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Why, as we pass, do those on Xanthus' shore, It is not thou, but we are blind,
As gods behold us, and as gods adore ?

And our corporeal eyes (we find)
But that, as well in danger as degree,

Dazzle the optics of our mind.
We stand the first; that when our Licians see
Oar brave examples, they admiring say,

Love to our citadel resorts, “ Behold our gallant leaders! These are they Through those deceitful sally-ports, Deserve the greatness; and unenvy'd stand: Our sentinels betray our forts. Since what they act, transcends what they command.”

What subtle witchcraft man constrains, Could the declining of this fate (oh, friend)

To change his pleasure into pains, Our date to immortality extend ?

And all his freedom into chains ? Or if death

sought not them who seek not death, May not a prison, or a grave, Would I advance? or should my vainer breath With such a glorious folly thee inspire ?

Like wedlock, honour's title have ?

That word makes free-born man a slave. But since with Fortune Nature doth conspire, Since age, disease, or some less noble end,

How happy he that loves not lives ! Though not less certain, doth our days attend;

Him neither hope nor fear deceives, Since 'tis decreed, and to this period lead To Fortune who no hostage gives. A thousand ways, the noblest path we'll tread; And bravely on, till they, or we, or all,

How unconcern'd in things to come! A common sacrifice to honour fall.

If here uneasy, finds at Rome,
At Paris, or Madrid, his home.

Secure from low and private ends,

His life, his zeal, his wealth attends

His prince, his country, and his friends. Pr’ythee die and set me free, Or else be

Danger and honour are his joy; Kind and brisk, and gay like me;

But a fond wife, or wanton boy, I pretend not to the wise ones,

May all those generous thoughts destroy. To the grave, to the grave,

Then he lays-by the public care, Or the precise ones.

Thinks of providing for an heir; 'Tis not cheeks, nor lips, nor eyes,

Learns how to get, and how to spare, That I prize, Quick conceits, or sharp replies ;

Nor fire, nor foe, nor fate, nor night, If wise thou wilt appear and knowing,

The Trojan hero did affright, Repartie, Repartie,

Who bravely twice renew'd the fight. To what I'm doing.

Though stiil his foes in number grew,

Thicker their darts and arrows flew, Pr’ythee why the room so dark?

Yet left alone, no fear he knew.
Not a spark
Left to light me to the mark;

But Death in all her forms appears, I love day-light and a candle,

From every thing he sees and hears, And to see, and to see,

For whom he leads, and whom he bears'. As well as handle.

Love, making all things eise his foes, Why so many bolts and locks,

Like a fierce torrent, overflows
Coats and smocks,

Whatever doth his course oppase.
And those drawers, with a pox;
I could wish, could Nature make it,

This was the cause the poets sung
Nakedness, nakedness

Thy mother from the sea was sprung, Itself were naked.

But they were mad to make thee young. But if a mistress I must have,

Her father not her son art thou : Wise and grave,

From our desires our actions grow; Let her so herself behave;

And from the cause th' effect must now. All the day long Susan civil, Pap by night, pap by night,

Love is as old as place or time;
Or such a devil.

Twas he the fatal tree did climb,
Grandsire of father Adam's crime.

Well may'st thou keep this world in awe; FRIENDSHIP AND SINGLE LIFE, Religion, wisdom, honour, law,

The tyrant in his triumph draw. LOVE AND MARRIAGE. 'Tis he commands the powers abore; Love! in what poison is thy dart

Phæbus resigns his darts, and Jove

His thunder, to the god of Love.
Dipt, when it makes a bleeding heart?
None know, but they who feel the smart,

! His father and son.

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To him doth his feign's mother yield;

Next (like Aurora) Spenser rose, Nor Mars (her champion)'s flaming shield Whose purple blush the day foreshows; Guards him when Cupid takes the field. The other three, with his own fires,

Phoebus, the poets' god, inspires ; He clips Hope's wings, whose airy bliss

By Shakespear's, Jonson's, Fletcher's lines, Diuch higher than fruition is;

Our stage's lustre Rome's outsbines : But less than nothing, if it miss.

These poets near our princes sleep,

And in one grave their mansion keep. When matches Love alone projects

They liv'd to see so many days,
The cause transcending the effects,

Till time had blasted all their bays :
That wild-fire's quench'd in cold neglects : But cursed be the fatal hour
Whilst those conjunctions prove the best,

That pluck'd the fairest, sweetest flower

That in the Muses' garden grew, Where Love's of blindness dispossest,

And amongst wither'd laurels threw. By perspectives of interest.

Time, which made them their fame outlive, Though Solomon with a thousand wives,

To Cowley scarce did ripeness give.

Old mother Wit, and Nature, gave To get a wise successor strives,

Shakespeare and Fletcher all they have ; But one (and he a fool) survives.

In Spenser, and in Jonson, Art Old Rome of children took 110 care,

Of slower Nature got the start; They with their friends their beds did share,

But both in him so equal are, Secure t'adopt a hopeful heir.

None knows which bears the happiest share a

To him no author was unknown, Love drowsy days and stormy nights

Yet what he wrote was all his own ; Makes; and breaks friendship, whose delights He melted not the ancient gold, Feed, but not glut, our appetites.

Nor, with Ben Jonson, did make bold

To plunder all the Roman stores Well-chosen friendship, the most noble

Of poets, and of orators : Of virtues, all our joys makes double,

Horace's wit, and Virgil's state, And into halves divides our trouble.

He did not steal, but emulate ! But when th' unlucky knot we tie,

And when he would like them appear, Care, ararice, fear, and jealousy,

Their garb, but not their clothes, did wear.

He not from Rome alone, but Greece, Make friendship languish till it die.

Like Jason brought the golden fleece ; The wolf, the lion, and the bear,

To him that language (though to none When they their prey in pieces tear,

Of th others) as his own was known. To quarrel with themselves forbear :

On a stiff gale (as Flaccus sings)

The Theban swan extends his wings, Yet timorous deer, and harmless sheep, When through th' etherial clouds he flies : When love into their veins doth creep,

To the same pitch our swan doth rise ; That law of Nature cease to keep.

Old Pindar's flights by him are reach'd

When on that gale his wings are stretch'd; Who then can blame the amorous boy,

His fancy and his judgment such, Who the fair Helen to enjoy,

Each to the other seem'd too much, To quench his own, set fire on Troy?

His severe judgment (giving law) Such is the world's preposterous fate,

His modest fancy kept in awe :

As rigid husbands, jealous are, Amongst all creatures, mortal hate

When they believe their wives too fair. Lore (though immortal) doth create.

His English streams so pure did fow, But love may beasts excuse, for they

As all that saw and tasted know : Their actions not by reason sway,

But for his Latin vein, so clear, But their brute appetites obey.

Strong, full, and high it doth appear,

That were immortal Virgil here,
But man's that savage beast, whose mind, Him, for his judge, he would not fear:
From reason to self-love declin'd,

Of that great portraiture, so truc
Delights to prey upon his kind.

A copy, pencil never drew.
My Muse her song had ended here,
But both their Genii straight appear:

Joy and amazement her did strike,
MR. ABRAHAM COWLEY'S DEATH, Two twins she never saw so like.

'Twas taught by wise Pythagoras,

One soul might through more bodies pass. ANCIENT POETS.

Seeing such transmigration there, OLD Chaucer, like the morning star,

She thought it not a fable here.
To us discovers day from far;

Such a resemblance of all parts,
His light those mists and clouds dissolv'd, Life, death, age, fortune, nature, arts ;
Which our dark nation long involv'd :

Then lights her torch at theirs, to tell,
But he descending to the shades,

And show the world this parallel : Darkness again the age invades.

Fixt and contemplative their looks,


The wheel that governs all : From thence the change in church and state, And all the mischief bears the date

From Haberdashers' Hall. Did we force Ireland to despair, Upon the king to cast the war,

To make the world abhor him, Because the rebels us'd his name? Though we ourselves can do the same,

While both alike were for him.

Still turning over Nature's books : : Their works chaste, moral, and divine, Where profit and delight combine; They, gilding dirt, in noble verse Rustic philosophy rehearse. When heroes, gods, or god-like kings, They praise, on their exalted wings To the celestial orbs they climb, And with th' harmonious spheres keep time: Nor did their actions fall behind Their words, but with like candour shin'd; Each drew fair characters, yet none Of these they feign'd, excels their own. Both by two generous princes lov'd, Who knew, and judg'd what they approv'd, Yet having each the same desire, Both from the busy throng retire. Their bodies to their minds resign'd, Car'd not to propagate their kind : Yet though both fell before their hour, Time on their offspring hath no power, Nor fire nor Fate their bays shall blast, Nor Death's dark yeil their day o'ercast.

Then the same fire we kindled here With what was given to quench it there,

And wisely lost that nation : To do as crafty beggars use, To maim themselves, thereby t'abuse

The simple man's compassion.

Have I so often past between Windsor and Westminster, unseen,

And did myself divide : To keep his excellence in awe, And give the parliament the law ?

For they knew none beside.

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Though more our money than our cause
Their brotherly assistance draws,

My labour was not lost.
At my return I brought you thence
Necessity, their strong pretence,

And these shall quit the cost,
Did I for this my country bring
To help their knight against their king,

And raise the first sedition? Though I the business did decline, Yet I contriv'd the whole design,

And sent them their petition, So many nights spent in the city In that invisible coinmittee,

If men in peace can have their right,
Where's the necessity to fight,

That breaks both law and vath? They 'll say they fight not for the cause, Nor to defend the king and laws.

But us against them both. Either the cause at first was ill, Or being good, it is so still;

And thence they will infer,
That either now or at the first
They were deceiv'd; or, which is worst,

That we ourselves may err,
But plague and famine will come ing
For they and we are near of kin,



sense :


And cannot go asunder:

For all those pretty knacks you compose, But while the wicked starve, indeed

Alas, what are they but poems in prose ? The saints have ready at their need

And between those and ours there's no difference, God's providence, and plunder.

But that yours want the ryme, the wit, and the Princes we are if we prevail,

But for lying (the most noble part of a poet) And gallant villains if we fail :

You have it abundantly, and yourselves know it; When to our fame 'tis told,

And though you are modest and seem to abhor it, It will not be our least of praise,

'T has done you good service, and thank Hell Since a new state we could not raise.

for it : To have destroy'd the old.

Although the old maxim remains still in force,

That a sanctify'd cause must have a sanctify'd Then let us stay and fight, and vote,

If poverty be a part of our trade, [course, Till London is not worth a grcat;

So far the whole kingdom poets you have made, Oh'tis a patient beast ! When we bave gall'd and tir'd the mule,

Nay even so far as undoing will do it,

You have made king Charles himself a poct : And can no longer have the rule,

But provoke not his Muse, for all the world We'll have the spoil at least.


Already you have had too much of his prose. TO THE FIVE MEMBERS

A WESTERN WONDER. HONOURABLE HOUSE OF COMMONS, Do you not know not a fortnight ago, THE RUMBLE PETITION OF THE POETS. How they bragg'd of a Western Wonder ?

When a hundred and ten slew five thousand men, AFTER so many concurring petitions

With the help of lightning and thunder ?
From all ages and sexes, and all conditions,
We come in the rear to present our follies There Hopton was slain again and again,
To Pym, Stroude, Haslerig, Hampden, and Or else my author did lye ;

[living, Holles.

With a new Thanksgiving, for the dead who are Though set form of prayer be an abomination, To God, and his servant Chidleigh. Set forms of petitions find great approbation : Therefore, as others from th’ bottom of their But now on which side was this miracle try'd, souls,

I hope we at last are even ;

(graves, So we from the depth and bottom of our bowls, For sir Ralph and his knaves are risen from their According unto the bless'd form you have taught To cudgel the clowns of Devon.

us, Wethank you first for the ills you have brought us : And there Stamford came, for his honour was For the good we receive we thank him that gave

Of the gout three months together ; (lame And you for the confidence only to crave it. [it, But it prov'd when they fought, but a running Next in course, we complain of the great viola- For his heels were lighter than ever. (gout of privilege (like the rest of our nation) ; [tion For now he outruns his arms and his guns, But 'tis none of yours of which we have spoken, Which never had being until they were broken ;

And leaves all his money behind him ; But ours is a privilege ancient and native,

But they follow after; unless he takes water, Hangs not on an ordinance, or power legislative.

At Plymouth again they will find him.
And first, 'tis to speak whatever we please,
Without fear of a prison or pursuivant's fees.

What Reading hath cost, and Stamford hath Next, that we only may lye by authority ;

Goes deep in the sequestrations ! (lost, But in that also you have got the priority.

These wounds will not heal, with your new great Next, an old custom, our fathers did name it

Nor Jepson's declarations.

(seal. Poetical licence, and always did claim it. Now, Peters and Case, in your prayer and grace By this we have power to change age into youth, Remember the new Thanksgiving ; Turn nonsense to sense, and falsehood to truth; Isaac and his wife, now dig for your life, In brief, to make good whatsoever is faulty; Or shortly you'll dig for your living. This art some poet, or the Devil, has taught ye: And this our property you have invaded, And a privilege of both houses have made it.

A SECOND WESTERN WONDER. But that trust above all in poets reposed, That kings by them only are made and deposed, You heard of that wonder, of the lightning and This though you cannot do, yet you are willing :

thunder, But when we undertake deposing or killing, Which made the lye so much the louder : They're tyrants and monsters; and yet then the Now list to another, that miracle's brother,

Which was done with a firkin of powder. Takes full revenge on the villains that do it : And when we resume a sceptre or crown, O what a damp it struck through the camp ! We are modest, and seek not to make it our own. But as for honest sir Ralph, But is 't not presumption to write verses to you, It blew him to the Vies, without beard or cycs, Who make better poems by far of the two? But at least three heads and a half


When out came the book which the news-monger | But, alas ! he had been feasted

From the preaching ladies letter, [took | With a spiritual collation, Where, in the first place, stood the Conqueror's By our frugal mayor, Which made it show much the better. [face,

Who can dine on a prayer,

And sup on an exhortation.
But now without lying, you may paint him flying,
At Bristol they say you may find him,

'Twas mere impulse of spirit, Great William the Con, so fast he did run, Though he us’d the weapon carnal: That he left half his name behind him.

“ Filly foal," quoth he,

“ My bride thou shalt be, And now came the post, save all that was lost, And how this is lawful, learn all.

But alas, we are past deceiving
By a trick so stale, or else such a tale

“ For if no respect of persons Might amount to a new Thanksgiving.

Be due 'mongst sons of Adam,

In a large extent,
This made Mr. Case, with a pitiful face,

Thereby may be meant
In the pulpit to fall a weeping, [eyes,

That a mare 's as good as a madam.” Though his mouth utter'd lyes, truth fell from his

Then without more ceremony, Which kept the lord-mayor from sleeping.

Not bonnet vail'd, nor kiss'd her,

But took her by force, Now shut up shops, and spend your last drops,

'For better for worse, For the laws, not your cause, you that loath

And us'd her like a sister,
Lest Essex should start, and play the second part Now when in such a saddle
Of the worshipful sir John Hotham.

A saint will needs be riding,

Though we dare not say

'Tis a falling away, NEWS FROM COLCHESTER:

May there be not some back-sliding? Or, A proper New Ballad of certain Carnal Pas

“ No surely," quoth James Naylor,

“ 'Twas but an insurrection sages betwixt a Quaker and a Colt, at Horsly,

Of the carnal part, near Colchester, in Essex.

For a Quaker in heart
To the tune of Tom of Bedlam.

Can never lose perfection.
All in the land of Essex,

“ For (as our masters' teach us) Near Colchester the zealous,

The intent being well directed,
On the side of a bank,

Though the Devil trepan
Was play'd such a prank,

The Adamical man,
As would make a stone-horse jealous.

The saint stands uninfected." Help Woodcock, Fox, and Naylor,

But alas ! a Pagan jury
For brother Green 's a stallion :

Ne'er judges what's intended;
Now, alas, what hope

Then say what we can,
Of converting the Pope,

Brother Green's outward man When a Quaker turns Italian :

I fear will be suspended. Even to our whole profession

And our adopted sister
A scandal 'twill le counted,

Will find no better quarter,
When 'tis talk'd with disdain,

But when hiin we enrol
Amongst the profane,

For a saint, Filly Foal
How brother Green was mounted.

Shall pass herself for a martyr.
And in the good time of Christmas,
Which though our saints have damn'd all, Rome, that spiritual Sodom,
Yet when did they hear

No longer is thy debtor,
That a damn'd cavalier

O Colchester, now
E’er play'd such a Christmas gambal !

Who's Sodom but thou,

Even according to the letter?
Had thy fesh, O Green, been pamper'd
With any cates unhallow'd,
Hadst thou sweeten’d thy gums

With pottage of plums,
Or profane minc'd pye hadst swallow'd :

Morpheus, the humble god, that dwells

In cottages and smoaky cells, Roll'd up in wanton swine's flesh,

Hates gilded roofs and beds of down; The fiend might have crep into thee;

And though he fears no prince's frown, Then fullness of gut

Flies from the circle of a crown.
Might have caus'd thee to rut,
And the Devil bare so rid through thee.

5 The Jesuits.

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