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My thoughts awhile, like you, imprison'd lay;

We'll write whate'er from yo'l we hear; Great joys, as well as sorrows, make a stay ;

For that's the po$y of the years--They binder one another in the crowd,

This difference only will remain-And none are heard, whilst all would speak aloud.

That Time his former face does show, Should every man's officious gladness haste,

Winding into himself again ; An't be afraid to show itself the last,

But your unweary'd wit is always new, The throng of gratulations now would be

"Tis said, that conjurers have an art found out Anther loss to you of liberty.

To carry spirits contin' in rings about: When of your freedom men the news did hear,

The wonder now will less appear, Where it was wish'd-for, that is every where,

When we behold your inagic here. 'Twas like the speech which from your lips does

You, by your rings, do prisoners take, fall;

And chain thein with your mystic spells, As soon as it was heard, it ravish'd all.

And, the strong witchcraft full to ma e, Si eloquent Tully did from exile come;

Love, the great Devil, charm'd to those circles, Thus long'd for he return'd, and cherish'd Rome ;

dwells. Which could no more h s tongue and counsels miss ; Rome, the world's head, was nothing without his.

They, who above do various circles find, Wrong to those sacred ashes, I should do,

Say, like a ring, th' equator Heaven does bind. Should I compare any to him but you ;

When Fleaven shall be adorn’d by thee You, to whoin irt and Nature did dispense

(Which then more Heaven than 'tis will be) The con su ship of wit and eloquence.

'Tis thou must write the posy there, Nor did your fate differ from his at all,

For it wanteth one as yet, Because the loom of exile was his fall;

Though the Sun piss through't twice a year; For the whole world, without a native home,

The Sun, who is esteem d the god of wit. Is nothing but a prison of larger room.

Happy the han ls which wear thy sacred rings, But like a melting woman suffer'd he,

They'll teach those hands to write mysterious He who before out-did humanity;

things. Nos evuld his spirit constant and stedfast prove.

Let other rings, with jewels bright, Wbuse art 't had been, and greatest end, to move.

Cast around their costly light; You put ill-fortune in so good a dress,

Let them want no noble stone, That it out-shone other men's happiness :

By nature rich and art refin'd;
Had your prosperity always clearly gone,

Yet shall thy rings give place to none,
As your high merits would have laid it or, But only that which must thy marriage bind.
You 'ad half been lost, and an example then
But for the happy-the least part of men.
Your very sufferings did so graceful shew,

PROLOGUE TO THE GUARDIAN:
That some strait envy'd your affliction too;
Por a clear conscence and hervic mind
In ills their business and the'r glory find.

W

ko says the times do learning disallow? So, though less worthy stones are drown'd in night,

'Tis tanse ; 'twas never honour'd so as now. The faithful diamond keeps his native light, And is oblig'd to darkness for a ray,

When you appear, great prince ! our night is done ;

You are our morning-star, and shall be our sun. That would be more oppress'd than help'd by day.

But our scene's London now; and by the rout Your soul then most show'd her unconquer'd pow- We perish, if the Round-heads be about: er,

For now no ornament the head must wear,
Was stronger and more armed than the Tower.
Sure unkind Fate will tempt your spirit no more;

No bays, no mitre, not so much as hair.

How can a play pass safely, when we know
Sh' has try'd her weakness and your strength Cheapside-cross falls for making but a show?
before.

Our only hope is this, that it may be
Toppose him still, who once has conquer'd so,
Were now to be your rebel, not your foe;

A play may pass too, made extempore.

Though other arts poor and neglected grow, Fortune henceforth will more of providence have,

They'll admit poesy, which was always so.
And rather be your friend than be your slave.

But we contemn the fury of these days.
And scorn no less their censure than their praise :

Our Muse, blest prince! does only on you rely ;
TO A LADY

Would gladly live, but not refuse to die.
Accept our hasty zeal ! a thing that's play'd

Fre'tis a play, and acted ere 'tis made
WHO MADI POSIES FOR RINGS.

Our ignorance, but our duty too, we show ;
I little thought the time would ever be,

I would all ignorant people would do so!
That I should wit in dwarfish posies see.

At other times expect our wit or art;
As all words in few letters live,

This comedy is acted by the heart.
Thou to few words all sense dost give.
'Twas Nature taught you this rare art,
In such a little much to shew;

THE EPILOGUE.
Who, all the good she did impart

The play, great sir! is done ; yet needs must fear, To womankind, epitomiz'd in you.

Though you brought all your father's mercies here, If, as the ar c'ents did not doubt to sing,

It may offend your highness; and we ’are now The turning years be well compar'd ta ring, Three hours done treason bere, for aught we know.

BEFORE THE PRINCE.

But power your grace can above Nature give, No tuneful birds play with their sonted cheer, It can give power to make abortives live;

And call the learned youths to bear ; In which, if our bold wishes should be crost, No whistling winds through the glad branches fly: 'Tis but the life of one poor week 't has lost :

But all, with sari solemnity, Though it should fall beneath your mortal scorn,

Mute and unloved be, Scarce could it die more quickly than't was burn. Mute as the grave wherein my friend does lie.

To him iny Muse made baste with every strain,

Whilst it was new and wann yet from the brain : ON THE DEATH OP

He lov'd my worthless rhymes, and, like a friend, MR. WILLIAM HERVEY.

Would find out something to commend.

Hence now, my Muse! thou canst not me delight: IMMODICIS BREVIS EST ÆTAS, & Rara SENECTUS.

Be this my latest verse,
Mart.

With which I now adom his hearse ;
It was a dismal and a fearful night,

And this my grief, without thy help, shall write. Scarce could the Morn drive on th’ unwilling lad I a wreath of bays about my brow, Light,

I should contemn that flourishing honour now ; When Sleep, Death's imagc, left my troubled Condemn it to the fire, and joy to hear breast,

It rage and crackle there. By something liker death possest.

Instead of bays, crown with sad cypress mc ; My eyes with tears did uncoinmanded flow,

Cypress, which tombs does beautify: And on my soul hung the dull weight

Not Phæbus griev'd, so much as I, Of some intolerable fate.

For bin who first was made that mournful trec. What bell was that? ah me! too much. I know,

Large was his soul ; as large a soul as e'er My sweet companion, and my gentle peer, Submitted to inforin a body here; Why hast thou left me thus unkiudly here, High as the place 'twas shortly in Heaven to Thy end for ever, and my life, to moan?

have, O, thou hast left me all alone!

But low and humble as his grave: Thy soul and body, when death's agony

So high, that all the Virtues there did come. Besieg'd around thy noble heart,

As to their chiefest seat
Did not with more reluctance part,

Conspicuous and great ;
Than l, my dearest friend ! do part from thee. So low, that for me too it made a room.
My dearest friend, would I had dy'd for thee! He scorn'd this busy world below, and all
Life and this world henceforth will tedious be. That we, mistaken mortals! pleasure call;
Nor shall I know hereafter what to do,

Was fill'd with innocent gallantry and truth, If once my griefs prove tedious too.

Triumphant o'er the sins of youth. Silent and sad I walk about all day,

He, like the stars, to which he now is gone, As sullen ghosts stalk speechless by

That shine with beams like flame, Where their hid treasures lie;

Yet burn not with the same, Alas ! my treasure's gone! why do I stay? Had all the light of youth, of the fire none. Jle was my friend, the truest friend on Earth; Knowledge he only sought, and so soon caught, A strong and thighty influence join'd onr birth ; As if for him knowledge had rather sought: Nor did we envy the most sounding name

Nor did more learning ever crowded lie By friendship given of old to Fame.

In such a short mortality. None but his brethren he, and sisters, knew,

Whene'er the skilful youth discours'd or writ, Whom the kind youth preferr'd to me;

Still did the notions throng And ev'n in that we did agree,

About his eloquent tongue, For much above myself i lov'd them too.

Nor could his ink flow faster than his wit. Say, for you saw us, ye immortal lights,

So strong a wit did Nature to him frame, How oft unweary'd have we spent the nights, As all things but his judgment overcame; Till the Ledæan stars, so fam'd for love,

His judgment like the heavenly moon did show, Wonder'd at us from above!

Tempering tha: mighty sea below. We spent thein not in toys, in lusts, or wine; Oh! had he lix'd in Leaning's world, what bound But search of deep philosophy,

Would have been able to control Wit, eloquence, and poetry,

His orer-powering soul; Arts which I lov'd, for they, my friend, were We ’ave lost in him arts that not yet are found. thine.

His mirth was the pare spirits of various wit, Ye fields of Cambridge, our dear Cambridge, say Yet never did his God or friends forget; Have ye not seen us walking every day?

And, when deep talk and wisdom came in view, Was there a tree about which did not know

Retir'd, and gave to them their due: The love betwixt us two ?

For the rich help of books he always took, Henceforth, ye gentle trees, for ever fade;

Though his own searching minn before Or your sad branches thicker join,

Was so with motions written o'er And into darksome shades combine,

As if wise Nature liad made that her book. Dark as the grave wherein my friend is laid !

So many virtues join'd in him, as we Henceforth, no learned youths beneath you sing, Can scarce pick here and there in bistory; Till all the tuneful birdo t' your boughs they More than old writers' practice e'er could reach ; bring i

As much as they could cver teach.

These did Religion, queen of virtues ! sway;

He sees thee gentle, fair, and gay,
And all their sacred motions steer,

And trusts the faithless April of thy May.
Just like the first and highest sphere,
Which wheels about, and turns all Heaven one way.

Unhappy, thrice unhappy, he,

T whoin thou untry'd dost shine! With as much zeal, devotion, piety,

But there's no danger now for me, He always liv'd, as other saints do die.

Since o'er Loretto's shrine, Still with his soul severe account he kept,

In witness of the shipwreck past, Weeping all debts out ere he slept ;

My consecrated vessel hangs at lasi.
Then down in peace and imocence he lay,

Like the Sun's laborious light,
Which still in water sets at night,

IX IMITATION OF
Insullied with his journey of the day.

MARTIAL'S EPIGRAM,
Wondrous young man! why wert thou made so good,
To be snatch'd hence ere better understood ?

Si tecum mihi, chare Martialis, &c
Saatch'd before half of thee enough was seen!

L. v. Ep. xx.
Thou ripe, and yet thy life but green!

IF, dearest friend, it my good fate might be
Nor could thy friends take their last sad farewell ; T" enjoy at once a quiet life and the ;
But danger and infectious death

If we for happiness could leisure find,
Maliciously seiz'd on that breath

And wandering Time into a inethod bind; Where life, spirit, pleasure, always us'd to dwell. We should not sure the great-men's favour need, But happy thou, ta'en from this frantic age,

Nor on long bopes, the court's thin diet, feed; Where ignorance and hypocrisy does rage!

We should not patience find daily to hear A fitter time for Heaven no soul ere chose,

The calumnies and flatteries spoken there ; The place now only free from those.

We should not the lords' tables humbly use,

Or talk in ladies' chambers love and news ;
There 'mong the blest thou dost for ever shine,
And, wheresoe'er thou casts thy view,

But books, and wise discourse, gardens and fields, l'pon that white and radiant crew,

And all the joys that ummixt Nature yields; See'st not a soul cloth'd with more light than thine.

Thick summer shades, where winter still does lie,

Bright winter fires, that summer's part supply: And, if the glorious saints cease not to know Sleep, not control'd by cares, confin'd to night, Their wretched friends who fight with life below, Or bound in any rule but appetite : Thy flame to me does still the same abide, Free, but not savage or ungracious mirth, Only more pure and rarefy'd.

Rich wines, to give it quick and easy birth; There, whilst immortal hymns thou dost rehearse, A few companions, which ourselves should chuse, Thou dost with holy pity see

A gentle mistress, and a gentler Muse. Our dull and earthy poesy,

Such dearest friend! such, without doubt, should Where grief and miser y can be juin'd with verse. be

Our place, our business, and our company.
Now to himself, alas ! does neither live.

But sees good suns, of which we are to give
ODE.

A strict account, set and march thick away:

Knows a man how to live, and does he stay?
IS IMITATION OF HORACE'S ODE,
Quis multâ gracilis te puer in roså
Perfusus, &c.

Lib. I. Od. v.

THE CHRONICLE.
To whom now, Pyrrha, art thou kind ?
To what heart-ravish'd lover

MARGARITA first possest,
Dost thou thy golden locks unbind,
Thr hidden sweets discover,

If I remember well, my breast,
And with large bounty open set

Margarita first of all;
All the bright stores of thy rich cabinet ?

But when awhile the wanton majd

With my restless heart had play'd,
Ah, simple youth ! how oft will he

Martha took the flying ball.
Of thy chang'd faith complain?
Aed his own fortunes find to be

Martha soon did it resign
So airy and so rain,

To the beauteous Catharine.
Of so cameleon-like an hue,

Beauteous Catharine gave place
That still their colour changes with it too!

(Though oth and angry she to part

With the possession of my heart)
How oft, alas! will be admire

To Eliza's conquering face.
The blackness of the skies!
Trembling to hear the wind sound higher,

Eliza till his hour might reign,
And see the billows rise!

Had she not evil counsels ta'ena
Poor inexperienc'd he,

Fundamental larg she broke,
Who ne'er alas! before had been at sea !

And still new favourites she chose,

Till up in arms my passions rose,
He enjoys thy calmy sunshine now,

And cast away her yoke.
And no breath s irring hears;
In the clear heaven of thy brow

Mary then and gentle Anne,
No smallest cloud appears.

Both to reign at once begao;

A BALLAD.

TO SIR WILLIAM DAVENANT,

Alternately they sway'd,
And soinetimes Mary was the fair,
And sometimes Anne the crown did wear,

And sometimes both I obey'd.
Another Mary then arose,

And did rigorous laws impose ;

A mighty tyrant she ! Long, alas! should I have been Under that irou-scepter'd queen,

H3d not Rebecca set me free. When fair Rebecca set me free,

'Twas then a gilden time with me:

But soon chose pleasures fled;
For the grarious princess dy'd,
In her youth and beauty's pride,

And Judith reigned in her stead.
One month, three days, and half an hour,

Judith held the sovereign power:

Wondrous beautiful her face !
But so weak and small her wit,
That she to govern was unfit,

And so Susanna took her place.
But when Isabella came,

Arm’d with a resistless flame,

And th' artillery of her eye; Whilst she proudly march'd about, Greater conquests to find out,

She beat out Susan by the by. But in her place I then obey'd

Black-ey'd Bess, her vice oy maid;

To whom ensued a vacancy : Thousand worse passions then possest The interregnum of my breast;

Bless me from such an anarchy! Gentle Henrietta then,

And a third Mary, next began;

Then Joan, and Jane, and Audria ;
And then a pretty Thomasine,
And then another Katharine,

And then a long et cætera.
But should I now to you relate

The strength and riches of their state,

The powder, patches, and the pins,
The ribbons, jewels, and the rings,
The lace, the paint, and warlike things,

That make up all their magazines ;
If I should tell the politic arts

To take and keep men's hearts ;

The letters, embassies, and spies, The frowns, and smiles, and flatteries, The quarrels, tears, and perjuries,

(Numberless, nameless, mysteries !) And all the little lime-twigs laid,

By Machiavel the waiting maid ;

I more voluminous should grow (Chiefly if I like them should tell All change of weathers that befell)

Than Holinshed or Stow. But I will briefer with them be,

Since few of them were long with me.

An higher and a nobler strain My present emperess does claim, Heleonora, first o'th' namc;

Wb.m God grant long to reigo!

UPON HIS TWO FIRST BOOKS OF GONDIBERT, FINISHED BEFORE HIS VOYAGL TO AMERICA. METHINKS heroic poesy till now, Like some fantastic fairy-land did show; Gods, devils, nymphs, witches, and giants' race, And all but man, in man's chief work had place. Thou, like some worthy knight with sacred arms, Dost drive the monsters thence, and end the charms, Instead of those dost men and manners plant, The things which that rich soil did chiefly want. Yet ev'n thy mortals do their gods excel, Taught by thy Muse to fight and love so well.

By fatal hands whilst present empires fall, Thine from the grave past monarchies recall; So much more thanks from human-kind does

merit The poet's fury than the zealot's spirit: And from the grave thou mak’st this empire rise, Not like some dreadful ghost, t' affright our eyes, But with more lustre and triumphant state, Than when it crown'd at proud Verona sate. So will our God rebuild man's perish'd frame, And raise him up much better, yet the same: So god-like poets do past things rehearse, Not change, but heighten, Nature by their verse.

With shame, inethinks, great Italy must see Her conquerors rais'd to life again by thee : Rais'd by such powerful verse, that ancient Rome May blush no less to see her wit o'ercome. Some men their fancies, like their faith, derive, And think all ill but that which Rome does give; The marks of old and Catholic would find; To the same chair would truth and fietion bind. Thou in those beaten paths disdain'st to tread, And scoru'st to live by robbing of the dead. Siuce Time does all things change, thou think'st

not fit This latter age should see all new but wit; Thy fancy, like a flame, its way does make, And leave bright tracts for following pens to take. Sure 'twas this noble boldness of the Muse Did thy desire to seek new worlds infuse; And ne'er did Heaven so much a voyage bless, If thou canst plant but there with like success.

AN ANSWER TO

A COPY OF VERSES

SENT NE TO JERSEY.

A, to a norther people (whom the Sun
Uses just as the Romish church has done
Her prophane laity, and does assign
Bread only both to serve for bread and wine)
A rich Canary fleet welcome arrives;
Such comfort to us here your letter gives,
Frought with brisk racy verses; in which we
The soil from whence they came taste, smell, and
Such is your present to us ; for you must know,
Sir, that verse does not in this island grow,
No more than sack: one lately did not fear
(Without the Muses' leave) to plant it here ;
But it produc'd such base, rough, crabbed, hedge,
Rhymes, as ev'n set the hearers' ears on edge :
Written by

- esquire, the Year of our Lord six hundred thirty-three.

see ;

Brave Jersey Muse! and he's for this high style And seeks by useless pride,
Callid to this day the Homer of the isle.

With slight and withering leaves that nakedness to Alas! to men here no words less hard be

bide. To rhyme with, than 4 Mount Orgueil is to me;

“ Henceforth,” said God," the wretched sons of Mount Orgueil ! which, in scorn o'th' Muses law,

Earth With no yoke-fellow word will deign to draw.

Shall sweat for food in vain, Stubborn Mount Orgueil !' tis a work to make it

That will n t long sustain ; Come into thyme, more hard than 'twere to take it. And bring with labour forth each fond abortive birth. Alas! to bring your tropes and figures here,

That serpent too, their pride, Strange as to bring camels and elephants were ;

Which aims at things deny'd; And metaphor is so unkuown a thing,

That learn'd and eloquent lust ; 'Twould need the preface of God save the king.

Instead of mounting high, shall creep upon the Yet this l'll say, for th' honour of the place,

dust."
That, by God s extraordinary grace
(Which shows the people have judgment, if not wit)
The land is undefil'd with clinches yet ;

REASON,
Which, in my pour opinion, I confess,
Is a most singular blessing, and no less

THE USE OF IT IN DIVINE MATTERS.
Than Ireland's wanting spiders. And, so far

Some blind themselves, 'cause possibly they may From th' actual sin of bombast too they are,

Be led by others a right way; (That other crying sin o' th: English Muse) That even Satan himself can accuse

They build on sands, which if unmov'd they find,

'Tis but because there was no wind. None here (no not so much as the divines) For th' motus primò primi to strong lines.

Less hard 'tis, not to err on rselves, than know

If our forefathers err'd or no.
Well, since the soil then does not naturally bear
Verse, who (a devil) should import it here?

When we trust men concerning God, we then For that to me would seem as strange a thing

Trust not God concerning men. As who did first wild beasts int' islands bring; Visions and inspirations some expect Unless you thing that it might taken be,

Their course here to direct; As Green did Gondibert, in a prize at sea :

Like senseless chymists their own wealth destroy But that's a fortune falls not every day ;

Imaginary gold t' enjoy : 'Tis true Green was made by it ; for they say So stars appear to drop to us from sky, The parl'ament did a noble bounty do,

And gild the passage as they fy; And gave him the whole prize, their tenths and But when they fall, and meet th’ opposing ground, fifteenths too.

What but a sordid slime is found ? Sometimes their fancies they 'bove reason set,

And fas', that they may dream of meat; THE TREE OF KNOWLEDGE.

Sometimes ill spirits their sickly souls delude, THAT THERE IS NO KNOWLEDGE.

And bastard forms obtrude;

So Endor's wretched sorceress, although
Against the Dogmatists.

She Saul through his disguise did know,
The sacred tree midst the fair orchard grew;

Yet, when the devil comes up disguis'd, she cries, The Phænix Truth did on it rest,

“ Behold! the Gods arise.” And bu lt his perfum'd nest :

In vain alas! these outward hopes are try'd; That right Porphyrian tree which did true logie Reason within's our only guide ; shew.

Reason, which (God be prais'd!) still walks, for all Each leaf did learned notions give,

Its old orig'nal fall; And th' apples were demonstrative :

And, since itself the boundless Godhead join'd So clear their colour and divine,

With a reasonable mind, The very shade they cast did other lights out-shine. It plainly shows that mysteries divine “Taste not,” said God,“ tis mine and angels'

May with our reason join. meat ;

The holy book,like the eighth sphere, does shive A certain death doth sit,

With thousand lights of truth divine : like an ill worm, i'ih' core of it.

So numberless the stars, that to the eye
Ye cannot know and live, nor live or know, and eat.” It makes but all one galaxy.
Thus spoke Gud, yet man did go

Yet Reason must assist too; for, in seas
Ignorantly on to know ;

So vast and dangerous as these, Grew so more blind, and she

Our course by stars above we cannot know, Who tempted him to this grew yet more blind Without the compass too below. than he.

Though Reason cannot through Faith's mysteries The only science man by this did get,

see, Was but to know he nothing knew :

It sees that there and such they be ; He straight his nakedness did view,

Leads to Heaven's door and there does humbly keep, His igru rant poor estate, and was asham'd of it. And there through chinks and key-holes peep; Yet searches probabilities,

Though it, like Moses, by a sad commsud, And rhetoric, and fallacies,

Must not come into th' Holy Land,

Yet thither it infallibly does guide, • The game of one of the castles in Jersey.

And from afar 'tis all descry'd

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