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They, neighbours to your eyes,
Then Revenge, married to Ambition,
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 : For 'tis not buildings make a court,
'Twas civil slaughter dy'd her rose ; Or pomp, but 'tis the king's resort :
Nay, then her lily too
With blood's loss paler grew.
Such griefs, nay worse than these, we now should Les than a golden one it cannot be.
Did not just Charles silence the rage of steel ;
He to our land blest Peace doth bring,
Ali neighbour countries envying.
Happy who did remain
Unborn till Charles's reign!
Where dreaming chymics ! is your pain and cost ?
How is your oil, how is your labour lost ! Frum sighs your breast, and from black clouds
Our Charles, blest alchymist! (though strange, your brow,
Believe it, future times !) did change
The iron-age of old
Into an age of gold.
UPON THE SHORTNESS OF MAN'S LIPL.
ARK that swift arrow ! how it cuts the air, Return, and tears sport's nearest neighbours are.
How it out-runs thy following eye ! "Tis by the gods appointed so,
Use all persuasions now, and try That good fare should with mingled dangers flow. If thou canst call it back, or stay it there. Who drave bis oxen yesterday,
That way it went ; but thou shalt find Doth now over the noblest Romans reign,
No tract is left behind. And on the Gab'i and the Cures lay
Fool! 'tis thy life, and the fond archer thou. The yoke which from his oxen he had ta'en :
Of all the time thou'st shot away, Whom Hesperas saw poor and low,
I'll b.d thee tetch but yesterday,
And it shall be too bard a task to do.
Besides repentance, what canst find
That it bath left behind ? But seriousness, be shall again go home
Our life is cartied with too strong a tide; To his old country-farm of yesterday,
A doubtful cloud our substance bears,
And is the horse of all our years.
Each day doth on a winged whirluind ride.
We und our glass run out, and must Nay, if le want the fuel cold requires,
Both render up our dust. With his owp fasces he shall make him fires.
But his past life who without griet can see;
Who never thinks his end too near,
But says to Fame, “ Thou art mine heir;"
That man extends life's natural brevityIN SOMMENDATION OT TRE TIME WE LIVL UNDER, THE
This is, this is the only way
To out-live Nestor in a day.
Nichols, my better self! forbear;
are, Man's life t epitomize!
The schoolboy's sin will light on me, Then men (fond men, alas !) ride post to th' grave.
I shall, in mind at least, a tiuant be.
Tell me not how you feed your mind And cut those threads which yet the Fates would
With dainties of philosophy ; save; Then Charon sweated at his trade,
In Ovid's nut I shall not find
The taste unce pleased me.
O tell me not of logic's diverse cheer!
I shall begin to loathe our crambo bere.
Tell me not how the waves appear
Why do I stay then? I would meet of Cam, ur how it cuts the learned shire;
Thee there, but plummets hang upon my feet; I shall contemn the troubl:d Thames
'Tis my chief wish to live with thee,
Till then, we'll scorn to let that toy,
Some forty miles, divide our hearts:
Write to me, and I shall enjoy
Friendship and wit, thy better parts. When th' city shines with flags and pageants there, Though envious Fortune Jarger hindrance brings, And satin doublets, seen not twice a year.
We'll easily sea each other; Love hath wings.
And, whilst with wearied steps we upwards go,
See us, and clouds, below.
&c. WHAT shall I do to be for ever known,
ODE. OF WIT. to ? I sball, 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 woinen love 't, either in love or dress. In this scale gold, in th' other faine does lie,
A thousand different shapes it bears, The weight of that mounts this so high.
Comely in thousand shapes:ppears. These men are Fortune's jewels, moulded bright; Yonder we saw it plain; and here 'tis nw,
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 Copast 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,
We take a falling meteor for a star.
Hence 'tis, a Wit, that greatest word of fame, Hence, the desire of honours or estate,
Grows such a common name;
And Wits by our creation they become,
Just so as titular bishops made at Rome.
"Tis not a taie, 'tis not a jest Come, my best friends, my buoks! and lead me
Arlmir'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
'Tis not to force some lifeless verses meet
With their five gouty feet.
All, every where, like man's, must be the soul, Welcome, learn'd Cicero! whose blest tongue and
And Reason the inferior powers controul.
Such were the numbers which could call wit Preserves Rome's greatness yet:
The stones into the Theban wall.
Such miracles are ceas'd; and now we see
No towns or houses rais'd by poetry:
That shows more cost than art.
Jewels at nose and lips but ill appear;
Ratner than all things Wit, let none be there. Tell me, ye mighty Three! what shall I do
Several lights will not be seen,
If there be nothing else between.
If those be stars which pai t the galaxy.
ON THE DEATH OF
Tis not when two like words make up one noise Whilst we, like yonnger 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 ?
Such is the man whom we require the same
We lent the North ; untouch'd, as is his faine.
Those men alone (and i hose are useful tvo)
Whose valour is the only are they know
Were for sad war and bloody battles born;
Let them the state defend, and be adorn.
And furce some cidd similitude.
SIR HENRY WOOTTON,
What shall we say, since silent now is he
Who when he spoke, all things would silent be? All creatures dwelt; all creatures that had life:
Who had so many languages in store,
That only Fame shall speak of him in more;
Whom England now no more return'd must see; Which, without discord, os contusion, 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 Lore, 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 manners, bringing home
As if he went to conquer, not too sce.
So well he understood the most and best
Of tongues, that Babel sent into the West ; * What thing right Wii 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.
Nor onght the language of that man be less,
For not allowing life a longer date:
He did the ntmost bounds of kuowledge find, Gratis hy charge, O North! be wise and just, He found them not so large as was his mird; England commits her Falkland to thy trust; But, like the brave Pella:an youth, did moan Return him safe; Learning would rather choose Because that art hat no more worlds than ons ; Hier Bodley or her Vatican to lose :
And, when he say 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.
ON TIIE DEJTH OF MR. JORDIN, So, in an army govern'd right, wc sce
SECOND MASTER AT WESTMIXSTER SCHOOL. (Though out of several countries rais'd it be) That all their order and their place maintain,
Desce, and make room for me, all you who come
Here lies the master of my tender years,
All weeping was reserv'd to spend it here.
And mourn with me: he was your tutor too, All virtues, and some customs of the court,
Let's join our sighs, till they fly far, and shew Other men's labour, are at least his spuit;
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; Whop, idleness itself might learned make;"
By her he was brought forth, and hither 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,
Wisely did Nature this learn'd man divide; Yet see his nimble Pegasus fly away.
His birth was theirs, his death the mournful pride "Ti Nature's fault, who did thus partial grow, Of England ; and, t'avoid the envious strife And heresiate of wit on one bestow ;
Of other lands, all Europe had his life,
ON HIS MAJESTY'S RETURN...DEATH OF VANDYCK.
Rei Fe in chief; our country soon was grown
How justly would our neighbours smile A debtor more to bim, than he to 's own.
At these mad quarrels of our isle ; He pluchi from youth the follies and the crimes, Swell’d with proud hopes to snatch the whole away And built up men against the future times ; Whilst we bet all, and yet for nothing play! For deeds of age are in their causes then,
How was the silver Tine frighted before, And though he taught but boys, he made the men.
And durst not kiss the armed shore ! Hence 'twas a master, in those ancient days
His waters ran more swiftly than they use, When men sought knowledge first, and by it And hasted to the sea to tell the news: praise,
The sea itself, how rough soe'er, Was a thing fall of reverence, profit, fame;
Could scarce believe such fury here. Father itself was but a second name.
How could the Scots and we be enemies grown? He scorn'd the profit; his instructions all
That, and its master Charles, hail made us one. Were, like the science, free and liberal. He deservd honours, but despis'd them too,
No blood so loud as that of civil war: As much as those who have them others do.
It calls for dangers from afar. He knew not that which compliment they call;
Let's rather go and seek out them and fame; Could fatter none, but himself least of all.
Thus our fore-fathers got, thus left, a name : So true, so faithful, and so just, as he
All their rich blood was spent with gains, Was bought on Earth but his own memory ;
But that which swells their children's veins. His memory, where all things written were, Why sit we still, our spirits wrapt in lead ? As sure and fixt as in Fate's books they are.
Not like them whilst they liv'd, but now they're 'Thas he in arts so rast a treasure gain'd,
dead. Whilst still the use came in, and stock remain'd :
The noise at home was but Fate's policy, And, bacing purchas'd all that man can know,
To raise our spirits more high : Ile labourd with 't to enrich others now;
So a bold lion, ere he seeks his prey, Did thus a new and harder task sustain,
Lashes his sides and roars, and then away. Like those that work in mines for others' gain :
How would the German eagle fear, Hle, though more nobly, had much more to do,
To see a new Gustavus there; To search the vein, dig, purge, and mint it too. Ilow would it shake, though as 'twas wont to do 'Though my excuse would be, I must confess, For Jove of old, it now bure thunder too! Much better had his diligence been less; But, if a Muse hereafter smile on me,
Sure there are actions of this height and praise
Destin'd to Charles's days!
What will the triumphs of his battles be,
Whose very peace itself is victory !
When Heaven bestows the best of kings,
It bids us think of mighty things :
His valour, wisdom, offspring, speak no less ;
OUT OF SCOTLAND.
ON THE DEATH OF
SIR ANTHONY. VANDYCK, for that to thee, for thee to Heaven we owe.
Others by war their conquests gain,
Vandyck is dead ; but what bold Muse shall dare Who, when rude Chaos for his help did call,
(Though poets in that word with painters share) Spoke but the word and sweetly order'd all.
T"' express her sadness ? Poesy must become This happr concord in no blood is writ,
An art like Painting here, an art that's dumb. None can grudge Heaven full thanks for it : Let's all our solemn grief in silence keep, Yo mothers here lament their children's fate, Like some sad picture which he made to weep, And like the peace, but think it comes too late. Or those who saw't; for none his works could view No widows hear the jocuud bells,
Uumoved with the same passions which he dren. And take them for their husbands' knells : His pieces so with their live objects strive, No drop of blood is spilt, which might be said That both or pictures seem, or both alive. Tu mark our joyful holiday with red.
Nature herself, amaz'd, does doubting stand, 'Twas only Heaven could work this wondrous thing, and does attempt the like with less success,
Which is her own, and which the painter's hand ; And only work't by such a king.
When her own work in twins she would express. Again the northern hinds may sing and plough,
His all-resembling pencil did out-pass And fear no harm but from the weather now;
The minic imagery of looking-glass.
Nor was his life less perfect than his art.
Nor was his hand less erring than his heart.
There was no false or fading colour there, And only in their halls the children fright.
The figures sweet and well-proportion'd were. The gain of civil wars will not allow
Most other men, set next to him in view,
Appear'd more shadows than the men he drew. At such a game what fool would venture in, Thus still he liv'd, till Heav'n did for him call; Wbere one must lose yet neither side can win ? Where reverend Luke salutes him first of all;
THE FAMOUS PAINTER.
Where he be holds new sights, divinely fair,
Only his beauteous lady still he loves
Ilow wretched does Prometheus' state appear,
FRIENDSHIP IN ABSENCE.
What do our souls, I wonder, do?
Content with dreams, but boldly fly
And mix, I know not how nor where !
Like loving stars, which oft combine, Yet not themselves their own conjunctions know, 'Twere an ill world, I'll swear, for every friend,
If distance could their union end :
It scorns such outward circumstance,
Lody'd in each other's heart :
Absence itself does bounteous prove,
Like that which in Heaven's Sun does shine:
But, as his beams the farther fly,
Like objects if they touch the eye.
So much, so much both one do prore,
For thee make hours canonical.
Such and so many I'll repay,
To mock our separation.
No longer 'twill be kept from you,
I seek with verse my griefs t'appease ;
Finding at last no passage out,
ODE. 11 ere's to thee, Dick; this whining love despise ; Pledge me, my friend ; and drink till thou be'st
No; they are all sophisticate..
A thing so vile, and so short-liv'd,
Froin the neglected foam deriv'd.
Could he a woman's heart have seen
When he lay shut up in her womb?
Neither their sighs nor tears are true;
But sighs and tears have sexes too.
Again, till these two lights be four;
TO THE BISHOP OF LINCOLN,
UPON HIS ENLARGEMENT OUT OF THE TOWER.
Pardon, my lord, that I am come so late T express my joy for your return of fate? So, when injurious Chance did yon deprivo Of liberty, at first I could not grieve ;