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'Twas not revenge for griev'd Apollo's wrong,
UPON BEN. JONSON. MIRROR of poets! mirror of our age! Which her whole face beholding on thy stage, Pleas'd and displeas'd with her own faults, endures A remedy like those whom music cures. Thou hast alone those various inclinations Which Nature gives to ages, sexes, nations ; So traced with thy all-resembling pen, That whate'er custom has impos'd on men, Or ill-got habit, (which deforms them so, That scarce a brother can his brother know) Is represented to the wondering eyes Of all that see or read thy Comedies. Whoever in those glasses looks, may find The spots return'd, or graces, of his mind; And by the help of so divine an art, At leisure view and dress his nobler part. Narcissus, cozend by that flattering well, Which nothing could but of his beauty tell, Had here, discovering the deform'd estate Of his fond mind, preserv'd himself with hate. But virtue too, as well as vice, is clad In flesh and blood so well, that Plato bad Beheld, what his high fancy once embrac'd, Virtue with colours, speech, and motion grac'd.
The sundry postures of thy copious Muse
ON MR. JOHN FLETCHER'S PLAYS. FLETCHER ! to thee we do not only owe All these good plays, but those of others too: Thy wit repeated does support the stage, Credits the last, and entertains this age. No worthies, form’d by any Muse but thine, Conld purchase robes to make themselves so fine.
What brave commander is not proud to see
Thus has thy Muse at once improv'd and marrd
i The Maid's Tragedy.
But if some brawny yeoman of the guard
VERSES TO DR. GEORGE ROGERS', ON HIS TAKING THE DEGREE OF DOCTOR IN PHYSIC
AT PADUA, IN THE YEAR 1664. When as of old the earth's bold children strove, With hills on hills, to scale the throne of Jove, Pallas and Mars stood by their sovereign's side, And their bright arms in his defence employ'd; While the wise Phæbus, Hermes, and the rest, Who joy in peace, and love the Muses best, Descending from their so distemper'd seat, Our groves and meadows chose for their retreat. There first Apollo tried the various use Of herbs, and learn’d the virtues of their juice, And fram’d that art, to which who can pretend A juster title than our noble friend? Whom the like tempest drives from his abode, And like employment entertains abroad. This crowns him here, and in the bays, so earn’d, His country's honour is no less concern'd,
1 This little poem was printed, together with several others on the same occasion, by Dr. Rogers, alone with his inaugural exercise at Padua, and afterwards in the same manner republished by him at London, together with his Harveian oration before the College of Physicialis, in the year 1682, while Mr. Waller was yet living.
Though the above verses were first printed in 1664, they seem to bave been writien before the Restoration, as appears from the lines toward the couclusion.
Since it appears not all the English rave,
CHLORIS AND HYLAS.
MADE TO A SARABAND.
Hylas, oh Hylas! why sit we mute,
Now that each bird saluteth the spring? Wind up the slacken'd strings of thy late,
Never canst thou want matter to sing ; For love thy breast does fill with such a fire, That whatsoe'er is fair moves tly desire. HYL. Sweetest! you know the sweetest of things
Of various flow'rs the bees do compose ;
Of violet, woodbine, pink, or rose :
chlo. Hylas! the birds which chant in this grove,
Could we but know the language they use, They would instruct us better in love,
And reprehend thy inconstant Muse ; For love their breasts does fill with such a fire, That what they once do choose, bounds their desire. Hyl. Chloris! this change the birds do approve,
Which the warm season hither does bring; Time from yourself does further remove
You than the winter from the gay spring : She that like lightning shin'd while her face lasted, The oak now resembles which lightning liath blasted.
IN ANSWER OF
SIR JOHN SUCKLING’S VERSES.
Stay here, fond youth! and ask no more; be wise; Knowing too much long since lost paradise.
PRO. And by your knowledge we should be bereft Of all that paradise which yet is left. [should still
con. The virtuous joys thou hast, thou wouldst Last in their pride ; and wouldst not take it ill If rudely, from sweet dreams, and for a toy, Thou wak’d: he wakes himself that does enjoy.
PRO. How can the joy or hope which you allow Be styled virtuous, and the end not so ? Talk in your sleep, and shadows still admire! 'Tis true, he wakes that feels this real tire ; But-to sleep better; for whoe'er drinks deep Of this Nepenthe, rocks himseif asleep.
con. Fruition adds no new wealth but destroys, And while it pleaseth much, yet still it cloys. Who thinks he should be happier made for that, As reas'nably might hope he might grow fat By eating to a surfeit: this once past, Wbat relishes ? ev'n kisses lose their taste.