POEMS. (continued 2)

Phyllis, O Phyllis! Thou art fondly vain, My wavering thoughts thus to molest, Why should my pleasure be the only pain, That must torment my easy breast? If with Prometheus I had stolen fire, Fire from above, As scorching, and as bright, as that of Love, I might deserve Jove's ire, A vulture then might on my liver feed, But now eternally I bleed, 10 And yet on Thee, on Thee lies all the blame, Who freely gav'st the fuel and the flame.

Prithee confess for my sake and your own, Am I the man or no? If I am he, thou canst not do 't too soon, If not, thou canst not be too slow. If Woman cannot love, Man's folly's great Your sex with so much zeal to treat; But if we freely proffer to pursue Our tender thoughts and spotless love, Which nothing shall remove, And you despise all this, pray what are you?

O tedious hopes! when will the storm be o'er! When will the beaten vessel reach the shore! Long have I striv'n with blust'ring winds and tides, Clouds o'er my head, waves on my sides! Which in my dark adventures high did swell, While Heaven was black as Hell. O Love, tempestuous Love, yet, yet at last, Let me my anchor cast, And for the troubles I have undergone, 10O bring me to a port which I may call my own.

Now that the world is all in amaze, Drums and trumpets rending heav'ns, Wounds a-bleeding, mortals dying, Widows and orphans piteously crying; Armies marching, towns in a blaze, Kingdoms and states at sixes and sevens: What should an honest fellow do, Whose courage, and fortunes run equally low! Let him live, say I, till his glass be run, 10As easily as he may; Let the wine, and the sand of his glass flow together, For life's but a winter's day. Alas! from sun to sun, The time's very short, very dirty the weather, And we silently creep away. Let him nothing do, he could wish undone; And keep himself safe from the noise of gun.

I. What though the sky be clouded o'er, And Heav'us influence smile no more? Though tempests rise, and earthquakes make The giddy World's foundation shake? A gallant breast contemns the feeble blow Of angry Gods, and scorns what Fate can do. II. What if alarums sounded be, And we must face our enemy, If cannons bellow out a death, 10Or trumpets woo away our breath! 'Tis brave amidst the glittering throng to die. Nay, Samson-like, to fall with company. III. Then let the swordman domineer, I can nor pike nor musket fear; Clog me with chains, your envies tire, For when I will, I can expire; And when the puling fit of Life is gone, The worst that cruel man can do, is done.

I. Not to the hills where cedars move Their cloudy head, not to the grove Of myrtles in th' Elysian shade, Nor Tempe which the poets made; Not on the spicy mountains play; Or travel to Arabia: I aim not at the careful Throne, Which Fortune's darlings sit upon; No, no, the best this fickle world can give, 10Has but a little, little time to live. II. But let me soar, O let me fly Beyond poor Earth's benighted eye, Beyond the pitch swift eagles tower, Above the reach of human power; Above the stars, above the way, Whence Phoebus darts his piercing ray. O let me tread those Courts that are, So bright, so pure, so blest, so fair, As neither thou nor I must ever know 20On Earth—'tis thither, thither would I go.

I. Did you hear of the News (O the News) how it thunders! Do but see, how the block-headed multitude wonders! One fumes, and stamps, and stares to think upon What others wish as fast, Confusion. One swears w' are gone, another just agoing, While a third sits and cries, 'Till his half-blinded eyes Call him pitiful rogue for so doing. Let the tone be what 'twill that the mighty ones utter, 10Let the cause be what 'twill why the poorer sort mutter; I care not what your State-confounders do, Nor what the stout repiners undergo; I cannot whine at any alterations. Let the Swede beat the Dane, Or be beaten again, What am I in the crowd of the Nations? II. What care I if the North and South Poles come together; If the Turk or the Pope's Antichristian, or neither; If fine Astraea be (as Naso said) 20From mortals in a peevish fancy fled: Rome, when 'twas all on fire, her people mourning, 'Twas an Emperor could stand With his harp in his hand, Sing and play, while the city was burning.

O Delia! for I know 'tis she, It must be she, for nothing less could move My tuneless heart, than something from above. I hate all earthly harmony: Hark, hark, ye Nymphs, and Satyrs all around! Hark, how the baffled Echo faints; see how she dies, Look how the wingèd choir all gasping lies At the melodious sound; See, while she sings 10How they droop and hang their wings! Angelic Delia, sing no more, Thy song's too great for mortal ear; Thy charming notes we can no longer bear: O then in pity to the World give o'er, And leave us stupid as we were before. Fair Delia, take the fatal choice, Or veil thy beauty, or suppress thy Voice. His passion thus poor Celadon betray'd, When first he saw, when first he heard the lovely Maid.

I. Poor Celia once was very fair, A quick bewitching eye she had, Most neatly look'd her braided hair, Her dainty cheeks would make you mad, Upon her lip did all the Graces play, And on her breasts ten thousand Cupids lay. II. Then many a doting lover came From seventeen till twenty-one, Each told her of his mighty flame, 10But she, forsooth, affected none. One was not handsome, t'other was not fine, This of tobacco smelt, and that of wine. III. But t'other day it was my fate To walk along that way alone, I saw no coach before her gate, But at the door I heard her moan: She dropt a tear, and sighing, seem'd to say, Young ladies, marry, marry while you may!

Sir, In that small inch of time I stole, to look On th' obscure depths of your mysterious book, (Heav'n bless my eyesight!) what strains did I see! What steropegeretic Poetry! What hieroglyphic words, what [riddles] all, In letters more than cabalistical! We with our fingers may your verses scan, But all our noddles understand them can No more, than read that dungfork, pothook hand 10That in Queen's College Library does stand. The cutting hanger of your Wit I can't see, For that same scabbard that conceals your Fancy: Thus a black velvet casket hides a jewel; And a dark woodhouse, wholesome winter fuel; Thus John Tradeskin starves our greedy eyes, By boxing up his new-found rarities; We dread Actaeon's fate, dare not look on, When you do scower your skin in Helicon; We cannot (Lynceus-like) see through the wall 20Of your strong-mortar'd Poems; nor can all The small shot of our brains make one hole in The bulwark of your book, that fort to win. Open your meaning's door, O do not lock it! Undo the buttons of your smaller pocket, And charitably spend those angels there, Let them enrich and actuate our sphere. Take off our bongraces, and shine upon us, Though your resplendent beams should chance to tan us. Had you but stol'n your verses, then we might 30Hope in good time they would have come to light; And felt I not a strange poetic heat Flaming within, which reading makes me sweat, Vulcan should take 'em, and I'd not exempt 'em, Because they're things Quibus lumen ademptum. I thought to have commended something there, But all exceeds my commendations far: I can say nothing; but stand still, and stare, And cry, O wondrous, strange, profound, and rare. Vast Wits must fathom you better than thus, 40You merit more than our praise: as for us The beetles of our rhymes shall drive full fast in, The wedges of your worth to everlasting, My much Apocalyptic friend Sam. Austin.

O decus Anglorum! vates famose tuorum Cujus pars nona facit Oxenford Helicona,

Haec ratio non est—quid rides?—my meaning's honest.

Whate'er thou be whose eye do chance to fall Upon this Book, read all or none at all.

There were Philosophers content to be Renown'd, and famous in obscurity.

O were your verses stol'n, that so we might Hope in good time to see them come to light.

I hope some wit when he your honour hears, Will praise your mother's eyes' turpentine tears.

Should I attempt an elogy, or frame A paper-structure to secure thy name, The lightning of one censure, one stern frown Might quickly hazard that, and thy renown. But this thy book prevents that fruitless pain. One line speaks purelier thee, than my best strain. Those mysteries (once like the spiteful mould, Which bars the greedy Spaniard from his gold) Thou dost unfold in every friendly page, 10Kind to the present, and succeeding age. That hand, whose curious art prolongs the date Of frail mortality, and baffles Fate With brass and steel, can surely potent be, To rear a lasting monument for thee: For my part I prefer (to guard the dead) A copper-plate beyond a sheet of lead. So long as brass, so long as books endure, So long as neat-wrought pieces, thou'rt secure. A [Faithorne sculpsit] is a charm can save 20From dull oblivion, and a gaping grave.

Thine ingenuity reveals, and so By making plain, thou dost illustrious grow.

To the Worthy Translator, Charles Cotton, Esq. He that would aptly write of warlike men, Should make his ink of blood, a sword his pen; At least he must their memories abuse, Who writes with less than Maro's mighty Muse: All, Sir, that I could say of this great theme (The brave Montluc) would lessen his esteem; Whose laurels too much native verdure have To need the praises vulgar chaplets crave: His own bold hand, what it durst write, durst do, 10Grappled with enemies, and oblivion too; Hew'd his own monument, and grav'd thereon Its deep and durable inscription. To you, Sir, whom the valiant Author owes His second life, and conquest o'er his foes— Ill-natur'd foes, Time and Detraction,— What is a stranger's contribution! Who has not such a share of vanity, To dream that one, who with such industry Obliges all the world, can be oblig'd by me.

Whence, Brother Case, and whither bound so fast? Ca. O, Sir, you must excuse me, I'm in haste. I dine with my (Lord Mayor) and can't allow Time for our eating directory now: Though I must needs confess, I think my rules Would prove Pythagoras and Plato fools. Hor. Grave Sir, I must acknowledge, 'tis a crime To interrupt at such a nick of time; Yet stay a little, Sir, it is no sin; 10 You're to say Grace ere dinner can begin; Since you at food such virtuoso are, Some precepts to an hungry poet spare. Ca. I grant you, Sir, next pleasure ta'en in eating Is that (as we do call it) of repeating; I still have kitchen systems in my mind, And from my stomach's fumes a brain well lin'd. Hor. Whence, pray, Sir, learnt you those ingenuous arts, From one at home, or hir'd from foreign parts? Ca. No names, Sir (I beseech you), that's foul play, 20 We ne'er name authors, only what they say. 1. 'For eggs choose long, the round are out of fashion, 'Unsavoury and distasteful to the nation: 'E'er since the brooding Rump, they're addle too, 'In the long egg lies Cock-a-doodle-doo. 2. 'Choose coleworts planted on a soil that's dry, 'Even they are worse for th' wetting (verily). 3. 'If friend from far shall come to visit, then 'Say thou wouldst treat the wight with mortal hen, 'Don't thou forthwith pluck off the cackling head, 30'And impale corpse on spit as soon as dead; 'For so she will be tough beyond all measure, 'And friend shall make a trouble of a pleasure. 'Steep'd in good wine let her her life surrender, 'O then she'll eat most admirably tender. 4. 'Mushrooms that grow in meadows are the best; 'For aught I know, there's poison in the rest. 5. 'He that would many happy summers see, 'Let him eat mulberries fresh off the tree, 'Gather'd before the sun's too high, for these 40'Shall hurt his stomach less than Cheshire cheese. 6. 'Aufidius (had you done so 't had undone ye) 'Sweet'ned his morning's draughts of sack with honey; 'But he did ill, to empty veins to give 'Corroding potion for a lenitive. 7. 'If any man to drink do thee inveigle in, 'First wet thy whistle with some good metheglin. 8. 'If thou art bound, and in continual doubt, 'Thou shalt get in no more till some get out, 'The mussel or the cockle will unlock 50 'Thy body's trunk, and give a vent to nock. 'Some say that sorrel steep'd in wine will do, 'But to be sure, put in some aloes too. 9. 'All shell-fish (with the growing Moon increast) 'Are ever, when she fills her orb, the best: 'But for brave oysters, Sir, exceeding rare, 'They are not to be met with everywhere. 'Your Wall-fleet oysters no man will prefer 'Before the juicy grass-green Colchester. 'Hungerford crawfish match me, if you can, 60 'There's no such crawlers in the Ocean. 10. 'Next for your suppers, you (it may be) think 'There goes no more to 't, but just eat and drink; 'But let me tell you, Sir, and tell you plain, 'To dress 'em well requires a man of brain: 'His palate must be quick, and smart, and strong, 'For sauce, a very critic in the tongue. 11. 'He that pays dear for fish, nay though the best, 'May please his fishmonger, more than his guest, 'If he be ignorant what sauce is proper; 70 'There's Machiavel in th' ménage of a supper. 12. 'For swines-flesh, give me that of the wild boar, 'Pursu'd and hunted all the forest o'er; 'He to the liberal oak ne'er quits his love, 'And when he finds no acorns, grunts at Jove. 'The Hampshire hog with pease and whey that's fed 'Sty'd up, is neither good alive nor dead. 13. 'The tendrils of the vine are salads good, 'If when they are in season understood. 14. 'If servants to thy board a rabbit bring, 80 'Be wise, and in the first place carve a wing. 15. 'When fish and fowl are right, and at just age, 'A feeder's curiosity t' assuage, 'If any ask, who found the mystery, 'Let him inquire no further, I am he. 16. 'Some fancy bread out of the oven hot: 'Variety's the glutton's happiest lot. 17. 'It's not enough the wine you have be pure, 'But of your oil as well you ought be sure. 18. 'If any fault be in the generous wine, 90 'Set it abroad all night, and 'twill refine, 'But never strain 't, nor let it pass through linen, 'Wine will be worse for that, as well as women. 19. 'The vintner that of Malaga and Sherry 'With damn'd ingredients patcheth up Canary, 'With segregative things, as pigeons' eggs, 'Straight purifies, and takes away the dregs. 20. 'An o'er-charg'd stomach roasted shrimps will ease, 'The cure by lettuce is worse than the disease. 21. 'To quicken appetite it will behove ye 100 'To feed courageously on good anchovy. 22. 'Westphalia ham, and the Bologna sausage, 'For second or third course will clear a passage, 'But lettuce after meals! fie on 't, the glutton 'Had better feed upon Ram-alley mutton. 23. ''Twere worth one's while in palace or in cottage, 'Right well to know the sundry sorts of pottage; 'There is your French pottage, Nativity broth, 'Yet that of Fetter-lane exceeds them both; 'About a limb of a departed tup 110 'There may you see the green herbs boiling up, 'And fat abundance o'er the furnace float, 'Resembling whale-oil in a Greenland boat. 24. 'The Kentish pippin's best, I dare be bold, 'That ever blue-cap costard-monger sold. 25. 'Of grapes, I like the raisins of the sun. 'I was the first immortal glory won, 'By mincing pickled herrings with these raisin 'And apples; 'twas I set the world a-gazing, 'When once they tasted of this Hogan fish, 120 'Pepper and salt enamelling the dish. 26. ''Tis ill to purchase great fish with great matter, 'And then to serve it up in scanty platter; 'Nor is it less unseemly, some believe, 'From boy with greasy fist drink to receive, 'But the cup foul within 's enough to make 'A squeamish creature puke and turn up stomach. 27. 'Then brooms and napkins and the Flanders tile, 'These must be had too, or the feast you spoil, 'Things little thought on, and not very dear, 130'And yet how much they cost one in a year! 28. 'Wouldst thou rub alabaster with hands sable, 'Or spread a diaper cloth on dirty table? 'More cost, more worship: Come: be à la mode; 'Embellish treat, as thou would do an ode.' Hor. O learnèd Sir, how greedily I hear This elegant Diatriba of good cheer! Now by all that's good, by all provant you love, By sturdy Chine of Beef, and mighty Jove; I do conjure thy gravity, let me see 140 The man that made thee this Discovery; For he that sees th' Original's more happy Than him that draws by an ill-favour'd Copy. O bring me to the man I so admire! The Flint from whence brake forth these sparks of fire. What satisfaction would the Vision bring? If sweet the stream, much sweeter is the spring.

Stanza I. Oft have I ponder'd in my pensive heart, When even from myself I've stol'n away, And heavily consider'd many a day, The cause of all my anguish and my smart: Sometimes besides a shady grove (As dark as were my thoughts, as close as was my Love), Dejected have I walk'd alone, Acquainting scarce myself with my own moan. Once I resolv'd undauntedly to hear 10What 'twas my passions had to say, To find the reason of that uproar there, And calmly, if I could, to end the fray: No sooner was my resolution known But I was all confusion. Fierce Anger, flattering Hope, and black Despair, Bloody Revenge, and most ignoble Fear, Now altogether clamorous were; My breast a perfect chaos grown, A mass of nameless things together hurl'd, 20Like th' formless embryo of the unborn world, Just as it's rousing from eternal night, Before the great Creator said, Let there be Light. II. Thrice happy then are beasts, said I, That underneath these pleasant coverts lie, They only sleep, and eat, and drink, They never meditate, nor think; Or if they do, have not th' unhappy art To vent the overflowings of their heart; They without trouble live, without disorder die, 30Regardless of Eternity. I said, I would like them be wise, And not perplex myself in vain, Nor bite th' uneasy chain, No, no, said I, I will Philosophise! And all th' ill-natur'd World despise: But when I had reflected long, And with deliberation thought How few have practis'd what they gravely taught, (Tho' 'tis but folly to complain) 40I judg'd it worth a generous disdain, And brave defiance in Pindaric song.

I. Amidst the Nymphs (the glory of the flood) Thus once the beauteous Aegle stood, So sweet a tincture ere the Sun appears, The bashful ruddy morning wears: Thus through a crystal wave the coral glows, And such a blush sits on the virgin rose. II. Ye envied waters that with safety may Around her snowy bosom play, Cherish with gentle heat that noble breast 10Which so much innocence has blest, Such innocence, as hitherto ne'er knew What mischief Venus or her son could do. Then from this hallow'd place Let the profane and wanton eye withdraw, For Virtue clad in scarlet strikes an awe From the tribunal of a lovely face.

I breathe, 'tis true, wretch that I am, 'tis true; But if to live be only not to die, If nothing in that bubble, Life, be gay, But all t' a tear must melt away; Let fools and Stoics be cajol'd, say I: Thou that lik'st Ease and Love, like me, When once the world says, Farewell both, to thee, What hast thou more to do Than in disdain to say, Thou foolish world, adieu! II. 10There was a time, fool that I was! when I Believ'd there might be something here below. A seeming cordial to my drooping heart That might allay my bitter smart: I call'd it Friend:—but O th' inconstancy Of human things! I tried it long, Its love was fervent, and, I fancied, strong: But now I plainly see, Or 'tis withdrawn, or else 'twas all hypocrisy. III. I saw thy much-estrangèd eyes, I saw, 20False Musidore, thy formal alter'd face, When thou betray'dst my seeming happiness, And coldly took'st my kind address: But know that I will live; for in thy place Heaven has provided for me now A constant friend, that dares not break a vow; That friend will I embrace, And never more my overweening love misplace.

Brave Youth, whose too too hasty fate His glories did anticipate, Whose active soul had laid the great design To emulate those Heroes of his line! He show'd the world how great a man Might be contracted to a span; How soon our teeming expectations fail, How little tears and wishes can prevail: Could life hold out with these supplies 10He'd liv'd still in his parents' eyes, And this cold stone had ne'er said, Here he lies.

'Tis thus——and thus farewell to all Vain mortals do perfection call; To Beauty, Goodness, Modesty, Sweet temper, and true Piety. The rest an Angel's pen must tell: Long, long, belovèd Dust, farewell. Those blessings which we highliest prize Are soonest ravish'd from our eyes.

Sed jam nec Domus accipiet te laeta, nec Uxor Optima, nec dulces occurrent oscula nati Praeripere, et tacita pectus dulcedine tangent.

When thou shalt leave this miserable life, Farewell thy house, farewell thy charming wife, Farewell for ever to thy soul's delight, Quite blotted out in everlasting night! No more thy pretty darling babes shall greet thee By thy kind name, nor strive who first shall meet thee. Their kisses with a secret pleasure shall not move thee! For who shall say to thy dead clay, I love thee?

Thus from a foreign clime rich merchants come, And thus unlade their rarities at home: Thus undergo an acceptable toil, With treasures to enrich their native soil. They for themselves, for others you unfold A cargo swoln with diamonds and gold. With indefatigable travels, they The trading world, the learnèd you, survey; And for renown with great Columbus vie, 10In subterranean cosmography.

O poverty! thou great and wise-man's school! Mistress of Arts! and scandal to the fool! Heav'n's sacred badge, which th' heroes heretofore (Bright caravans of saints and martyrs) wore! To th' Host Triumphant valiant souls are sent From those we call the ragged regiment: Sure guide to everlasting peace above, Thou dost th' impediments remove; Th' unnecessary loads of wealth and state, 10Which make men swell too big for the strait gate. II. Thou happy port! where we from storms are free, And need not fear (false world!) thy piracy. Hither for ease and shelter did retire The busy Charles, and wearied Casimire; Abjur'd their thrones, and made a solemn vow, Their radiant heads to thee should ever bow. Why should thy tents so terrible appear Where monarchs reformadoes were? Why should men call that state of life forlorn, 20Which God approves of, and which kings have borne? III. Mad Luxury! what do thy vassals reap From a life's long debauch, but late to weep! What the curs'd miser, who would fain ape thee, And wear thy livery, Great Poverty! The prudent wretch for future ages cares, And hoards up sins for his impatient heirs! Full little does he think the time will come When he is gone to his long home, The prodigal youth for whom he took such pains 30Shall be thy slave, and wear thy loathèd chains. IV. Fair handmaid to Devotion, by whose aid Our souls are all disrob'd, all naked laid, In thy true mirror men themselves do see Just what they are, not what they seem to be. The flattering world misrepresents our face, And cheats us with a magnifying-glass; Our meanness nothing else does truly show, But only Death, but only thou, Who teach our minds above this Earth to fly, 40And pant, and breathe for immortality.

In a soft vision of the night, My Fancy represented to my sight A goodly gentle shade; Methought it mov'd with a majestic grace, But the surprising sweetness of its face Made me amaz'd, made me afraid: I found a secret shivering in my heart, Such as friends feel that meet or part: Approaching nearer with a timorous eye, 10Is then my Parthenissa dead, said I? Ah Parthenissa! if thou yet are kind, As kind as when, like me, thou mortal wert, When thou and I had equal share in either's heart, How canst thou bear that I am left behind! Dear Parthenissa! O those pleasant hours, That blest our innocent amours! When in the common treasury of one breast, All that was thine or mine did rest. Dear Parthenissa!—Friend! what shall I say? 20Ah speak to thy Urania! Oh envious Death! nothing but thee I fear'd, No other rival could estrange Her soul from mine or make a change. Scarce had I spoke my passionate fears, And overwhelm'd myself in tears: But Parthenissa smil'd, and then she disappear'd.

As on his death-bed gasping Strephon lay, Strephon the wonder of the plains, The noblest of th' Arcadian swains; Strephon the bold, the witty, and the gay: With many a sigh and many a tear he said, Remember me, ye Shepherds, when I'm dead. II. Ye trifling glories of this world, adieu, And vain applauses of the age; For when we quit this earthly stage, 10Believe me, shepherds, for I tell you true; Those pleasures which from virtuous deeds we have, Procure the sweetest slumbers in the grave. III. Then since your fatal hour must surely come, Surely your heads lie low as mine, Your bright meridian sun decline; Beseech the mighty Pan to guard you home, If to Elysium you would happy fly, Live not like Strephon, but like Strephon die.

Lecto prostratus Strephon moribundus, Planitierum Strephon decus, Princeps curantium pecus, Audax, facetus, Strephon et jucundus, Lugens pastoribus sic est affatus, Memimini mei cum migratus. II. Honores mundi futiles valete, Plaudite aevi et fucata, Mortali scenâ nam mutatâ, 10Fidem veriloquo adhibete, Voluptas profluens ex virtute Solâ obdormiscit cum salute. III. Cum nulla in mortem sit medela, In terram capita cuncta incurvabunt, Soles micantes declinabunt, Pan supplicetor pro tutelâ Beatorum ut recipiant chori: Strephon non doceat vivere sed mori.

Well! since it must be, so let it be, For what do resolutions signify, When we are urg'd to write by destiny? II. I had resolv'd, nay, and I almost swore, My bedrid Muse should walk abroad no more: Alas! 'tis more than time that I give o'er. III. In the recesses of a private breast I thought to entertain your charming guest, And never to have boasted of my feast. IV. 10But see, my friend, when through the world you go, My lackey-verse must shadow-like pursue, Thin and obscure, to make a foil for you. V. 'Tis true, you cannot need my feeble praise, A lasting monument to your name to raise, Well known in Heav'n by your angelic lays. VI. There in indelible characters they are writ, Where no pretended heights will easy sit, But those of serious consecrated wit. VII. By immaterial defecated Love, 20Your soul its heavenly origin does approve, And in least dangerous raptures soars above. VIII. How could I wish, dear friend! unsaid agen (For once I rank'd myself with tuneful men) Whatever dropp'd from my unhallow'd pen! IX. The trifling rage of youthful heat once past, Who is not troubled for his wit misplac'd! All pleasant follies breed regret at last. X. While reverend Donne's and noble Herbert's flame A glorious immortality shall claim, 30In the most durable records of Fame, XI. Our modish rhymes, like culinary fire, Unctuous and earthy, shall in smoke expire; In odorous clouds your incense shall aspire. XII. Let th' Pagan-world your pious verse defy, Yet shall they envy when they come to die, Your wiser projects on eternity.

Health to the gentle man of war, and may What Laodamia sends the Gods convey. The wind that still in Aulis holds my dear, Why was it not so cross to keep him here? Let the wind raise an hurricane at sea, Were he but safe and warm ashore with me. Ten thousand kisses I had more to give him, Ten thousand cautions, and soft words to leave him: In haste he left me, summon'd by the wind, 10(The wind to barbarous mariners only kind). The seaman's pleasure is the lover's pain, (Protesilaus from my bosom ta'en!) As from my faltering tongue half speeches fell, Scarce could I speak that wounding word Farewell, A merry gale (at sea they call it so) Fill'd every sail with joy, my breast with woe, There went my dear Protesilaus—— While I could see thee, full of eager pain, My greedy eyes epicuris'd on thine, 20When thee no more, but thy spread sails I view, I look'd, and look'd, till I had lost them too; But when nor thee, nor them I could descry, And all was sea that came within my eye, They say (for I have quite forgot), they say I straight grew pale, and fainted quite away; Compassionate Iphiclus, and the good old man, My mother too to my assistance ran; In haste cold water on my face they threw, And brought me to myself with much ado. 30They meant it well, to me it seem'd not so, Much kinder had they been to let me go; My anguish with my soul together came, And in my heart burst out the former flame: Since which, my uncomb'd locks unheeded flow, Undrest, forlorn, I care not how I go; Inspir'd with wine, thus Bacchus' frolic rout Stagger'd of old, and straggled all about. Put on, put on, the happy ladies say, Thy royal robes, fair Laodamia. 40Alas! before Troy's walls my dear does lie, What pleasure can I take in Tyrian dye? Shall curls adorn my head, an helmet thine? I in bright tissues, thou in armour shine? Rather with studied negligence I'll be As ill, if not disguisèd worse than thee. O Paris! rais'd by ruins! mayst thou prove As fatal in thy war, as in thy love! O that the Grecian Dame had been less fair, Or thou less lovely hadst appear'd to her! 50O Menelaus! timely cease to strive, With how much blood wilt thou thy loss retrieve? From me, ye Gods, avert your heavy doom, And bring my dear, laden with laurels, home: But my heart fails me, when I think of war, The sad reflection costs me many a tear: I tremble when I hear the very name Of every place where thou shalt fight for fame; Besides, th' adventurous ravisher well knew The safest arts his villany to pursue; 60In noble dress he did her heart surprise, With gold he dazzled her unguarded eyes, He back'd his rape with ships and armèd men, Thus storm'd, thus took the beauteous fortress in. Against the power of Love and force of arms There's no security in the brightest charms. Hector I fear, much do I Hector fear, A man (they say) experienc'd in war, My dear, if thou hast any love for me, Of that same Hector prithee mindful be; 70Fly him be sure, and every other foe, Lest each of them should prove an Hector too. Remember, when for fight thou shalt prepare, Thy Laodamia charg'd thee, Have a care; For what wounds thou receiv'st are giv'n to her. If by thy valour Troy must ruin'd be, May not the ruin leave one scar on thee; Sharer in th' honour, from the danger free! Let Menelaus fight, and force his way Through the false ravisher's troops t' his Helena. 80Great be his victory, as his cause is good. May he swim to her in his enemies' blood. Thy case is different.—Mayst thou live to see (Dearest) no other combatant but me! Ye generous Trojans, turn your swords away From his dear breast, find out a nobler prey; Why should you harmless Laodamia slay? My poor good-natur'd man did never know What 'tis to fight, or how to face a foe; Yet in Love's field what wonders can he do! 90Great is his prowess and his fortune too; Let them go fight, who know not how to woo. Now I must own, I fear'd to let thee go, My trembling lips had almost told thee so. When from thy father's house thou didst withdraw, Thy fatal stumble at the door I saw, I saw it, sigh'd, and pray'd the sign might be Of thy return a happy prophecy! I cannot but acquaint thee with my fear, Be not too brave,—Remember,—Have a care, 100And all my dreads will vanish into air. Among the Grecians some one must be found That first shall set his foot on Trojan ground; Unhappy she that shall his loss bewail, Grant, O ye Gods, thy courage then may fail. Of all the ships be thine the very last, Thou the last man that lands; there needs no haste To meet a potent and a treacherous foe; Thou'lt land I fear too soon, tho' ne'er so slow. At thy return ply every sail and oar, 110And nimbly leap on thy deserted shore. All the day long, and all the lonely night, Black thoughts of thee my anxious soul affright: Darkness, to other women's pleasures kind, Augments, like Hell, the torments of my mind. I court e'en dreams, on my forsaken bed False joys must serve, since all my true are fled. What's that same airy phantom so like thee! What wailings do I hear, what paleness see? I wake, and hug myself, 'tis but a dream.— 120The Grecian altars know I feed their flame, The want of hallow'd wine my tears supply, Which make the sacred fire burn bright and high. When shall I clasp thee in these arms of mine, These longing arms, and lie dissolv'd in thine? When shall I have thee by thyself alone, To learn the wondrous actions thou hast done? Which when in rapturous words thou hast begun With many and many a kiss, prithee tell on, Such interruptions grateful pauses are, 130A kiss in story's but an halt in war. But, when I think of Troy, of winds and waves, I fear the pleasant dream my hope deceives: Contrary winds in port detain thee too, In spite of wind and tide why wouldst thou go? Thus, to thy country thou wouldst hardly come, In spite of wind and tide thou went'st from home. To his own city Neptune stops the way, Revere the omen, and the Gods obey. Return, ye furious Grecians, homeward fly, 140Your stay is not of Chance, but Destiny: How can your arms expect desir'd success, That thus contend for an adulteress? But, let not me forespeak you, no,—set sail, And Heav'n befriend you with a prosperous gale! Ye Trojans! with regret methinks I see Your first encounter with your enemy; I see fair Helen put on all her charms, To buckle on her lusty bridegroom's arms; She gives him arms, and kisses she receives, 150(I hate the transports each to other gives.) She leads him forth, and she commands him come Safely victorious, and triumphant home; And he (no doubt) will make no nice delay, But diligently do whate'er she say. Now he returns!—see with what amorous speed She takes the pond'rous helmet from his head, And courts the weary champion to her bed. We women, too too credulous, alas! Think what we fear will surely come to pass. 160Yet, while before the leaguer thou dost lie, Thy picture is some pleasure to my eye; That, I caress in words most kind and free, And lodge it on my breast, as I would thee. There must be something in it more than Art, 'Twere very thee, could it thy mind impart; I kiss the pretty Idol, and complain, As if (like thee) 'twould answer me again. By thy return, by thy dear self, I swear, By our Love's vows, which most religious are, 170By thy belovèd head, and those gray hairs Which time may on it snow in future years, I come, where'er thy Fate shall bid thee go, Eternal partner of thy weal and woe, So thou but live, tho' all the Gods say No. Farewell,—but prithee very careful be Of thy belovèd Self (I mean) of me.

Tho' to advance thy fame, full well I know How very little my dull pen can do; Yet, with all deference, I gladly wait, Enthrong'd amongst th' attendants on thy state: Thus when Arion, by his friends betray'd, Upon his understanding Dolphin play'd, The scaly people their resentments show'd By pleas'd levoltoes on the wond'ring flood. Great Artist! thou deserv'st our loudest praise 10From th' garland to the meanest branch of bays; For poets can but Say, thou mak'st them Sing, And th' embryo-words dost to perfection bring; By us the Muse conceives, but when that's done, Thy midwif'ry makes fit to see the Sun; Our naked lines, drest and adorn'd by thee, Assume a beauty, pomp, and bravery; So awful and majestic they appear, They need not blush to reach a Prince's ear. Princes, tho' to poor poets seldom kind, 20Their numbers turn'd to air with pleasure mind Studied and labour'd tho' our poems be, Alas! they die unheeded without thee, Whose art can make our breathless labours live, Spirit and everlasting vigour give. Whether we write of Heroes and of Kings, In Mighty Numbers, Mighty Things, Or in a humble Ode express our sense Of th' happy state of ease and innocence; A country life where the contented swain 30Hugs his dear peace, and does a crown disdain; Thy dext'rous notes with all our thoughts comply, Can creep on Earth, can up to Heaven fly; In heights and cadences, so sweet, so strong, They suit a shepherd's reed, an angel's tongue. ————————But who can comprehend The raptures of thy voice, and miracles of thy hand?

Heic juxta jacet Johannes King Miles, Serenissimo Carolo Secundo In Legibus Angliae Consultus, Illustrissimo Jacobo Duci Eboracensi Sollicitator Generalis. Qualis, Quantusve sis, Lector, Profundum obstupesce; Labia digitis comprime, 10Oculos lachrymis suffunde. En! ad pedes tuos Artis et Naturae suprema Conamina, Fatorum Ludibria! Non ita pridem Erat Iste Pulvis omnifariam Doctus, Musarum Gazophylacium, Eloquentiam calluit, claram, puram, innocuam, Legibus suae Patriae erat instructissimus, Suis charus, Principibus gratus, Omnibus urbanus, 20Sui saeculi Ornamentum illustre, Desiderium irreparabile. Hinc disce Lector, Quantilla Mortalitatis Gloria Splendidissimis decoratae Dotibus. Dulcem soporem agite Dilecti, Eruditi, Beati Cineres! Obiit Junii 29, 1677. Aetat. 38.

Unhappy Muse! employ'd so oft On melancholy thoughts of Death, What hast thou left so tender, and so soft As thy poor master fain would breath O'er this lamented hearse? No usual flight of fancy can become My sorrows o'er a brother's tomb. O that I could be elegant in tears, That with conceptions, not unworthy thee, 10Great as thy merit, vigorous as thy years, I might convey thy elegy To th' grief and envy of posterity! A gentler youth ne'er crown'd his parents' cares, Or added ampler joy to their grey hairs: Kind to his friends, to his relations dear, Easy to all.—Alas! what is there here For man to set his heart upon, Since what we dote on most is soonest gone? Ai me! I've lost a sweet companion, 20A friend, a brother all in one! II. How did it chill my soul to see thee lie Struggling with pangs in thy last agony! When with a manly courage thou didst brave Approaching Death, and with a steady mind (Ever averse to be confin'd) Didst triumph o'er the Grave. Thou mad'st no womanish moan, But scorn'dst to give one groan: He that begs pity is afraid to die, 30Only the brave despise their destiny. But, when I call to mind how thy kind eyes Were passionately fix'd on mine, How, when thy falt'ring tongue gave o'er And I could hear thy pleasing voice no more; How, when I laid my cheek to thine, Kiss'd thy pale lips, and press'd thy trembling hand, Thou, in return, smil'dst gently in my face, And hugg'dst me with a close embrace; I am amaz'd, I am unmann'd. 40Something extremely kind I fain would say, But through the tumult of my breast, With too officious love opprest, I find my feeble words can never force their way. III. Belovèd youth! What shall I do! Once my delight, my torment now! How immaturely art thou snatch'd away! But Heaven shines on thee with many a glorious ray Of an unclouded and immortal day, Whilst I lie grovelling here below 50In a dark stormy night. The blust'ring storm of Life with thee is o'er, For thou art landed on that happy shore, Where thou canst hope or fear no more; Thence with compassion thou shall see The plagues, the wars, the fires, the scarcity, The devastations of an enemy, From which thy early fate has set thee free; For when thou went'st to thy long home, Thou wert exempt from all the ills to come, 60And shall hereafter be Spectator only of the tragedy Acted on frail mortality. So some one lucky mariner From shipwreck sav'd by a propitious star, Advanc'd upon a neighb'ring rock looks down, And sees far off his old companions drown. IV. There in a state of perfect ease, Of never interrupted happiness, Thy large illuminated mind 70Shall matter of eternal wonder find; There dost thou clearly see how, and from whence The stars communicate their influence, The methods of th' Almighty Architect, How He consulted with Himself alone To lay the wondrous corner-stone, When He this goodly fabric did erect. There, thou dost understand The motions of the secret hand, That guides th' invisible wheel, 80Which here, we ne'er shall know, but ever feel; There Providence, the vain man's laughing-stock, The miserable good-man's stumbling-block, Unfolds the puzzling riddle to thy eyes, And its own wise contrivance justifies. What timorous man wouldn't be pleas'd to die, To make so noble a discovery? V. And must I take my solemn leave Till time shall be no more! Can neither sighs, nor tears, nor prayers retrieve 90One cheerful hour! Must one unlucky moment sever Us, and our hopes, us and our joys for ever!— Is this cold clod of Earth that endear'd Thing I lately did my Brother call? Are these the artful fingers that might vie With all the sons of harmony And overpower them all! Is this the studious comprehensive head With curious arts so richly furnished! 100Alas! thou, and thy glories all are gone, Buried in darkness, and oblivion. 'Tis so—and I must follow thee, Yet but a little while, and I shall see thee, Yet but a little while I shall be with thee, Then some kind friend perhaps may drop one tear for me.

Alexis! dear Alexis! lovely boy! O my Damon! O Palaemon! snatch'd away, To some far distant region gone, Has left the miserable Coridon Bereft of all his comforts, all alone! Have you not seen my gentle lad, Whom every swain did love, Cheerful, when every swain was sad, Beneath the melancholy grove? 10His face was beauteous as the dawn of day, Broke through the gloomy shades of night: O my anguish! my delight! Him (ye kind shepherds) I bewail, Till my eyes and heart shall fail. Tis He that's landed on that distant shore, And you and I shall see him here no more. Return, Alexis! O return! Return, return, in vain I cry; Poor Coridon shall never cease to mourn 20Thy too untimely, cruel destiny. Farewell for ever, charming boy! And with Thee, all the transports of my joy! Ye powers above, why should I longer live, To waste a few uncomfortable years, To drown myself in tears, For what my sighs and pray'rs can ne'er retrieve?

My trembling song! awake! arise! And early tell thy tuneful tale, Tell thy great Master, that the Night is gone; The feeble phantoms disappear, And now the New-Year's welcome Sun O'erspreads the eastern skies; He smiles on every hill, he smiles on every vale. His glories fill our hemisphere; Tell Him Apollo greets Him well, 10And with his fellow Wanderers agrees To reward all His labours, and lengthen His days, In spite of the politic follies of Hell, And vain contrivance of the destinies. Tell Him, a Crown of Thorns no more Shall His sacred temples gore, For all the rigours of His life are o'er. Wondrous Prince! design'd to show What noble minds can bravely undergo, You are our wonder, you our love; 20Earth from beneath, Heaven from above, Call loud for songs of triumph and of praise, Their voices and their souls they raise; Io Paean do we sing, Long live, long live the King! Rise, mighty Monarch, and ascend the Throne, 'Tis yet, once more your own, For Lucifer and all his legions are o'erthrown: Son of the Morning, first-born Son of Light, How wert thou tumbled headlong down, 30Into the dungeons of eternal night! While th' loyal stars of the celestial quire Surrounded with immortal beams, Mingle their unpolluted flames, Their just Creator to admire. With awful reverence they adore Him, Cover their faces, and fall down before Him; And night and day for ever sing Hosannah, Hallelujah to th' Almighty King!

From those serene and rapturous joys A country life alone can give, Exempt from tumult and from noise, Where Kings forget the troubles of their reigns, And are almost as happy as their humble swains, By feeling that they live: Behold th' indulgent Prince is come To view the conquests of His mercy shown To the new Proselytes of His mighty town, 10And men and angels bid Him welcome home. Not with an helmet or a glitt'ring spear Does He appear; He boast[s] no trophies of a cruel conqueror, Brought back in triumph from a bloody war; But with an olive-branch adorn'd, As once the long expected Dove return'd. Welcome as soft refreshing show'rs, That raise the sickly heads of drooping flow'rs: Welcome as early beams of light 20To the benighted traveller, When he descries bright Phosphorus from afar, And all his fears are put to flight. Welcome, more welcome does He come Than life to Lazarus from his drowsy tomb, When in his winding-sheet, at his new birth, The strange surprising word was said—Come forth! Nor does the Sun more comfort bring, When he turns Winter into Spring, Than the blest advent of a peaceful King. Chorus. 30With trumpets and shouts we receive the World's Wonder, And let the clouds echo His welcome with thunder, Such a thunder as applauded what mortals had done, When they fix'd on His brows His Imperial Crown.

Long had the bright Thealma lain obscure, Her beauteous charms that might the world allure, Lay like rough diamonds, in the mine, unknown, By all the sons of folly trampled on, Till your kind hand unveil'd her lovely face, And gave her vigour to exert her rays: Happy old man, whose worth all mankind knows, Except thyself, who charitably shows The ready road to Virtue and to Praise, 10The way to many long and happy days; The noble art of generous Piety, And how to compass an Euthanasy! Hence did he learn the skill of living well, The bright Thealma was his oracle; Inspir'd by Her, he knows no anxious cares In near a century of happy years; Easy he lives, and easy shall he lie On the soft bosom of Eternity. As long as Spenser's noble flames shall burn, 20And deep devotion shall attend his urn; As long as Chalkhill's venerable name With humble emulation shall enflame Posterity, and fill the rolls of fame, Your memory shall ever be secure, And long beyond our short-liv'd praise endure; As Phidias in Minerva's shield did live, And shar'd that immortality he alone could give.

Parthenia. My dear Castara, t'other day I heard an ancient shepherd say, Alas for me! my time draws nigh, And shortly, shortly I must die! What meant the man? for lo! apace Torrents of tears ran down his face. Castara. Poor harmless maid! why wouldst thou know What, known, must needs create thee woe? 'Twill cloud the sunshine of thy days, 10And in thy soul such trouble raise, Thou'lt grieve, and tremble, and complain, And say that all thy beauty's vain. Parthenia. Ah me! sure 'tis some dreadful thing That can so great disorder bring, Yet tell me, prithee tell me, do, For 'tis some ease the worst to know. Castara. To die, Parthenia, is to quit The World, and the Sun's glorious light, To leave our flocks and fields for ever, 20To part, and never meet again, O never! After that cruel hideous hour, Thou and I shall sing no more; In the cold Earth they will thee lay, And what thou dot'st on shall be clay. Parthenia. Alas! why will they use me so, A virgin that no evil do? Castara. Roses wither, turtles die, Fair, and kind as thou and I. Chorus amb. Then, since 'tis appointed to the dust we must go, 30Let us innocently live, and virtuously do; Let us love, let us sing, 'tis no matter, 'tis all one, If our lamps be extinguish'd at midnight or noon.

Hark, hark! methinks I hear the seamen call, The boist'rous seamen say, Bright Castabella, come away! The wind sits fair, the vessel's stout and tall, Bright Castabella, come away! For Time and Tide can never stay. II. Our mighty Master Neptune calls aloud, The Zephyrs gently blow, The Tritons cry, You are too slow, 10For every Sea-nymph of the glittering crowd Has garlands ready to throw down When you ascend your wat'ry throne. III. See, see! she comes, she comes, and now adieu! Let's bid adieu to shore, And to all we fear'd before; O Castabella! we depend on you, On you our better fortunes lay, Whose eyes and voice the winds and seas obey.

Undoubtedly 'tis thy peculiar fate, Ah miserable Astragon! Thou art condemn'd alone To bear the burthen of a wretched life, Still in this howling wilderness to roam, Whilst all thy bosom friends unkindly go, And leave thee to lament them here below. Thy dear Alexis wouldn't stay, Joy of thy life, and pleasure of thine eyes, 10Dear Alexis went away, With an invincible surprise; Th' angelic youth early dislik'd this state, And innocently yielded to his fate; Never did soul of a celestial birth Inform a purer piece of earth: O! that 'twere not in vain, To wish what's past might be retriev'd again! Thy dotage, thy Alexis then Had answer'd all thy vows and prayers, 20And crown'd with pregnant joys thy silver hairs, Lov'd to this day amongst the living sons of men. II. And thou, my friend, hast left me too, Menalcas! poor Menalcas! even thou! Of whom so loudly Fame has spoke In the records of her eternal book, Whose disregarded worth ages to come Shall wail with indignation o'er thy tomb. Worthy wert thou to live, as long as Vice Should need a satire, that the frantic age 30Might tremble at the lash of thy poetic rage. Th' untutor'd world in after times May live uncensur'd for their crimes, Freed from the dreads of thy reforming pen, Turn to old Chaos once again. Of all th' instructive bards, whose more than Theban lyre, Could salvage souls with manly thoughts inspire, Menalcas worthy was to live: Tell me, ye mournful swains, Say you his fellow-shepherds that survive, 40Has my ador'd Menalcas left behind On all these pensive plains A gentler shepherd with a braver mind? Which of you all did more majestic show, Or wore the garland on a sweeter brow? III. But wayward Astragon resolves no more The death of his Menalcas to deplore. The place to which he wisely is withdrawn Is altogether blest. There, no clouds o'erwhelm his breast, 50No midnight cares shall break his rest, For all is everlasting cheerful dawn. The Poets' charming bliss, Perfect ease and sweet recess, There shall he long possess. The treacherous world no more shall him deceive, Of hope and fortune he has taken leave; And now in mighty triumph does he reign O'er the unthinking rabble's spite (His head adorn'd with beams of light) 60And the dull wealthy fool's disdain. Thrice happy he, that dies the Muses' friend; He needs no obelisk, no pyramid His sacred dust to hide, He needs not for his memory to provide, For well he knows his praise can never end.

M. S. Heic juxta spe plenâ resurgendi situm est Depositum mortale JOANNIS MICKLETHWAITE Equitis, Serenissimo Principi Carolo II. a Medicinâ, Qui cum primis solertissimus, fidissimus, felicissimus, In Collegio Medicorum Londinensium Lustrum integrum et quod excurrit Praesidis Provinciam dignissimè ornavit: 10Et tandem emenso aetatis tranquillae stadio, Pietate sincerâ, Inconcussâ vitae integritate, Benignâ morum suavitate, Sparsâ passim Philanthropiâ Spectabilis; Miserorum Asylum, Maritus optimus, Parens indulgentissimus, Suorum luctus, 20Bonorum omnium Amor et Deliciae, Septuagenarius senex, Coelo maturus, Fato non invitus cessit IV Kal. Augusti Anno salutis MDCLXXXII. Caetera loquantur Languentium deploranda suspiria, Viduarum ac Orphanorum Propter amissum Patronum profundi gemitus, Pauperumque, 30Nudorum jam, atque esurientium Importuna Viscera, Monumenta, hoc marmore longe perenniora. Maerens posuit pientissima Conjunx.

Cinerem non vulgarem, Virum vere magnum, Si prisca fides, pietasque primaeva, Si amicitiae foedera strictissima, 10Si pectus candidum, et sincerum, Ac integerrima Vita, Virum vere magnum conflare poterint. En hominem Cordatum! Calamitosae Majestatis (Furente nuperâ perduellium rabie) Strenuum assertorem, Obstinatum Vindicem! En animae generosae quantillum Ergastulum! O charum Deo Depositum! 20Vestrum undequaquam Inopes, Vestrum quotcunque Viri praestantiores, Dolorem inconsolabilem, Desiderium, in omne aevum, irreparabile!

Man surely is not what he seems to be; Surely ourselves we overrate, Forgetting that like other creatures, we Must bend our heads to Fate. Lord of the whole Creation, Man (How big the title shows!) Trifles away a few uncertain years, Cheated with hopes, and rack'd with fears, Through all Life's little span, 10Then down to silence and to darkness goes; And when we die, the crowd that trembling stood Erewhile struck with the terror of a nod, Shake off their wonted reverence with their chains, And at their pleasure use our poor remains. Ah, mighty Prince! Whom lavish Nature and industrious Art Had fitted for immortal Fame, Their utmost bounty could no more impart; How comes it that thy venerable name 20Should be submitted to my theme? Unkindly baulk'd by the prime skilful men, Abandon'd to be sullied by so mean a pen! Tell me, ye skilful men, if you have read In all the fair memorials of the Dead, A name so formidably great, So full of wonders, and unenvi'd love, In which all virtues and all graces strove, So terrible, and yet so sweet; Show me a star in Honour's firmament, 30(Of the first magnitude let it be) That from the darkness of this World made free, A brighter lustre to this World has lent. Ye men of reading, show me one That shines with such a beam as His. Rupert's a constellation Outvies Arcturus, and the Pleïades. And if the Julian Star of old outshone The lesser fires, as much as them the Moon, Posterity perhaps will wonder why 40An hero more divine than he Should leave (after his Apotheosis) No gleam of light in all the Galaxy Bright as the Sun in the full blaze of noon. III. How shall my trembling Muse thy praise rehearse! Thy praise too lofty ev'n for Pindar's verse! Whence shall she take her daring flight, That she may soar aloft In numbers masculine and soft, In numbers adequate 50To thy renown's celestial height! If from thy noble pedigree The royal blood that sparkled in thy veins A low plebeian eulogy disdains, And he blasphemes that meanly writes of thee; If from thy martial deeds she boldly rise, And sing thy valiant infancy, Rebellious Britain after felt full well, Thou from thy cradle wert a miracle. Swaddled in armour, drums appeas'd thy cries, 60And the shrill trumpet sung thy lullabies. The babe Alcides thus gave early proof In the first dawning of his youth, When with his tender hand the snakes he slew, What monsters in his riper years he would subdue. IV. Great Prince, in whom Mars and Minerva join'd Their last efforts to frame a mighty mind, A pattern for brave men to come, design'd: How did the rebel troops before thee fly! How of thy genius stand in awe! 70When from the sulphurous cloud Thou in thunder gav'st aloud Thy dreadful law To the presumptuous enemy. In vain their traitorous ensigns they display'd, In vain they fought, in vain they pray'd, At thy victorious arms dismay'd. Till Providence for causes yet unknown, Causes mysterious and deep, Conniv'd awhile, as if asleep, 80And seem'd its dear Anointed to disown; The prosperous villany triumph'd o'er the Crown, And hurl'd the best of monarchs from his Throne. O tell it not in Gath, nor Ascalon! The best of monarchs fell by impious power, Th' unspotted Victim for the guilty bled. He bow'd, he fell, there where he bow'd he fell down dead; Baptiz'd Blest Martyr in his sacred gore. V. Nor could those tempests in the giddy State, O mighty Prince, thy loyalty abate. 90Though put to flight, thou fought'st the Parthian way, And still the same appear'dst to be Among the beasts and scaly fry, A Behemoth on land and a Leviathan at sea; Still wert thou brave, still wert thou good, Still firm to thy allegiance stood Amidst the foamings of the popular flood. (Cato with such a constancy of mind, Espous'd that cause which all his Gods declin'd.) Till gentler stars amaz'd to see 100Thy matchless and undaunted bravery, Blush'd and brought back the murthered Father's Son, Lest thou shouldst plant him in th' Imperial Throne, Thou with thy single hand alone. He that forgets the glories of that day, When Charles the Merciful return'd, Ne'er felt the transports of glad Sion's Joy, When she had long in dust and ashes mourn'd: He never understood with what surprise She open'd her astonish'd eyes 110To see the goodly fabric of the second Temple rise. VI. When Charles the Merciful his entrance made The day was all around serene, Not one ill-boding cloud was seen To cast a gloomy shade On the triumphal cavalcade. In that, his first, and happy scene, The Pow'rs above foretold his halcyon reign, In which, like them, he evermore should prove The kindest methods of Almighty Love: 120And when black crimes his justice should constrain, His pious breast should share the criminal's pain: Fierce as the Lion can he be, and gentle as the Dove. Here stop, my Muse,—the rest let Angels sing, Some of those Angels, who with constant care To His Pavilion, near attendants are, A life-guard giv'n him by th' Omnipotent King, Th' Omnipotent King, whose character he bears, Whose diadem on Earth he wears; And may he wear it long, for many, many years. VII. 130And now (illustrious Ghost!) what shall we say? What tribute to thy precious memory pay? Thy death confounds, and strikes all sorrows dumb. Kingdoms and empires make their moan, Rescu'd by thee from desolation; In pilgrimage hereafter shall they come, And make their offerings before thy tomb, Great Prince, so fear'd abroad, and so ador'd at home Jove's Bird that durst of late confront the Sun, And in the wanton German banners play'd, 140Now hangs her wing and droops her head, Now recollects the battles thou hast won, And calls too late to thee for aid. All Christendom deplores the loss, Whilst bloody Mahomet like a whirlwind flies, And insolently braves the ill-befriended cross. Europe in blood, and in confusion lies, Thou in an easy good old age, Remov'd from this tumultuous stage, Sleep'st unconcern'd at all its rage, 150Secure of Fame, and from Detraction free: He that to greater happiness would attain, Or towards Heav'n would swifter fly, Must be much more than mortal man, And never condescend to die. Dec. 13, 1682.

Proculdubio non sumus quod videmur, Et nosmet ipsos aequo plus aestimamus, Obliti quod, veluti Creatis omnibus, Et nobis etiam Fato succumbendum. Homo, totius Terrarum Orbis Dominus, (Heu quam superbe, quam fastuose sonat!) Paucos et incertos illudit annos, Nunc spe deceptus, nunc metu cruciatus, Per angustum Vitae curriculum, 10Tandem ad taciturnas labitur Tenebras. Et quando morimur, quam cito Turba tremula, Jamdudum Nutus terrore percita, Venerationem solitam (cum Catenis) exuunt Et ad libitum despectas tractant Reliquias. Potentissime Princeps! Quem prodiga Natura, et Ars industria Ad celebritatem immortalem adaptâssent, Cui plus addere non valuit ipsius ultima Benignitas; Unde venit quod Nomen tuum Venerandum 20Themati meo prostitueretur? Per Viros Doctiores ingrate neglectum, Et indoctâ meâ Musâ delineari relictum! II. Dicite mihi, Viri peritiores, si legistis In pulchris Mortuorum Catalogis Nomen adeo formidate Magnum, Tantis Mirâclis et inaemulo amore refertum; In quo omnes Charites & Virtutes concertârunt. Adeo terribile, et adeo dulce Nomen. Ostendite mihi Stellam in Firmamento Honoris 30(Sit etiam Primae Magnitudinis) Quae a tenebris hujus Mundi erepta Majorem Mundo fulgorem praestitit; O Viri eruditi, ostendite mihi unam, Quae tam splendido Radio effulget. Rupertus est Constellatio— Praelucens Arcturum et Pleiades. Et si olim Stella Juliana praefulsit Ignes minores, quantum illos Luna, Posteritas forsitan mirabitur, quare 40Hero illo multo Divinior, Nullum (post ejus Apotheosin) In Galaxiâ jubar relinqueret Sole clarius Meridionali. III. Quo pacto Musa mea tremens laudes tuas recitabit? Laudes tuas, etiam Pindari Carmine excelsiores! Unde volatum sumet audacem, Ut in altum sublevetur In Numeris Masculis et Blandis, In numeris adaequatis 50Coelesti Famae tuae sublimitati? Si a Nobili tuâ Genealogiâ Sanguis Regalis in Venis tuis scintillans Humilem et Plebeiam dedignatur Eulogiam, (Nam de Te modice loquens Blasphemat) Si a claris Bellicis facinoribus incipiet, Et Virilia incunabula decantet, Rebellis jamdudum sentivit Britannia, Quantis Mirandis Cunae tuae claruere, Loricis fasciatus, Tympana lachrymas demulserunt, 60Et Tubarum clangores somnum allicierunt: Sic olim Alcides praematurum dedit specimen In primo Infantiae Diluculo, Angues teneris collidens manibus Qualia in aetate provectâ superaret Monstra. IV. Auguste Princeps, in quo Mars et Minerva suas Vires contulere ingentem formare Animum Praeclaris Posteris in Exemplar designatum, Quoties Turmae Rebelles coram te profugerunt Genii tui Numine terrefactae? 70Cum de Nube Sulphureâ Fulminibus dedisti sonoris Leges tuas tremendas Perduellibus insolentibus, Frustra vexilla explicârunt perfida, Frustra pugnârunt, frustra fuderunt preces, Armis tuis Victricibus attonitae. Donec Superi, causis adhuc incognitis, Causis secretis et profundis Connivêre paulisper, quasi obdormientes, 80Et peramatum Christum suum dereliquisse videbantur. In Coronam triumphavit prosperum Nefas Et Regum optimum a Solio deturbavit, Ne annuntietis hoc in Gath aut Ascalon, Monarcharum optimus impiâ vi corruit, Immaculata Victima pro Sontibus fudit sanguinem: Inclinavit se, cecidit, ubi inclinaverat cecidit mortuus Martyr beatus in Sacro suo Cruore Baptisatus. V. Nec valuerunt Turbines in Anarchiâ istâ vertiginosâ, Invicte Princeps, fidelitatem tuam vibrare, 90Nam retrocedens pugnasti more Parthico, Et semper Idem remansisti, Inter pecora, et pisces squamosas, In terrâ Behemoth, in mari Leviathan: Infractus adhuc et adhuc Bonus Fidelitati firmiter perseverasti Inter fremitus Fluctuum Popularium. Sic olim Cato pari animi constantiâ Causam desponsavit, quam Dii omnes repudiârunt. Donec Planetae benigniores, stupentes aspicere 100Imparilem et impavidam tuam fortitudinem, Erubuerunt, et Percussi Patris filium reduxerunt, Ne tu illum in Solio Imperiali collocares, Tu unicâ tuâ manu solus. Qui Solis istius splendores oblitus fuerit Quo Clementissimus redivit Carolus, Nunquam sentivit laetae Sionis gaudia Cum diu pulvere et cineribus lugisset; Nunquam intellexit quali Raptu Oculos extollebat attonitos 110Templi Secundi Structuram renascentem videns. VI. Cum Carolus Clemens introitum fecit Coelum erat undique serenum, Nulla male-ominosa Nubes apparuit Umbram dare tenebricosam, In Equitatum istum Triumphalem. In illa primâ et felici Scenâ Praedixere Superi Regimen ejus Halcyoneum In quo sicut illi, in aeternum probaret Benignissimas Methodos praepotentis Amoris. 120Et cum magna flagitia Vindictam eius provocarent, Pectus ejus humanius Rei compateretur poenas. Ut Leo ferox, mitis ut Columba. Hic sileat Musa—quod reliquum est Angeli praedicent, Angeli isti qui assiduâ curâ Tentorio ejus quam proxime inserviunt Somatophylaces à Rege Omnipotente delegati, A Rege Omnipotente, cujus Majestatem praefert, Cujus in terrâ gerit Diadema Et diu gerat per multos, multos annos. VII. 130Quid autem, (Illustris Anima) quid dicemus? Quale Tributum Piae tuae Memoriae solvemus? Mors tua obtundit et mutum reddit Dolorem. Regna et Imperia lugubres planetus faciunt Ab extremâ Ruinâ per te redempta. Posthac è longe Peregrinantes venient, Et ad Tumulum tuum Oblationes tribuent, O Magne Princeps foris verende, et domi venerate! Jovis Ales, qui dudum Solem tentare ausus est, Et in mollibus Germanorum lusit vexillis, 140Nunc alas demittit, et caput declinat, Nunc repetit Victorias a Te potitas, Et sero nimis tuum implorat auxilium. Orbis Christianus deplorat Damnum, Dum truculentus Mahomet Turbinis instar volat Et impotenter bacchatur in male-sustentatam Crucem. Sanguine et ruinâ volutans Europa jacet. Tu in tranquillâ et plenâ senectute Semotus a tumultuoso Mundi Theatro Rabiosâ eius insaniâ intactus dormis, 150Famae securus et ab omni obtrectatione liber. Qui ampliorem attineret felicitatem, Vel usque ad Coelos ocyus volaret, Oportet esse plusquam Mortalem, Nec unquam prorsus dignari mori.

Alas! Why are we tempted to complain, That Heav'n is deaf to all our cries! Regardless of poor mortals' miseries! And all our fervent pray'rs devoutly vain! Tis hard to think th' immortal Powers attend Human affairs, who ravish from our sight The Man, on whom such blessings did depend, Heav'n's and mankind's delight! The Man! O that opprobrious word, The Man! 10Whose measure of duration's but a span, Some other name at Babel should have been contriv'd (By all the vulgar World t' have been receiv'd), A word as near as could be to Divinity, Appropriate to Crown'd Heads, who never ought to die; Some signal word that should imply All but the scandal of mortality. 'Tis fit, we little lumps of crawling Earth, Deriv'd from a plebeian birth, Such as our frail forefathers were, 20Should to our primitive dust repair; But Princes (like the wondrous Enoch) should be free From Death's unbounded tyranny, And when their godlike race is run, And nothing glorious left undone, Never submit to Fate, but only disappear. II. But, since th' eternal Law will have it so, That Monarchs prove at last but finer clay, What can their humble vassals do? What reverence, what devotion can we pay, 30When these, our earthly Gods, are snatch'd away? Yes, we can mourn, Yes, we can beat our breast, Yes, we can call to mind those happy days Of pleasure, and of rest, When Charles the Merciful did reign, That Golden Age, when void of cares, All the long summer's day, We atoms in his beams might sport and play: Yes, we can teach our children to bewail His fatal loss, when we shall fail, 40And make babes learn in after days The pretty way of stammering out his praise, His merited praise, which shall in every age With all advantage flame In spite of furies or infernal rage, And imp the wings, and stretch the lungs of Fame. III. Excellent Prince, whom every mouth did bless, And every bended knee adore, On whom we gaz'd with ecstasy of joy (A vision which did satisfy, but never cloy) 50From whom we dated all our happiness, And from above could ask no more, Our gladsome cup was fill'd till it ran o'er. Our land (like Eden) flourish'd in his time, Defended by an Angel's Sword, A terror 'twas to those abroad, But all was Paradise to those within: Nor could th' Old Serpent's stratagem Ever supplant his well-watch'd diadem. Excellent Prince, of whom we once did say 60With a triumphant noise, In one united voice, On that stupendious day, Long live, Long live the King! And songs of Io Paean sing, How shall we bear this tragical surprise, Now we must change Long live, for Here he lies? IV. Have you forgot? (but who can him forget?) You watchful Spirits that preside O'er sublunary things, 70Who, when you look beneath, do oft deride, Not without cause, some other petty Kings; Have you forgot the greatness of his mind, The bravery of his elevated soul, (But he had still a Goshen there) When darkest cares around his Royal heart did wind, As waves about a steady rock do roll: With what disdain he view'd The fury of the giddy multitude, And bare the Cross, with more than manly fortitude, 80As he had learn'd in sacred lore, His mighty Master had done long before? And you must ever own (Or else you very little know Of what we think below) That when the hurricanes of th' State were o'er, When in his noontide blaze he did appear, His gentle awful brow Added fresh lustre to th' Imperial Crown, By birthright, and by virtue, more than once his own. V. 90He was! but what he was, how great, how good, How just, how he delighted not in blood, How full of pity, and how strangely kind, How hazardously constant to his friend, In Peace how glorious, and in War how brave, Above the charms of life, and terrors of the grave— When late posterity shall tell: What he has done shall to a volume swell, And every line abound with miracle In that prodigious Chronicle. 100Forgive, unbodied Sovereign, forgive, And from your shining mansion cast an eye To pity our officious blasphemy, When we have said the best we can conceive. Here stop, presumptuous Muse! thy daring flight, Here hide thy baffled head in shades of night, Thou too obscure, thy dazzling theme too bright, For what thou shouldst have said, with grief struck dumb, Will more emphatically be supplied By the joint groans of melancholy Christendom.

Dread Prince! whom all the world admires and fears, By Heav'n design'd to wipe away our tears, To heal our wounds, and drooping spirits raise, And to revive our former halcyon days, Permit us to assure ourselves, that you Your happy brother's fortune will pursue, For what great thing is that you dare not do? Whose long known, unexampled gallantry So oft has shaken th' Earth, and curb'd the haughty Sea. 10And may those Stars, that ever o'er you shone, Double their influence on your peaceful throne. May you in honourable deeds outshine The brightest heroes of your Royal line, That when your enemies shall the sceptre see Grasp'd in a hand enur'd to victory, The rebels may like Lucifer fall down, Or fly like phantoms from the rising Sun. Extremum Hunc Arethusa mihi concede Laborem. Virgil.