and shine alone;
You did their natural rights invade;
Wherever you did walk or sit,

The thickest boughs could make no shade,
Although the Sun had granted it:

The fairest flowers could please no more, near you,

Than painted flowers, set next to them, could do.

hene'er then you come hither, that shall be he time, which this to others is, to me. The little joys which here are now, The name of punishments do bear; When by their sight they let us know How we depriv'd of greater are: "Tis you the best of seasons with you bring; This is for beasts, and that for men, the Spring.



WHILST what I write I do not see,
I dare thus, ev'n to you, write poetry.
Ah, foolish Muse! which dost so high aspire,
And know'st her judgment well,

How much it does thy power excel,
Yet dar'st be read by, thy just doom, the fire.
Alas! thou think'st thyself secure,
Because thy form is innocent and pure:
Like hypocrites, which seem unspotted here;
But, when they sadly come to die,
And the last fire their truth must try,
Scrawl'd o'er like thee, and blotted, they appear.

Go then, but reverently go,

And, since thou needs must sin, confess it too:
Confess 't, and with humility clothe thy shame;
For thou, who else must burned be
An heretic, if she pardon thee,
May'st, like a martyr, then enjoy the flame.

But, if her wisdom grow severe,
And suffer not her goodness to be there;
If her large mercies cruelly it restrain ;
Be not discourag'd, but require
A more gentle ordeal fire,

And bid her by Love's flames read it again.
Strange power of heat! thou yet dost show
Like winter-earth, naked, or cloath'd with snow:
But as, the quickening Sun approaching near,
The plants arise up by degrees;
A sudden paint adorns the trees,
And all kind Nature's characters appear:

So, nothing yet in thee is seen;

But, when a genial heat warms thee within,
A new-born wood of various lines there grows;
Here buds an A, and there a B,
Here sprouts a V, and there a T,
And all the flourishing letters stand in rows.

Still, silly Paper! thou wilt think,
That all this might as well be writ with ink:

Thou now may'st change thy author's name, And to her hand lay noble claim;

For, as she reads, she makes, the words in thee.
Yet, if thine own unworthiness

Will still that thou art mine, not her's, confess,
Consume thyself with fire before her eyes,
And so her grace or pity move:

The gods, though beasts they do not love, Yet like them when they 're burnt in sacrifice.


FIVE years ago (says story) I lov'd you,
For which you call me most inconstant now.
Pardon me, madam, you mistake the man,
For I am not the same that I was then;
No flesh is now the same 'twas then in me,
And that my mind is chang'd, yourself may see.
The same thoughts to retain still, and intents,
Were more inconstant far; for accidents
Must of all things most strangely inconstant

If from one subject they t' another move;
My members then the father members were,
From whence these take their birth which now
are here.

If then this body love what th' other did,
'Twere incest; which by Nature is forbid.
You might as well this day inconstant name,
Because the weather is not still the same
That it was yesterday-or blame the year,
'Cause the spring flowers, and autumn fruit, does

The world's a scene of changes; and to be
Constant, in Nature were inconstancy;
For 'twere to break the laws herself has made:
Our substances themselves do fleet and fade;
The most fix'd being still does move and fly,
Swift as the wings of Time 'tis measur'd by.
T'imagine then that love should never cease
(Love, which is but the ornament of these)
Were quite as senseless, as to wonder why
Beauty and colour stays not when we die.


'Tis very true, I thought you once as fair
As women in th' idea are;

Whatever here seems beauteous, seem'd to be
But a faint metaphor of thee:
But then, methoughts, there something shin'd,

Which cast this lustre o'er thy skin;
Nor could I chuse but count it the Sun's light,
Which made this cloud appear so bright.
But, since I knew thy falschood and thy pride,
And all thy thousand faults beside,

A very Moor, methinks, plac'd near to thee,
White as his tecth would seem to be.
So men (they say) by Hell's delusions led,
Have ta'en a succubus to their bed;
Believe it fair, and themselves happy call,
Till the cleft foot discovers all :
Then they start from 't, half ghosts themselves
with fear;

And devil, as 'tis, it does appear.

since against my will I found thee foul, Deform'd and crooked in thy soul, My reason straight did to my senses show,

That they might be mistaken too:

Nay, when the world but knows how false you


There's not a man will think you fair; Thy shape will monstrous in their fancies be, They'll call their eyes as false as thee. Be what thou wilt, Hate will present thee so As Puritans do the pope, and Papists Luther do.


INDEED I must confess,

When souls mix 'tis an happiness; But not complete till bodies too combine, And closely as our minds together join: But half of Heaven the souls in glory taste, Till by love in Heaven, at last, Their bodies too are plac'd. In thy immortal part,

Man, as well as I, thou art;

But something 'tis that differs thee and me;
And we must one even in that difference be.
I thee, both as a man and woman, prize;
For a perfect love implies

Love in all capacities.

Can that for true love pass,
When a fair woman courts her glass?
Something unlike must in Love's likeness be;
His wonder is, one, and variety:

For he, whose soul nought but a soul can move,
Does a new Narcissus prove,

And his own image love.

That souls do beauty know,

'Tis to the bodies' help they owe;

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FAIREST thing that shines below,
Why in this robe dost thou appear?
Would'st thou a white most perfect show,
Thou must at all no garment wear:
Thou wilt seem much whiter so,
Than Winter when 'tis clad with snow.

'Tis not the linen shows so fair;

Her skin shines through, and makes it bright:
So clouds themselves like suns appear,
When the Sun pierces them with light:
So, lilies in a glass enclose,

The glass will seem as white as those.
Thou now one heap of beauty art;
Nought outwards, or within, is foul:
Condensed beams make every part;
Thy body's cloathed like thy soul;
Thy soul, which does itself display,
Like a star plac'd i' th' milky-way.
Such robes the saints departed wear,
Woven all with light divine;
Such their exalted bodies are,
And with such full glory shine:
But they regard not mortals' pain;
Men pray, I fear, to both in vain.

If, when they know 't, they straight abuse that Yet, seeing thee so gently pure,


And shut the body from 't, 'tis as unjust As if I brought my dearest friend to see My mistress, and at th' instant he Should steal her quite from me.


Love in her sunny eyes does basking play;
Love walks the pleasant mazes of her hair;
Love does on both her lips for ever stray,
And sows and reaps a thousand kisses there:
In all her outward parts Love's always seen;
But oh! he never went within.

Within, Love's foes, his greatest foes, abide,
Malice, Inconstancy, and Pride:

So, the Earth's face trees, herbs, and flowers, do dress,

With other beauties numberless;

But at the centre darkness is, and Hell;
There wicked spirits, and there the damned,

With me, alas! quite contrary it fares;
Darkness and death lie in my weeping eves,
Despair and paleness in my face apprars,
Aad grief, and fear, Love's greatest enemies;

My hopes will needs continue still;

Thou would'st not take this garment, sure, When thou hadst an intent to kill!


peace and yielding who would doubt, When the white flag he sees hung out?


So men, who once have cast the truth away,
Forsook by God, do strange wild lusts obey;
So the vain Gentiles, when they left t'adore
One deity, could not stop at thousands more:
Their zeal was senseless straight, and boundless,


They worship'd many a beast and many a stone.
Ah, fair apostate! couldst thou think to flee
From truth and goodness, yet keep unity? ·
I reign'd alone; and my blest self could call
The universal monarch of her all.
Mine, mine, her fair East-Indies were above,
Where those suns rise that cheer the world of

Where beauties shine like gems of richest price;
Where coral grows, ani every breath is spice:
Mine too her rich West-Indies were below,
Where mines of gold and endless treasures grow.

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