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Distilling honey; here doth nectar pass,
With copious current, through the verdant grass : OY THE DZATH OF MY LOVING FRIEND AND COUSIN
Here Hyacinth, his fate writ in his looks,
Once lovely boys! and Acis, now a flower,
Are nourish'd with that rarer herb, whose power It was decreed by stedfast Destiny
Created thee, War's potent god! here grows (The world from chaos turn'd) that all should die. The spotless lily and the blushing rose; He who durst fearless pass black Acheron,
And all those divers ornaments abound, And dangers of th' infernal region,
That variously may paint the gaudy ground. Leading Hell's triple porter captivate,
No willow, Sorrow's garland, there hath room, Was overcome himself by conquering Fate.
Nor cypress, sad attendant of a tomb. The Roman Tully's pleasing eloquence,
None but Apollo's tree, and th’ivy twine Which in the ears did lock up every sense
Embracing the stout oak, the fruitful vine, Of the rapt hearer; his mellifuous breath
And trees with golden apples loaded down, Could not at all charm unrernorseless Death;
On whose fair tops sweet Philomel alone, Nor Solon, so by Greece admir'd, could save
Unmindful of her former misery, Himself, with all his wisdom, from the grave.
'Tunes with her voice a ravishing harmony; Stern Pate brought Maro to his funeral flame,
Whilst all the murmuring brooks that glide along, And would have ended in that fire his fame;
Make up a burthen to her pleasing song. Buming those lofty lines, which now shall be No screech-owl, sad companion of the night; Time's conquerors, and out-last eternity.
No hideous raven with prodigions flight, Even so lov' Clarke from death no’scape could find, Presaging future ill; nor, Progne, thee, Though ar'd with great Alcides' valiant mind. Yet spotted with young Itis' tragedy, He was adorn'd, in years though far more young,
Those sacred bowers receive. There's nothing there With learn'd Cicero's, or a sweeter tongue.
That is not pure; all innocent and rare. And, could dead Virgil hear his lofty strain,
Turning my greedy sight another way, He would condeinn his own to fire again.
Under a row of storm contemning bay, His youth a Solon's wisdom did presage,
I saw the Thracian singer with his lyre Had envious Time but giv'n him Solon's age.
Teach the deaf stones to hear him and admire. Who would not therefore now, if Learning's friend, Him the whole poets' chorus compass'd round, Bewail his fatal and untimely end ?
All whom the oak, all whom the laurel crown'd. Who hath such hard, such unrelenting eyes,
There banish'd Ovid had a lasting home, As not to weep when so much virtue dies?
Better than thou could'st give, ungrateful Rome! The god of poets doth in darkness shrowd
And Lucan (spite of Nero) in each vein His glorious face, and weeps bebind a cloud. Had every drop of his spilt blood again : The doleful Muses thinking now to write
Homer, Sol's first-born, was not poor or blind, Sad elegies, their tears confound their sight: But saw as well in body as in mind. But him t'Elysium's lasting joys they bring,
Tully, grave Cato, Solon, and the rest
Of Greece's admir'd wise-men, here possest
By these the valiant heroes take their place;
All who stern Death and perils did embrace
For Virtue's cause. Great Alexander there Presus, expelld by the approaching night, Laughs at the Earth's small empire, and did wear Blush'd, and for shamcclos’d in his bashful light, A nobler crown than the whole world could give: While I, with leaden Morpheus overcome,
There did Horatius, Cocles, Sceva, live, The Muse whom I adore enter'd the room :
And valiant Decius; who now freely cease Her hair with looser curiosity
From war, and purchase an eternal peace. Did on her comely back dishevell'd lie:
Next them, beneath a myrtle bower, where doves Her eyes with such attractive beauty shone, And gall-less pigeons build their nests, all Love's As might have wak'd sleeping Endymion.
True faithful servants, with an amorous kiss She bade me rise, and promis'd I should see And soft embrace, enjoy their greediest wish. Those fields, those mansions of felicity,
Leander with his beauteous Hero plays, We mortals so admire at: speaking thus,
Nor are they parted with dividing seas: She lifts me up apon wing'd Pegasus,
Porcia enjoys her Brutus ; Death no more On whom I rid; knowing, wherever she
Can now divorce their wedding, as before: Did go, that place must needs a temple be. Thisbe her Pyramus kiss'd, his Thisbe he No sooner was my flying courser come
Embrac'd, each bless'd with t'other's company: To the blest dwellings of Elysium,
And every couple, always dancing, sing When strait a thousand unknown joys resort, Eternal pleasures to Elysium's king. And hemind me round ; chaste Love's innocuous But see how soon these pleasures fade away! sport!
How near to evening is Delight's short day! A thousand sweets, bought with no following gall, The watching bird, true nuncius of the light, Joys, not like ours, short, but perpetnal.
Strait crowd; and all these vapish'd from my sight: How many objects charm my wandering eye, My very Muse herself forsook me too. And bid my soul gaze there eternally!
Me grief and wonder wak'd : wbat should I do? Here in full streams, Bacchus, thy liquor flows, Oh ! let me follow thee (said I) and go Nor knows to ebb; here Joye's broad tree bestows From life, that I may dream for ever so.
BETURN OUT OF SCOTLAND.
With that my flying Mase I thonght to clasp Yet he retums, and with his light
Expels what he hath causid--the night,
Yet his new-birth will soon restore
What its departure took before.
What though we miss'd our absent king
Awhile? great Charles is come again ;
The gratitude to Heaven we owe.
So doth a cruel storm impart Must have a breathing time our king :-stay there,
And teach us Palinurus' art: Speak by degrees ; let the inquisitive ear
So from salt floods, wept by our eyes,
A joyful Venus doth arise.
Less the misjudging world should chance to say Great Neptune's court : let every sparrow bear
I durst not but in secret murmurs pray ; From the three Sisters' weeping bark a tear :
To whisper in Jove's ear
How much I wish that funeral,
Or gape at such a great one's fall;
This let all ages hear, Knitting the pale-fae'd lily with the rose:
And future times in my soul's picture sce
What I abhor, what I desire to be.
Can preach two hours, and yet his sermon be
But half a quarter long; Each wall, each pillar, gratulations bear: Though, from his old mechanic trade, And yet, let no man invocate a Muse;
By vision he's a pastor made, The very matter will itself infuse
His faith was grown so strong ; A sacred fury: let the merry bells
Nay, though he think to gain salvation (For unknown joys work unknown miracles) By calling th' pope the Whore of Babylon. Ring without help of sexton, and presage
I would not be a school-master, though he A raw-made holy-day for future age!
His rods no less than fasces deems to be ; And, if the ancients us’d to dedicate
Though he in many a place A golden temple to propitious Fate,
Turns Lilly oftener than his gowns, At the return of any noble men,
Till at the last he make the nouns Of heroes, or of emperors, we must then
Fight with the verbs apace; Raise up a double trophy; for their fame
Nay, though he can, in a poetic heat,
Figures, born since, out of poor Virgil beat.
I would not be justice of peace, though he
Can with equality divide the fee, Snatch'd from Bellona's hand; him Luxury
And stakes with his clerk draw; In peace debilitates : whose tongue can win Nay, though lie sits upon the place Tully's own garland, Pride to him creeps in.
Of judgment, with a learned face On whom (like Atlas' shoulders) the propt state
Intricate as the law; (As he were primum mobile of Fate)
And, whilst he mulcts enormities demurely, Solely relies ; him blind Ambition moves ;
Breaks Priscian's head with sentences securely. His tyranny the bridled subject proves.
I would not be a courtier, though he But all those virtues which they all possest Makes his whole life the truest comedy, Divided, are collected in thy brcast,
Although he be a man Great Charles ! Let Cæsar boast Pharsalia's fight, In whom the taylor's forming art, Honorius praise the Parthian's unfeign'd fight: And nimble barber, claim more part Let Alexander call himself Jove's peer,
Than Nature herself can;
Though, as he uses men, 'tis his intent
From lawyer's tongues, though they can spin with Who is most near, most like, the Deity,
The shortest cause into a paraphrase ; (ease
From usurers' conscience
(For swallowing up young heirs so fast,
Without all doubt, they'll choak at last)
Make me all innocence,
Good Heaven ! and from thy eyes, O Justice ! keep; Hence eye that Sorrow's livery wears!
For though they be not blind, they're oft asleep. What though awhile Apollo ploese
From singing-mens' religion, who are To visit the Antipodes ?
Always at church, just like the crows, 'cause there
TO THE DUTCHESS OP
They build themselves a nest :
To strike me: doubtless there had been a fray, From too much poetry, which shines
Had not I providently skipp'd away
Without replying; for to scold is ill,
And can out-sound Homer's Gradivus ; so
I Aung (the darts of wounding poetry)
Be by his father in his study took
At Shakespeare's plays, instead of my lord Coke! (For though it want an R, it has The letter of Pythagoras)
May he (though all his writings grow as soon
As Butter's out of estimation)
Get him a poet's name, and so ne'er come And chines of beef innumerable send me,
Into a serjeant's or dead judge's room! Or from the stomach of the guard defend me.
May he become some poor physician's prey,
As he his client doth, till his health be
As far-fetcht as a Greek noun's pedigree!
Nay, for all that, may the disease be gone
Never but in the long vocation!
May neighbours use all quarrels to decide;
Unless he come in forma pauperis !
Grant this, ye gods that favour poetry!
That all these never-ceasing tongues may be
Brought into reformation, and not dare For all my use, no luxury.
To quarrel with a thread-bare black: but spare My garden painted o'er
Them who bear scholars' names, lest some one take
If I should say, that in your face were seen
Nature's best picture of the Cyprian queen ;
If I should swear, under Minerva's name,
Poets (who prophets are) foretold your fame; To morrow let my Sun his beams display,
The future age would think it flattery; Or in clouds hide them; I have liv'd to day'.
But to the present, which can witness be,
'Twould seem beneath your high deserts, as far A POETICAL REVENGE.
As you above the rest of women are.
When Manners' name with Villiers' join'd I see. WESTMINSTER- hall a friend and I agreed
How do I reverence your nobility!
(Envy'd in your dead lord, admir'd in you) To the next court; for though I could not know
I half adore them; for what woman can, Much what they meant, yet I might see and hear Besides yourself (nay, I might say what man) (As most spectators do at theatre)
But sex, and birth, and fate, and years excel Things very strange: Fortune did seem to grace In mind, in fame, in worth, in living well ? My coming there, and helpt me to a place.
Oh, how had this begot idolatry, But, being newly settled at the sport,
If you bad liv'd in the world's infancy, A semi-gentleman of the inns of court,
When man's too much religion made the best In a satin suit, redeem'd but yesterday,
Or deities, or semi-gods at least ! One who is ravish'd with a cock-pit play,
But we, forbidden this by piety, Who prays God to deliver him from no evil
Or, if we were not, by your modesty, Besides a taylor's bill, and fears no devil
Will make our hearts an altar, and there pray Besides a serjeant, thrust me from my seat :
Not to, but for, you ; nor that England may At which I'gan to quarrel, till a neat
Enjoy your equal, when you once are gone, Man in a ruff (whom therefore I did take
But, what's more possible, t'enjoy you long. For barrister) open'd his mouth and spake ; * Boy, get you gone, this is no school.” “Oh no;
TO HIS VERY MUCH HONOURED
GODFATHER, MR. A. B.
LOVE (for that upon the wings of Fame An action of trespass: till the young man
Shall perhaps mock Death or Time's darts) my Aforesaid, in the satin suit, began
I love it more, because 'twas given by you; * The three concluding stanzas of this poem are I love it most, because 'twas your name too; iatroduced by Mr. Cowley in his Essays in Verse For if I chance to slip, a conscious shame and Prose, N.
Plucks me, and bids me not defile your name.
I'm glad that city, t'whom I ow'd before
Whom I may rightly think, and term, to be
Of the whole city an epitome.
In whose each look I may a sentence see;
In whose each deed, a teaching homily. How shall I pay this debt to you? My fate Denies me Indian pearl or Persian plate; Which though it did not, to requite you thus, Were to send apples to Alcinous,
And sell the cunning'st way.-No! when I can,
In every leaf, in every verse, write Man;
Till future ages say, 'twas you did give
His learning had out-run the rest of heirs,
A TRANSLATION OF
VERSES UPON THE BLESSED VIRGIN,
WRITTEN IN LATIN BY THE RIGHT WORSHIPFUL DR. A.
NCE thou rejoiced'st, and rejoi e for ever, Whose time of joy shall be expired never : Who in her womb the hive of comfort bears, Let her drink comfort's honey with her ears. You brought the word of joy, in which was bom An ha il to all ! let us an hail return ! From you “God save" into the world there came; Our echo hail is but an empty name.
AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF JOHN LITTLETON, ESQUIRE,
SON AND HEIR TO SIR THOMAS LITTLETON, WHO WAS DROWNED LEAPING INTO THE WATER TO
SAVE HIS YOUNGER BROTHER. And must these waters smile again, and play About the shore, as they did yesterday? Will the Sun court them still? and shall they show No conscious wrinkle furrow'd on their brow, That to the thirsty traveller may say, “ I am accurst; go turn some other way?"
It is unjust: black Flood! thy guilt is more, Sprung from his loss, than all thy watery store Can give thee tears to mourn for: birds shall be, And beasts, henceforth afraid to drink of thee.
What have I said ? my pious rage hath been Too hot, and acts, whilst it accuseth, sin. Thou'rt innocent, I know, still clear and bright, Fit whence so pure a soul should take its flight. How is angry zeal confin'd! for he Must quarrel with his love and piety, That would revenge his death. Oh, I shall sin, And wish anon he had less virtuous been. For when his brother (tears for him I'd spill, But they 're all challeng'd by the greater ill) Struggled for life with the rude waves, he too Leapt in, and when hope no faint beam could show, His charity shone most : “ Thou shalt,” said he, “ Live with me, brother, or l'll die with thee;" And so he did ! Had he been thine, O Rome! Thou would'st have call'd this death a martyrdom, And sainted him. My conscience give me leave, I'll do so too: if Fate will us bereave Of him we honour'd living, there must be A kind of reverence to his memory, After his death; and where more just than here, Where life and end were both so singular? He that had only talk'd with him, might find A little academy in his mind; Where Wisdom master was, and fellows all Which we can good, which we can virtuous, call: Reason, and Holy Fear, the proctors were, To apprehend those words, those thoughts, that err.
How loaded hives are with their honey fill'd, From divers flowers by chymic bees distilld! How full the collet with his jewel is, Which, that it cannot take by love, doth kiss : How full the Moon is with her brother's ray, When she drinks-lip with thirsty orb the day! How full of grace the Graces' dances are ! So full doth Mary of God's light appear. It is no wonder if with Graces she Be full, who was full of the Deity.
DOMINUS TECUM. The fall of mankind under Death's extent The quire of blessed angels did lament, And wish'd a reparation to see By him, who manhood join'd with deity. How grateful should man's safety then appear Thimself, whose safety can the angels cheer!
BENEDICTA TU IN MULIERIBUS. Deati came, and troops of sad Diseases led To th' Earth, by woman's hand solicited : Life came so too, and troops of Graces led To th’Earth, by woman's faith solicited, As our life's springs came from thy blessed womb, So from our mouths springs of thy praise shall
THAT A PLEASANT POVERTY
Who did life's blessing give, 'tis At that she, The laurel to the poet's hand did bow,
Craving the honour of his brow;
And every loving arm embrac'd, and made
With their officious leaves a shade.
The beasts too strove his auditors to be,
Forgetting their old tyranny. 'Twas Christ : which Mary, without carnal thought,
The fearful hart next to the lion came, From theu nfathom’d depth of goodness brought : Nightingales, harmless Syrens of the air,
And wolf was shepherd to the lamb. The word of blessing a just cause affords
And Muses of the place, were there; To be oft blessed with redoubled words !
Who, when their little windpipes they had found SPIRITUS SANCTUS SUPERVENIET IN TE.
Unequal to so strange a sound,
O'ercome by art and grief they did expire,
Happy, 0 happy they, whose tomb might be, The breath gives sparing kisses, nor with power
Mausolus ! envied by thee!
BEFORE DISCONTENTED RICHES.
WHY, O! doth gaudy Tagus ravish thce,
Though Neptune's treasure-house it be?
Why doth Pactolus thee bewitch, ET VIRTUS ALTISSIMI OBUMBRABIT TIBI,
Infected yet with Midas' glorious itch?
Their dull and sleepy streams are not at all, God his great Son begot ere time begun;
Like other floods, poetical ;
They have no dance, no wanton sport,
No gentle murmur, the lov'd shore to court.
No fish inhabit the adulterate flood,
No flower or herb is near it found,
But a perpetual winter starves the ground.
An added beauty; whose clear brow
May be my looking-glass to see
What my face is, and what my mind should be ! When Moses sought God in a shade to see, The father's shade was Christ the Deity.
Here waves call waves, and glide along in rank, Let's seek for day, we darkness, whilst our sight
And prattle to the smiling bank;
Here sad king-fishers tell their tales,
Daisies, the first-born of the teeming spring,
On each side their embroidery bring;
Here lilies wash, and grow more white,
And daffodils, to see themselves, delight,
Here a fresh arbour gives her amorous shade,
Which Nature, the best gardener, made. 'Tis not a tomb cut out in brass, which can
Here I would sit and sing rude lays, Give life to th' ashes of a man ;
Such as the nymphs and me myself should please, But verses only: they shall fresh appear, Whilst there are men to read or hear.
Thus I would waste, thus end, my careless days i When Time shall make the lasting brass decay,
And robin-red-breasts, whom men praise And eat the pyramid away ;
For pious birds, should, when I die, Turning that monument wherein men trust
Make both my monument and elegy. I Their games, to what it keeps, poor dust;
New-graven in eternity.
Tyrian dye why do you wear,
You whose cheeks best scarlet aię ?
Why do you fondly pin His tyre, and gently on it strook,
Pure linen o'er your skin, The learned stones came dancing all along,
(Your skin that's whiter far) And kept time to the charming song.
Casting a dusky cloud before a star. With artificial pace the warlike pine,
Why bears your neck a golden chain? The elm and his wife the ivy twine,
Did Nature make your hair in vain, With all the better trees, which erst had stood
Of gold most pure and fine? l'amor'd, forsook their native wood,
With gems why do you shine ? TEL :
ON THE PRAISE OF POE'TRY.
TO HIS MISTRESS.