POEMS.

Stanza I. No more!—Alas that bitter word, No more! The Great, the Just, the Generous, the Kind; The universal Darling of Mankind, The noble Ossory is now No more! The mighty man is fall'n— From Glory's lofty pinnacle, Meanly like one of us, he fell, Not in the hot pursuit of victory, As gallant men would choose to die; 10But tamely, like a poor plebeian, from his bed To the dark grave a captive led; Emasculating sighs, and groans around, His friends in floods of sorrow drown'd; His awful truncheon and bright arms laid by, He bow'd his glorious head to Destiny. II. Celestial Powers! how unconcern'd you are! No black eclipse or blazing star Presag'd the death of this illustrious man, No deluge, no, nor hurricane; 20In her old wonted course Nature went on, As if some common thing were done, One single victim to Death's altar's come, And not in Ossory an whole hecatomb. Yet, when the founder of old Rome expir'd, When the Pellëan youth resign'd his breath, And when the great Dictator stoop'd to death, Nature and all her faculties retir'd: Amaz'd she started when amaz'd she saw The breaches of her ancient fundamental law, 30Which kept the world in awe: For men less brave than him, her very heart did ache, The labouring Earth did quake, And trees their fix'd foundations did forsake; Nature in some prodigious way Gave notice of their fatal day: Those lesser griefs with pain she thus exprest, This did confound, and overwhelm her breast. III. Shrink, ye crown'd heads, that think yourselves secure, And from your mould'ring thrones look down, 40Your greatness cannot long endure, The King of Terrors claims you for his own; You are but tributaries to his dreadful crown: Renown'd, Serene, Imperial, most August, Are only high and mighty epithets for dust. In vain, in vain so high Our tow'ring expectations fly, While th' blossoms of our hopes, so fresh, so gay, Appear, and promise fruit, then fade away. From valiant Ossory's ever loyal hands, 50What did we not believe! We dream'd of yet unconquer'd lands He to his Prince could give, And neighbouring crowns retrieve: Expected that he would in triumph come Laden with spoils and Afric banners home, As if an hero's years Were as unbounded as our fond desires. IV. Lament, lament, you that dare Honour love, 60And court her at a noble rate (Your prowess to approve), That dare religiously upon her wait, And blush not to grow good, when you grow great, Such mourners suit His virtue, such His State. And you, brave souls, who for your country's good Did wondrous things in fields and seas of blood, Lament th' undaunted chief that led you on; Whose exemplary courage could inspire The most degenerate heart with martial English fire. 70Your bleeding wounds who shall hereafter dress With an indulgent tenderness; Touch'd with a melting sympathy, Who shall your wants supply, Since he, your good Samaritan, is gone? O Charity! thou richest boon of Heaven, To man in pity given! (For when well-meaning mortals give, The poor's and their own bowels they relieve;) Thou mak'st us with alacrity to die, 80Miss'd and bewail'd like thee, large-hearted Ossory. V. Arise, ye blest inhabitants above, From your immortal seats arise, And on our wonder, on our love Gaze with astonish'd eyes. Arise! Arise! make room, Th' exalted Shade is come. See where he comes! What princely port he bears! How God-like he appears! His shining temples round 90With wreaths of everlasting laurels bound! As from the bloody field of Mons he came, Where he outfought th' hyperboles of Fame. See how the Guardian-Angel of our isle Receives the deifi'd champion with a smile! Welcome, the Guardian-Angel says, Full of songs of joy and praise, Welcome thou art to me, And to these regions of serenity! Welcome, the wingèd choir resounds, 100While with loud Euge's all the sacred place abounds.

Stanza I. A long adieu to all that's bright, Noble, or brave in woman-kind; To all the wonders of their wit, And trophies of their mind: The glowing heat of th' holy fire is gone: To th' altar, whence 'twas kindled, flown; There's nought on earth, but ashes left behind; E'er since th' amazing sound was spread, Orinda's dead; 10Every soft and fragrant word, All that language could afford; Every high and lofty thing That's wont to set the soul on wing, No longer with this worthless world would stay. Thus, when the death of the great Pan was told, Along the shore the dismal tidings roll'd; The lesser Gods their fanes forsook, Confounded with the mighty stroke, They could not overlive that fatal day, 20But sigh'd and groan'd their gasping Oracles away. II. How rigid are the laws of Fate And how severe that black decree! No sublunary thing is free, But all must enter th' adamantine gate: Sooner or later must we come To Nature's dark retiring room: And yet 'tis pity, is it not? The learned, as the fool should die, One, full as low, as t'other lie, 30Together blended in the general lot! Distinguish'd only from the common crowd By an hing'd coffin or an holland shroud, Though Fame and Honour speak them ne'er so loud. Alas, Orinda! even thou, Whose happy verse made others live, And certain immortality could give; Blasted are all thy blooming glories now, The laurel withers o'er thy brow: Methinks it should disturb thee to conceive 40That when poor I this artless breath resign, My dust should have as much of Poetry as thine! III. Too soon we languish with desire Of what we never could enough admire. On th' billows of this world sometimes we rise So dangerously high, We are to Heaven too nigh: When all in rage (Grown hoary with one minute's age) The very self-same fickle wave, 50Which the entrancing prospect gave, Swoln to a mountain, sinks into a grave. Too happy mortals, if the Powers above As merciful would be, And easy to preserve the thing we love, As in the giving they are free! But they too oft delude our wearied eyes, They fix a flaming sword 'twixt us and Paradise! A weeping evening blurs a smiling day, Yet why should heads of gold have feet of clay? 60Why should the man that wav'd th' Almighty wand, That led the murmuring crowd By pillar and by cloud, Shivering atop of aery Pisgah stand Only to see, but never, never tread the Promis'd Land? IV. Throw your swords and gauntlets by, You daring Sons of War! You cannot purchase ere you die One honourable scar, Since that fair hand that gilded all your bays; 70That in heroic numbers wrote your praise, That you might safely sleep in Honour's bed, Itself, alas! is wither'd, cold, and dead: Cold and dead are all those charms That burnish'd your victorious arms; Those useless things hereafter must Blush first in blood, and then in rust: No oil but that of her smooth words can serve Weapon and warrior to preserve. Expect no more from this dull age 80But folly or poetic rage, Short-liv'd nothings of the stage, Vented to-day, and cried to-morrow down; With her the soul of Poesie is gone, Gone, while our expectations flew As high a pitch as she has done, Exhal'd to Heaven like early dew, Betimes the little shining drops are flown, Ere th' drowsy world perceiv'd that manna was come down V. You of the sex that would be fair, 90Exceeding lovely, hither come, Would you be pure as Angels are, Come dress you by Orinda's tomb, And leave your flattering glass at home. Within that marble mirror see, How one day such as she You must, and yet alas! can never be! Think on the heights of that vast soul, And then admire, and then condole. Think on the wonders of her generous pen, 100'Twas she made Pompey truly great; Neither the purchase of his sweat Nor yet Cornelia's kindness made him live again: With envy think, when to the grave you go, How very little must be said of you, Since all that can be said of virtuous woman was her due.

Stanza I. When first I stept into th' alluring maze To tread this world's mysterious ways, Alas! I had nor guide, nor clue, No Ariadne lent her hand, Not one of Virtue's guards did bid me stand, Or ask'd me what I meant to do, Or whither I would go: This labyrinth so pleasant did appear, I lost myself with much content, 10Infinite hazards underwent, Out-straggled Homer's crafty wanderer, And ten years more than he in fruitless travels spent; The one half of my life is gone, The shadow the meridian past; Death's dismal evening drawing on, Which must with damps and mists be overcast, An evening that will surely come, 'Tis time, high time to give myself the welcome home. II. Had I but heartily believ'd 20That all the Royal Preacher said was true,) When first I ent'red on the stage, And Vanity so hotly did pursue; Convinc'd by his experience, not my age, I had myself long since retriev'd, I should have let the curtain down, Before the Fool's part had begun: But I throughout the tedious play have been Concern'd in every busy scene; Too too inquisitive I tried 30Now this, anon another face, And then a third, more odd, took place, Was everything, but what I was. Such was my Protean folly, such my pride, Befool'd through all the tragi-comedy, Where others met with hissing, to expect a Plaudite. III. I had a mind the Pastoral to prove, Searching for happiness in Love, And finding Venus painted with a Dove, A little naked Boy hard by, 40The Dove, which had no gall, The Boy no dangerous arms at all; They do thee wrong, great Love, said I, Much wrong, great Love! ——scarce had I spoke Ere into my unwary bosom came An inextinguishable flame: From fair Amira's eyes the lightning broke, That left me more than thunder-strook; She carries tempest in that lovely name: Love's mighty and tumultuous pain 50Disorders Nature like an hurricane. Yet couldn't I believe such storms could be, When I launch'd forth to sea; Promis'd myself a calm and easy way, Though I had seen before Piteous ruins on the shore, And on the naked beach Leander breathless lay. IV. To extricate myself from Love Which I could ill obey, but worse command, I took my pencils in my hand, 60With that artillery for conquest strove, Like wise Pygmalion then did I Myself design my deity; Made my own saint, made my own shrine: If she did frown, one dash could make her smile, All bickerings one easy stroke could reconcile, Plato feign'd no idea so divine: Thus did I quiet many a froward day, While in my eyes my soul did play, Thus did the time, and thus myself beguile; 70Till on a day, but then I knew not why, A tear fall'n from my eye, Wash'd out my saint, my shrine, my deity: Prophetic chance! the lines are gone, And I must mourn o'er what I doted on: I find even Giotto's circle has not all perfection. V. To Poetry I then inclin'd; Verse that emancipates the mind, Verse that unbends the soul; That amulet of sickly fame, 80Verse that from wind articulates a name; Verse for both fortunes fit, to smile and to condole. Ere I had long the trial made, A serious thought made me afraid: For I had heard Parnassus' sacred hill Was so prodigiously high, Its barren top so near the sky; The ether there So very pure, so subtil, and so rare, 'Twould a chameleon kill, 90The beast that is all lungs, and feeds on air: Poets the higher up that hill they go, Like pilgrims, share the less of what's below: Hence 'tis they ever go repining on, And murmur more than their own Helicon. I heard them curse their stars in ponderous rhymes, And in grave numbers grumble at the times; Yet where th' illustrious Cowley led the way, I thought it great discretion there to go astray. VI. From liberal Arts to the litigious Law, 100Obedience, not ambition, did me draw;) I look'd at awful quoif and scarlet gown Through others' optics, not my own: Untie the Gordian knot that will, I see no rhetoric at all In them that learnedly can brawl, And fill with mercenary breath the spacious hall; Let me be peaceable, let me be still. The solitary Tishbite heard the wind, With strength and violence combin'd, 110That rent the mountains, and did make The solid Earth's foundations shake; He saw the dreadful fire, and heard the horrid noise, But found what he expected in the small still voice. VII. Nor here did my unbridled fancy rest, But I must try A pitch more high, To read the starry language of the East; And with Chaldean curiosity Presum'd to solve the riddles of the sky; 120Impatient till I knew my doom, Dejected till the good direction come, I ripp'd up Fate's forbidden womb, Nor would I stay till it brought forth An easy and a natural birth, But was solicitous to know The yet misshapen embryo (Preposterous crime!) Without the formal midwif'ry of time: Fond man, as if too little grief were given 130On Earth, draws down inquietudes from Heaven! Permits himself with fear to be unmann'd, Belshazzar-like, grows wan and pale, His very heart begins to fail, Is frighted at that Writing of the Hand, Which yet nor he, nor all his learn'd magicians understand. VIII. And now at last what's the result of all? Should the strict audit come, And for th' account too early call; A num'rous heap of ciphers would be found the total sum. 140When incompassionate age shall plow The delicate Amira's brow, And draw his furrows deep and long, What hardy youth is he Will after that a reaper be, Or sing the harvest song? And what is verse, but an effeminate vent Either of lust or discontent? Colours will starve, and all their glories die, Invented only to deceive the eye; 150And he that wily Law does love Much more of serpent has than dove, There's nothing in Astrology, But Delphic ambiguity; We are misguided in the dark, and thus Each star becomes an Ignis fatuus: Yet pardon me, ye glorious Lamps of light, 'Twas one of you that led the way, Dispell'd the gloomy night, Became a Phosphor to th' Eternal Day, 160And show'd the Magi where th' Almighty Infant lay. IX. At length the doubtful victory's won, It was a cunning ambuscade The World for my felicities had laid; Yet now at length the day's our own, Now conqueror-like let us new laws set down. Henceforth let all our love seraphic turn, The sprightly and the vigorous flame On th' altar let it ever burn, And sacrifice its ancient name: 170A tablet on my heart next I'll prepare Where I would draw the Holy Sepulchre, Behind it a soft landskip I would lay Of melancholy Golgotha! On th' altar let me all my spoils lay down, And if I had one, there I'd hang my laurel crown. Give me the Pandects of the Law Divine, Such was the Law made Moses' face to shine. Thus beyond Saturn's heavy orb I'll tower, And laugh at his malicious power: 180Raptur'd in contemplation thus I'll go Above unactive earth, and leave the stars below. X. Toss'd on the wings of every wind, After these hoverings to and fro (And still the waters higher grow), Not knowing where a resting-place to find, Whither for sanctuary should I go But, Reverend Sir, to you? You that have triumph'd o'er th' impetuous flood, That, Noah-like, in bad times durst be good, 190And the stiff torrent manfully withstood, Can save me too; One that have long in fear of drowning bin, Surrounded by the rolling waves of sin; Do you but reach out a propitious hand And charitably take me in, I will not yet despair to see dry land. 'Tis done;—and I no longer fluctuate, I've made the Church my Ark, and Sion's Hill my Ararat.

Stanza I. See (worthy friend) what I would do (Whom neither Muse nor Art inspire), That have no friend in all the sacred quire, To show my kindness for your Book, and you, Forc'd to disparage what I would admire; Bold man, that dares attempt Pindaric now, Since the great Pindar's greatest Son From the ingrateful age is gone, Cowley has bid th' ingrateful age adieu; 10Apollo's rare Columbus, he Found out new worlds of Poesy: He, like an eagle, soar'd aloft, To seize his noble prey; Yet as a dove's, his soul was soft, Quiet as Night, but bright as Day: To Heaven in a fiery chariot he Ascended by seraphic Poetry; Yet which of us dull mortals since can find Any inspiring mantle, that he left behind? II. 20His powerful numbers might have done you right; He could have spar'd you immortality, Under that Chieftain's banners you might fight Assur'd of laurels, and of victory Over devouring Time and sword and fire And Jove's important ire: My humble verse would better sing David the Shepherd, than the King: And yet methinks 'tis stately to be one (Though of the meaner sort) 30Of them that may approach a Prince's throne, If 'twere but to be seen at Court. Such, Sir, is my ambition for a name, Which I shall rather take from you, than give, For in your Book I cannot miss of fame, But by contact shall live. Thus on your chariot wheel shall I Ride safe, and look as big as Aesop's fly, Who from th' Olympian Race new come, And now triumphantly flown home, 40To's neighbours of the swarm thus proudly said, Don't you remember what a dust I made! III. Where'er the Son of Jesse's harp shall sound, Or Israel's sweetest songs be sung, (Like Samson's lion sweet and strong) You and your happy Muse shall be renown'd, To whose kind hand the Son of Jesse owes His last deliverance from all his foes. Blood-thirsty Saul, less barbarous than they, His person only sought to kill; 50These would his deathless poems slay, And sought immortal blood to spill, To sing whose songs in Babylon would be A new Captivity: Deposèd by these rebels, you alone Restor'd the glorious David to his throne. Long in disguise the royal Prophet lay, Long from his own thoughts banishèd, Ne'er since his death till this illustrious day Was sceptre in his hand, or crown plac'd on his head: 60He seem'd as if at Gath he still had bin As once before proud Achish he appear'd, His face besmear'd, With spittle on his sacred beard, A laughing-stock to the insulting Philistine. Drest in their rhymes, he look'd as he were mad, In tissue you, and Tyrian purple have him clad.

Stanza I. Now blush thyself into confusion, Ridiculous Mortality With indignation to be trampled on By them that court Eternity; Whose generous deeds and prosperous state Seem poorly set within the reach of Fate, Whose every trophy, and each laurel wreath Depends upon a little breath; Confin'd within the narrow bounds of Time, 10And of uncertain age, With doubtful hazards they engage, Thrown down, while victory bids them higher climb; Their glories are eclips'd by Death. Hard circumstances of illustrious men Whom Nature (like the Scythian Prince) detains Within the body's chains (Nature, that rigorous Tamberlain). Stout Bajazet disdain'd the barbarous rage Of that insulting conqueror, 20Bravely himself usurp'd his own expiring power, By dashing out his brains against his iron cage. II. But 'tis indecent to complain, And wretched mortals curse their stars in vain, In vain they waste their tears for them that die, Themselves involv'd in the same destiny, No more with sorrow let it then be said The glorious Albemarle is dead. Let what is said of him triumphant be, Words as gay, as is his Fame, 30And as manly as his name, Words as ample as his praise, And as verdant as his bays, An Epinicion, not an Elegy. Yet why shouldst thou, ambitious Muse, believe Thy gloomy verse can any splendours give, Or make him one small moment longer live? Nothing but what is vulgar thou canst say; Or misbecoming numbers sing; What tribute to his memory canst thou pay, 40Whose virtue say'd a Crown, and could oblige a King? III. Many a year distressèd Albion lay By her unnatural offspring torn, Once the World's terror, then its scorn, At home a prison, and abroad a prey: Her valiant Youth, her valiant Youth did kill, And mutual blood did spill; Usurpers then, and many a mushroom Peer Within her palaces did domineer; There did the vulture build his nest, 50There the owls and satyrs rest, By Zim and Ohim all possest; 'Till England's Angel-Guardian, thou, With pity and with anger mov'd For Albion thy belov'd (Olive-chaplets on thy brow), With bloodless hands upheld'st her drooping head, And with thy trumpets call'dst her from the dead. Bright Phosphor to the rising Sun! That Royal Lamp, by thee did first appear 60Usher'd into our happy hemisphere; O may it still shine bright and clear! No cloud nor night approach it, but a constant noon! IV. Nor thus did thy undaunted valour cease, Or wither with unactive peace: Scarce were our civil broils allay'd, While yet the wound of an intestine war Had left a tender scar, When of our new prosperities afraid, Our jealous neighbours fatal arms prepare; 70In floating groves the enemy drew near. Loud did the Belgian Lion roar, Upon our coasts th' Armada did appear, And boldly durst attempt our native shore, Till his victorious squadrons check'd their pride, And did in triumph o'er the Ocean ride. With thunder, lightning, and with clouds of smoke He did their insolence restrain, And gave his dreadful law to all the main, Whose surly billows trembled when he spoke, 80And put their willing necks under his yoke. This the stupendious vanquisher has done, Whose high prerogative it was alone To raise a ruin'd, and secure an envied throne. V. Then angry Heav'n began to frown, From Heav'n a dreadful pestilence came down, On every side did lamentations rise; Baleful sigh, and heavy groan, All was plaint, and all was moan! The pious friend with trembling love, 90Scarce had his latest kindness done, In sealing up his dead friend's eyes, Ere with his own surprising fate he strove, And wanted one to close his own. Death's iron sceptre bore the sway O'er our imperial Golgotha; Yet he with kind, though unconcernèd eyes, Durst stay and see those numerous tragedies. He in the field had seen Death's grisly shape, Heard him in volleys talk aloud, 100Beheld his grandeur in a glittering crowd, And unamaz'd seen him in cannons gape: Ever unterrified his valour stood Like some tall rock amidst a sea of blood: 'Twas loyalty from sword and pest kept him alive, The safest armour and the best preservative. VI. The flaming City next implor'd his aid, And seasonably pray'd His force against the Fire, whose arms the sea obey'd; Wide did th' impetuous torrent spread, 110Then those goodly fabrics fell, Temples themselves promiscuously there Dropp'd down, and in the common ruin buried were, The City turn'd into one Mongibel: The haughty tyrant shook his curlèd head, His breath with vengeance black, his face with fury red. Then every cheek grew wan and pale, Every heart did yield and fail: Nought but thy presence could its power suppress, Whose stronger light put out the less. 120As London's noble structures rise, Together shall his memory grow, To whom that beauteous town so much does owe. London! joint Favourite with him thou wert; As both possess'd a room within one heart, So now with thine indulgent Sovereign join, Respect his great friend's ashes, for he wept o'er thine. VII. Thus did the Duke perform his mighty stage, Thus did that Atlas of our State With his prodigious acts amaze the age, 130While worlds of wonders on his shoulders sate; Full of glories and of years, He trod his shining and immortal way, Whilst Albion, compass'd with new floods of tears, Besought his longer stay. Profane that pen that dares describe thy bliss, Or write thine Apotheosis! Whom Heaven and thy Prince to pleasure prove, Entrusted with their armies and their love. In other Courts 'tis dangerous to deserve, 140Thou didst a kind and grateful Master serve, Who, to express his gratitude to thee, Scorn'd those ill-natur'd arts of policy. Happy had Belisarius bin (Whose forward fortune was his sin) By many victories undone, He had not liv'd neglected, died obscure, If for thy Prince those battles he had won, Thy Prince, magnificent above his Emperor. VIII. Among the Gods, those Gods that died like thee, 150As great as theirs, and full of majesty, Thy sacred dust shall sleep secure, Thy monument as long as theirs endure: There, free from envy, thou with them Shall have thy share of diadem; Among their badges shall be set Thy Garter and thy coronet; Or (which is statelier) thou shalt have A Mausoleum in thy Prince's breast; There thine embalmèd name shall rest, 160That sanctuary shall thee save From the dishonours of a regal grave: And every wondrous history, Read by incredulous Posterity, That writes of him, shall honourably mention thee, Who by an humble loyalty hast shown, How much sublimer gallantry and renown 'Tis to restore, than to usurp a Monarch's Crown.

Under a gallant Admiral he fought, York, whose success a taller Muse must sing; Who so his country loved, that he forgot He was the Brother of a King; Whose daring courage might inspire A meaner soul than his with martial fire.

And had not our Anointed's flame (From heaven towards his subjects sent) Outblazed the furious element, What could the furious element tame?

Stanza I. In the mild close of an hot summer's day, When a cool breeze had fann'd the air, And heaven's face look'd smooth and fair; Lovely as sleeping infants be, That in their slumber smiling lie Dandled on their mother's knee, You hear no cry, No harsh, nor inharmonious voice, But all is innocence without a noise: 10When every sweet, which the sun's greedy ray So lately from us drew, Began to trickle down again in dew; Weary, and faint, and full of thought, Though for what cause I knew not well, What I ail'd I could not tell, I sate me down at an aged poplar's root, Whose chiding leaves excepted and my breast, All the impertinently busied world inclin'd to rest. II. I list'ned heedfully around, 20But not a whisper there was found. The murmuring brook hard by, As heavy, and as dull as I, Seem'd drowsily along to creep; It ran with undiscover'd pace, And if a pebble stopp'd the lazy race, 'Twas but as if it started in its sleep. Echo herself, that ever lent an ear To any piteous moan, Wont to groan with them that groan, 30Echo herself was speechless here. Thrice did I sigh, thrice miserably cry, Ai me! the Nymph, ai me! would not reply, Or churlish, or she was asleep for company. III. There did I sit and sadly call to mind Far and near, all I could find All the pleasures, all the cares, The jealousies, the fears, All the incertainties of thirty years, From that most inauspicious hour 40Which gave me breath; To that in which the fair Amira's power First made me wish for death: And yet Amira's not unkind; She never gave me angry word, Never my mean address abhorr'd; Beauteous her face, beauteous her mind: Yet something dreadful in her eyes I saw Which ever kept my falt'ring tongue in awe, And gave my panting soul a law. 50So have I seen a modest beggar stand, Worn out with age and being oft denied, On his heart he laid his hand; And though he look'd as if he would have died The needy wretch no alms did crave: He durst not ask for what he fear'd he should not have. IV. I thought on every pensive thing, That might my passion strongly move, That might the sweetest sadness bring; Oft did I think on Death, and oft of Love, 60The triumphs of the little God, and that same ghastly King. The ghastly King, what has he done? How his pale territories spread! Strait scantlings now of consecrated ground His swelling empire cannot bound, But every day new colonies of dead Enhance his conquests, and advance his throne. The mighty City sav'd from storms of War, Exempted from the crimson flood, When all the land o'erflow'd with blood, 70Stoops yet once more to a new conqueror: The City which so many rivals bred, Sackcloth is on her loins, and ashes on her head. V. When will the frowning Heav'n begin to smile? Those pitchy clouds be overblown, That hide the mighty town, That I may see the mighty pile! When will the angry Angel cease to slay, And turn his brandish'd sword away From that illustrious Golgotha, 80London, the great Aceldama! When will that stately landscape open lie, The mist withdrawn that intercepts my eye! That heap of Pyramids appear, Which, now, too much like those of Egypt are: Eternal monuments of pride and sin, Magnificent and tall without, but dead men's bones within.

I. After a blust'ring tedious night, The wind's now hush'd and the black tempest o'er, Which th' crazy vessel miserably tore, Behold a lamentable sight! Rolling far off, upon a briny wave, Compassionate Philander spied A floating carcase ride, That seem'd to beg the kindness of a grave. II. Sad and concern'd, Philander then 10Weigh'd with himself the frail, uncertain state Of silly, strangely disappointed men, Whose projects are the sport of Fate. Perhaps (said he) this poor man's desolate wife, In a strange country far away, Expects some happy day This ghastly thing, the comfort of her life; III. His son it may be dreads no harm, But kindly waits his father's coming home; Himself secure, he apprehends no storm, 20But fancies that he sees him come. Perhaps the good old man, that kiss'd this son, And left a blessing on his head, His arms about him spread, Hopes yet to see him ere his glass be run. IV. These are the grand intrigues of Man, These his huge thoughts, and these his vast desires, Restless, and swelling like the Ocean From his birth till he expires. See where the naked, breathless body lies 30To every puff of wind a slave, At the beck of every wave, That once perhaps was fair, rich, stout, and wise! V. While thus Philander pensive said, Touch'd only with a pity for mankind, At nearer view, he thought he knew the dead, And call'd the wretched man to mind: Alas, said he, art thou that angry thing, That with thy looks didst threaten death, Plagues and destruction breath, 40But two days since, little beneath a King! VI. Ai me! where is thy fury now, Thine insolence, and all thy boundless power, O most ridiculously dreadful thou! Expos'd for beasts and fishes to devour. Go, sottish mortals, let your breasts swell high; All your designs laid deep as Hell, A small mischance can quell, Outwitted by the deeper plots of Destiny. VII. This haughty lump a while before 50Sooth'd up itself, perhaps with hopes of life, What it would do, when it came safe on shore, What for its son, what for its wife; See where the man and all his politics lie. Ye Gods! what gulfs are set between What we have and what we ween, Whilst lull'd in dreams of years to come, we die! VIII. Nor are we liable alone To misadventures on the merciless sea, A thousand other things our Fate bring on, 60And shipwreck'd everywhere we be. One in the tumult of a battle dies Big with conceit of victory, And routing th' enemy, With garlands deck'd, himself the sacrifice. IX. Another, while he pays his vows On bended knees, and Heaven with tears invokes, With adorations as he humbly bows, While with gums the altar smokes, In th' presence of his God, the temple falls: 70And thus religious in vain The flatter'd bigot slain, Breathes out his last within the sacred walls. X. Another with gay trophies proud, From his triumphant chariot overthrown, Makes pastime for the gazers of the crowd, That envied him his purchas'd crown. Some with full meals, and sparkling bowls of wine (As if it made too long delay), Spur on their fatal day, 80Whilst others (needy souls) at theirs repine. XI. Consider well, and every place Offers a ready road to thy long home, Sometimes with frowns, sometimes with smiling face Th' embassadors of Death do come. By open force or secret ambuscade, By unintelligible ways, We end our anxious days, And stock the large plantations of the Dead. XII. But (some may say) 'tis very hard 90With them, whom heavy chance has cast away, With no solemnities at all interr'd, To roam unburied on the sea: No—'tis all one where we receive our doom, Since, somewhere, 'tis our certain lot Our carcases must rot, And they whom heaven covers need no tomb.

When on my sick bed I languish, Full of sorrow, full of anguish, Fainting, gasping, trembling, crying, Panting, groaning, speechless, dying, My soul just now about to take her flight Into the regions of eternal night; Oh tell me you, That have been long below, What shall I do! 10What shall I think, when cruel Death appears, That may extenuate my fears! Methinks I hear some gentle Spirit say, Be not fearful, come away! Think with thyself that now thou shall be free, And find thy long-expected liberty; Better thou mayst, but worse thou canst not be Than in this vale of tears and misery. Like Caesar, with assurance then come on, And unamaz'd attempt the laurel crown, 20That lies on th' other side Death's Rubicon.

Verse IV. Lord, let me know the period of my age, The length of this my weary pilgrimage, How long this miserable life shall last, This life that stays so long, yet flies so fast! Verse V. Thou by a span measur'st these days of mine, Eternity's the spacious bound of thine: Who shall compare his little span with thee, With thine Incomprehensibility. Man born to trouble leaves this world with pain, 10His best estate is altogether vain.

Awake, my soul! Awake, mine eyes! Awake, my drowsy faculties; Awake, and see the new-born light Spring from the darksome womb of Night! Look up and see th' unwearied Sun, Already hath his race begun: The pretty lark is mounted high, And sings her matins in the sky. Arise, my soul! and thou my voice 10In songs of praise, early rejoice! O Great Creator! Heavenly King! Thy praises let me ever sing! Thy power has made, Thy goodness kept This fenceless body while I slept, Yet one day more hast given me From all the powers of darkness free: O keep my heart from sin secure, My life unblameable and pure, That when the last of all my days is come, 20Cheerful and fearless I may wait my doom.

Sleep! downy sleep! come close my eyes, Tir'd with beholding vanities! Sweet slumbers come and chase away The toils and follies of the day: On your soft bosom will I lie, Forget the world, and learn to die. O Israel's watchful Shepherd! spread Tents of Angels round my bed; Let not the Spirits of the air, 10While I slumber, me ensnare; But save Thy suppliant free from harms, Clasp'd in Thine everlasting Arms. Clouds and thick darkness is Thy Throne, Thy wonderful pavilion: Oh dart from thence a shining ray, And then my midnight shall be day! Thus when the morn in crimson drest, Breaks through the windows of the East, My hymns of thankful praises shall arise 20Like incense or the morning sacrifice.

Oh the sad day, When friends shall shake their heads and say Of miserable me, Hark how he groans, look how he pants for breath, See how he struggles with the pangs of Death! When they shall say of these poor eyes, How hollow, and how dim they be! Mark how his breast does swell and rise, Against his potent Enemy! 10When some old friend shall step to my bedside, Touch my chill face, and thence shall gently slide, And when his next companions say, How does he do? what hopes? shall turn away, Answering only with a lift-up hand, Who can his fate withstand? Then shall a gasp or two do more Than e'er my rhetoric could before, Persuade the peevish world to trouble me no more!

Peaceful is he, and most secure, Whose heart and actions all are pure; How smooth and pleasant is his way, Whilst Life's Meander slides away. If a fierce thunderbolt do fly, This man can unconcernèd lie; Knows 'tis not levell'd at his head, So neither noise nor flash can dread: Though a swift whirlwind tear in sunder 10Heav'n above him, or earth under; Though the rocks on heaps do tumble, Or the world to ashes crumble, Though the stupendious mountains from on high Drop down, and in their humble valleys lie; Should the unruly Ocean roar, And dash its foam against the shore; He finds no tempest in his mind, Fears no billow, feels no wind: All is serene, all quiet there, 20There's not one blast of troubled air, Old stars may fall, or new ones blaze, Yet none of these his soul amaze; Such is the man can smile at irksome death, And with an easy sigh give up his breath.

He that has never yet acquainted been With cruel Chance, nor Virtue naked seen, Stripp'd from th' advantages (which vices wear) Of happy, plausible, successful, fair; Nor learnt how long the low'ring cloud may last, Wherewith her beauteous face is overcast, Till she her native glories does recover, And shines more bright, after the storm is over; To be inform'd, he need no further go, 10Than this Divine Epitome of woe. In Johnson's Life and Writings he may find, What Homer in his Odysses design'd, A virtuous man, by miserable fate, Rend'red ten thousand ways unfortunate; Sometimes within a leaking vessel tost, All hopes of life and the lov'd shore quite lost, While hidden sands, and every greedy wave With horror gap'd themselves into a grave: Sometimes upon a rock with fury thrown, 20Moaning himself, where none could hear his moan; Sometimes cast out upon the barren sand, Expos'd to th' mercy of a barbarous land: Such was the pious Johnson, till kind Heaven A blessèd end to all his toils had given: To show that virtuous men, though they appear But Fortune's sport, are Providence's care.

Seest thou those Rays, the Light 'bove them? And that gay thing the Diadem? The Wheel and Balance, which are tied To th' Gold, black Clouds on either side? Seest thou the wingèd Trumpeters withal, That kick the World's blue tottering Ball? The flying Globe, the Glass thereon, Those fragments of a Skeleton? The Bays, the Palms, the Fighting men, 10And written Scroll?—Come tell me then, Did thy o'er-curious eye e'er see An apter scheme of Misery? What's all that Gold and sparkling Stones To that bald Skull, to those Cross Bones? What mean those Blades (whom we adore) To stain the Earth with purple gore? Sack stately towns, silk banners spread, Gallop their coursers o'er the dead? Far more than this? and all to sway 20But till those sands shall glide away. For when the bubble world shall fly With stretch'd-out plumes, when the brisk eye Shall close with anguish, sink with tears, And th' angels' trumpets pierce our ears, What's haughty man, or those fine things, Which Heaven calls men, though men style kings? Vain World, adieu! and farewell, fond renown! Give me the Glory, that's above the Crown.

I. Thoughts! What are they? They are my constant friends, Who, when harsh Fate its dull brow bends, Uncloud me with a smiling ray, And in the depth of midnight force a day. II. When I retire, and flee The busy throngs of company To hug myself in privacy; O the discourse! the pleasant talk, 10'Twixt us (my thoughts) along a lonely walk! III. You, like the stupefying wine The dying malefactors sip With shivering lip, T' abate the rigour of their doom, By a less troublous cut to their long home; Make me slight crosses, though they pil'd up lie, All by th' enchantments of an ecstasy. IV. Do I desire to see The Throne and Majesty 20Of that proud one, Brother and Uncle to the Stars and Sun? Those can conduct me where such toys reside, And waft me 'cross the main, sans wind and tide. V. Would I descry Those radiant mansions 'bove the sky, Invisible by mortal eye? My Thoughts, my Thoughts can lay A shining track thereto, And nimbly fleeting go: 30Through all the eleven orbs can shove a way, These too, like Jacob's Ladder, are A most Angelic thoroughfare. VI. The wealth that shines In th' Oriental mines; Those sparkling gems which Nature keeps Within her cabinets, the deeps; The verdant fields, The rarities the rich World yields; Rare structures, whose each gilded spire 40Glimmers like lightning; which, while men admire, They deem the neighbouring sky on fire,— These can I gaze upon, and glut mine eyes With myriads of varieties. As on the front of Pisgah, I Can th' Holy Land through these my optics spy. VII. Contemn we then The peevish rage of men, Whose violence ne'er can divorce Our mutual amity; 50Or lay so damn'd a curse As Non-addresses, 'twixt my thoughts and me: For though I sigh in irons, they Use their old freedom, readily obey; And when my bosom-friends desert me, stay. VIII. Come then, my darlings, I'll embrace My privilege; make known The high prerogative I own, By making all allurements give you place; Whose sweet society to me 60A sanctuary and a shield shall be 'Gainst the full quivers of my Destiny.

I. Intolerable racks! Distend my soul no more, Loud as the billows when they roar, More dreadful than the hideous thunder-cracks. Foes inappeasable, that slay My best contents, around me stand, Each like a Fury, with a torch in hand; And fright me from the hopes of one good day. II. When I seclude myself, and say 10How frolic will I be, Unfetter'd from my company I'll bathe me in felicity! In come these guests, Which Harpy-like defile my feasts: Oh the damn'd dialogues, the cursèd talk 'Twixt us (my Thoughts) along a sullen walk. III. You, like the poisonous wine The gallants quaff To make 'em laugh, 20And yet at last endure From thence the tortures of a calenture, Fool me with feign'd refections, till I lie Stark raving in a Bedlam ecstasy. IV. Do I dread The starry Throne and Majesty Of that high God, Who batters kingdoms with an iron rod, And makes the mountains stagger with a nod? That sits upon the glorious Bow, 30Smiling at changes here below. These goad me to his grand tribunal, where They tell me I with horror must appear, And antedate amazements by grim fear. V. Would I descry Those happy souls' blest mansions 'bove the sky, Invisible by mortal eye, And in a noble speculation trace A journey to that shining place; Can I afford a sigh or two, 40Or breathe a wish that I might thither go: These clip my plumes, and chill my blazing love That, O, I cannot, cannot soar above. VI. The fire that shines In subterranean mines, The crystall'd streams, The sulphur rocks that glow upon The torrid banks of Phlegeton; Those sooty fiends which Nature keeps, Bolted and barr'd up in the deeps; 50Black caves, wide chasms, which who see confess Types of the pit, so deep, so bottomless! These mysteries, though I fain would not behold, You to my view unfold: Like an old Roman criminal, to the high Tarpeian Hill you force me up, that I May so be hurried headlong down, and die. VII. Mention not then The strength and faculties of men; Whose arts cannot expel 60These anguishes, this bosom-Hell. When down my aching head I lay, In hopes to slumber them away; Perchance I do beguile The tyranny awhile, One or two minutes, then they throng again, And reassault me with a trebled pain: Nay, though I sob in fetters, they Spare me not then; perplex me each sad day, And whom a very Turk would pity, slay. VIII. 70Hence, hence, my Jailors! Thoughts be gone, Let my tranquillities alone. Shall I embrace A crocodile, or place My choice affections on the fatal dart, That stabs me to the heart? I hate your curst proximity, Worse than the venom'd arrows-heads that be Cramm'd in the quivers of my Destiny.

Judgement! two syllables can make The haughtiest son of Adam shake. 'Tis coming, and 'twill surely come, The dawning to that Day of Doom; O th' morning blush of that dread day, When Heav'n and Earth shall steal away, Shall in their pristine Chaos hide, Rather than th' angry Judge abide. 'Tis not far off; methinks I see 10Among the stars some dimmer be; Some tremble, as their lamps did fear A neighbouring extinguisher. The greater luminaries fail, Their glories by eclipses veil, Knowing ere long their borrow'd light Must sink in th' Universal Night. When I behold a mist arise, Straight to the same astonish'd eyes Th' ascending clouds do represent 20A scene of th' smoking firmament. Oft when I hear a blustering wind With a tempestuous murmur join'd, I fancy, Nature in this blast Practises how to breathe her last, Or sighs for poor Man's misery, Or pants for fair Eternity. Go to the dull church-yard and see Those hillocks of mortality, Where proudest Man is only found 30By a small swelling in the ground. What crowds of carcases are made Slaves to the pickaxe and the spade! Dig but a foot, or two, to make A cold bed, for thy dead friend's sake, 'Tis odds but in that scantling room Thou robb'st another of his tomb, Or in thy delving smit'st upon A shinbone, or a cranion. When th' prison's full, what next can be 40But the Grand Gaol-Delivery? The Great Assize, when the pale clay Shall gape, and render up its prey; When from the dungeon of the grave The meagre throng themselves shall heave, Shake off their linen chains, and gaze With wonder, when the world shall blaze. Then climb the mountains, scale the rocks, Force op'n the deep's eternal locks, Beseech the clifts to lend an ear— 50Obdurate they, and will not hear. What? ne'er a cavern, ne'er a grot, To cover from the common lot? No quite forgotten hold, to lie Obscur'd, and pass the reck'ning by? No—There's a quick all-piercing Eye Can through the Earth's dark centre pry, Search into th' bowels of the sea, And comprehend Eternity. What shall we do then, when the voice 60Of the shrill trump with strong fierce noise Shall pierce our ears, and summon all To th' Universe' wide Judgement Hall? What shall we do! we cannot hide, Nor yet that scrutiny abide: When enlarg'd conscience loudly speaks, And all our bosom-secrets breaks; When flames surround, and greedy Hell Gapes for a booty (who can dwell With everlasting Burnings!), when 70Irrevocable words shall pass on men; Poor naked men, who sometimes thought These frights perhaps would come to nought! What shall we do! we cannot run For refuge, or the strict Judge shun. 'Tis too late then to think what course to take; While we live here, we must provision make.

I. Nunquam sitivi, quae vehit aureo Pactolus alveo flumina; quo magis Potatur Hermus, tanto avarae Mentis Hydrops sitibundus ardet. II. Frustrà caduci carceris incola Molirer Arces; quilibet angulus Sat ossa post manes reponet; Exiguum satis est Sepulchrum. III. Nil stemma penso, nil titulos moror, 10Cerásve aviti sanguinis indices, Sunt ista fatorum, inque Lethes Naufragium patientur undis. IV. Ergo in quieto pectoris ambitu Quid mens anhelas fulgura gloriae, Laudésque inanes, et loquacem Quae populi sedet ore famam? V. Letho superstes gloria, somnii Dulcedo vana est, fama malignior Nil tangit umbras, nec feretrum 20Ingreditur Popularis Aura. VI. Mansura sector, sola sed invidi Expers Sepulchri sidera trajicit, Spernénsque fatorum tumultus Pellit humum generosa Virtus. VII. Praeceps novorum caetera mensium Consumet aetas, seraque temporis Delebit annosi vetustas Utopicae nova Regna Lunae.

I. I never thirsted for the Golden Flood, Which o'er Pactolus' wealthy sands does roll, From whence the covetous mind receives no good, But rather swells the dropsy of his soul. II. On palaces why should I set my mind, Imprison'd in this body's mould'ring clay? Ere long to poor six foot of earth confin'd, Whose bones must crumble at the fatal day. III. Titles and pedigrees, what are they to me, 10Or honour gain'd by our forefathers' toil, The sport of Fate, whose gaudiest pageantry Lethe will wash out, dark Oblivion soil? IV. Why then, my soul, who fain wouldst be at ease, Should the World's glory dazzle thy bright eye? Thyself with vain applause why shouldst thou please, Or dote on Fame, which fools may take from thee? V. Praise after death is but a pleasant dream, The Dead fare ne'er the worse for ill report; The Ghosts below know nothing of a name, 20Nor ever popular caresses court. VI. Give me the lasting Good, Virtue, that flies Above the clouds, that tramples on dull earth, Exempt from Fate's tumultuous mutinies, Virtue, that cannot need a second birth. VII. All other things must bend their heads to Time, By age's mighty torrent borne away, Hereafter no more thought on than my rhyme, Or faery kingdoms in Utopia.

Verse I. Who shall approach the dread Jehovah's Throne Or dwell within thy courts, O Holy One! That happy man whose feet shall tread the road Up Sion's Hill, that holy Hill of God! Verse II. He that's devout and strict in all he does, That through the sinful world uprightly goes, The desp'rate heights from whence the great ones fall (Giddy with Fame) turn not his head at all: Stands firm on Honour's pinnacle, and so 10Fears not the dreadful precipice below. Of Conscience, not of Man, he stands in awe, Just to observe each tittle of the Law! His words and thoughts bear not a double part, His breast is open, and he speaks his heart. Verse III. He that reviles not, or with cruel words (Deadly as venom, sharp as two-edg'd swords) Murthers his friend's repute, nor dares believe That rumour which his neighbour's soul may grieve: But with kind words embalms his bleeding Name, 20Wipes off the rust, and polishes his fame. Verse IV. He in whose eyes the bravest sinners be Extremely vile, though rob'd in majesty; But if he spies a righteous man (though poor) Him he can honour, love, admire, adore: In Israel's humble plains had rather stay, Than in the tents of Kedar bear the sway: He that severely keeps his sacred vow, No mental reservation dares allow, But what he swears, intends; will rather die, 30Lose all he has, than tell a solemn lie. Verse V. He that extorts not from the needy soul, When laws his tyranny cannot control; He whom a thousand empires cannot hire, Against a guiltless person to conspire. He that has these perfections, needs no more; What treasures can be added to his store? The Pyramids shall turn to dust, to hide Their own vast bulk, and haughty Founders' pride. Leviathan shall die within his deep; 40The eyes of Heaven close in eternal sleep; Confusion may o'erwhelm both sea and land; Mountains may tumble down, but he shall stand.

Few be the days that feeble man must breath, Yet frequent troubles antedate his death: Gay like a flow'r he comes, which newly grown, Fades of itself, or is untimely mown: Like a thin aery shadow does he fly, Length'ning and short'ning still until he die. And does Jehovah think on such a one, Does he behold him from his mighty Throne? Will he contend with such a worthless thing, 10Or dust and ashes into Judgement bring? Unclean, unclean is man ev'n from the womb, Unclean he falls into his drowsy tomb. Surely, he cannot answer God, nor be Accounted pure, before such purity.

Naked I came, when I began to be A man among the Sons of Misery, Tender, unarm'd, helpless, and quite forlorn, E'er since 'twas my hard fortune to be born; And when the space of a few weary days Shall be expir'd, then must I go my ways. Naked I shall return, and nothing have, Nothing wherewith to bribe my hungry Grave. Then what's the proudest Monarch's glittering robe, 10Or what's he, more than I, that rul'd the globe? Since we must all without distinction die, And slumber both stark naked, he and I.

If there were aught in Verse at once could raise Or tender pity or immortal praise, Thine obsequies, brave Sandwich, would require Whatever would our nobler thoughts inspire; But since thou find'st by thy unhappy fate, What 'tis to be unfortunately great, And purchase Honour at too dear a rate: The Muse's best attempt, howe'er design'd, Cannot but prove impertinently kind, 10Thy glorious valour is a theme too high For all the humble arts of Poesy. To side with chance and kingdoms overrun Are little things ambitious men have done; But on a flaming ship thus to despise That life, which others did so highly prize; To fight with fire, and struggle with a wave, And Neptune with unwearied arms outbrave, Are deeds surpassing fab'lous chronicle, And which no future age shall parallel; 20Leviathan himself's outdone by thee, Thou greater wonder of the deep, than he: Nor could the deep thy mighty ashes hold. The deep that swallows diamonds and gold; Fame ev'n thy sacred relics does pursue, Richer than all the treasures of Peru: While the kind sea thy breathless body brings Safe to the bed of honour and of kings.

Here lies the dust of that illustrious man, That triumph'd o'er the Ocean; Who for his country nobly courted Death, And dearly sold his glorious breath, Or in a word, in this cold narrow grave Sandwich the Good, the Great, the Brave (Oh frail estate of sublunary things!), Lies equal here with England's greatest kings.

I. At break of day poor Celadon Hard by his sheepfolds walk'd alone, His arms across, his head bow'd down, His oaten pipe beside him thrown, When Thirsis, hidden in a thicket by, Thus heard the discontented Shepherd cry. II. What is it Celadon has done, That all his happiness is gone! The curtains of the dark are drawn, 10And cheerful morn begins to dawn, Yet in my breast 'tis ever dead of night, That can admit no beam of pleasant light. III. You pretty lambs may leap and play To welcome the new-kindled day, Your shepherd harmless, as are you, Why is he not as frolic too? If such disturbance th' innocent attend, How differs he from them that dare offend! IV. Ye Gods! or let me die, or live, 20If I must die, why this reprieve? If you would have me live, O why Is it with me as those that die! I faint, I gasp, I pant, my eyes are set, My cheeks are pale, and I am living yet. V. Ye Gods! I never did withhold The fattest lamb of all my fold, But on your altars laid it down, And with a garland did it crown. Is it in vain to make your altar smoke? 30Is it all one, to please, and to provoke? VI. Time was that I could sit and smile, Or with a dance the time beguile: My soul like that smooth lake was still, Bright as the sun behind yon hill, Like yonder stately mountain clear and high, Swift, soft, and gay as that same butterfly. VII. But now within there's Civil War, In arms my rebel passions are, Their old allegiance laid aside, 40The traitors now in triumph ride That many-headed monster has thrown down Its lawful monarch, Reason, from its throne. VIII. See, unrelenting Sylvia, see, All this, and more, is 'long of thee: For ere I saw that charming face, Uninterrupted was my peace, Thy glorious beamy eyes have struck me blind, To my own soul the way I cannot find. IX. Yet is it not thy fault nor mine; 50Heav'n is to blame, that did not shine Upon us both with equal rays— It made thine bright, mine gloomy days; To Sylvia beauty gave, and riches store; All Celadon's offence is, he is poor. X. Unlucky stars poor shepherds have, Whose love is fickle Fortune's slave: Those golden days are out of date, When every turtle chose his mate: Cupid, that mighty Prince, then uncontroll'd, 60Now like a little negro's bought and sold.

Did you not hear the hideous groan, The shrieks, and heavy moan That spread themselves o'er all the pensive plain; And rent the breast of many a tender swain? 'Twas for Amintas, dead and gone. Sing, ye forsaken shepherds, sing His praise In careless melancholy lays, Lend Him a little doleful breath: Poor Amintas! cruel Death! 10'Twas Thou couldst make dead words to live, Thou that dull numbers couldst inspire With charming voice and tuneful lyre, That life to all, but to Thyself, couldst give; Why couldst Thou not Thy wondrous art bequeath? Poor Amintas! cruel Death! Sing, pious shepherds, while you may, Before th' approaches of the Fatal Day: For you yourselves that sing this mournful song, Alas! ere it be long, 20Shall, like Amintas, breathless be, Though more forgotten in the grave than He.

I heard a young lover in terrible pain, From whence if he pleas'd, he might soon be releas'd, He swore, and he vow'd again and again, He could not outlive the turmoils of his breast; But, alas, the young lover I found Knew little how cold Love would prove under ground; Why should I believe, prithee, Love, tell me why, Where my own flesh and blood must give me the lie! Let 'em rant while they will, and their destinies brave, 10They'll find their flames vanish on this side the grave; For though all addresses on purpose are made To be huddled to bed,—'tisn't meant, with a spade!

I'll ne'er believe for Strephon's sake That Love (whate'er its fond pretences be), Is not a slave to mutability. The Moon and that alike of change partake: Tears are weak, and cannot bind, Vows, alas! but empty wind: The greatest art that Nature gave To th' amorous hypocrite to make him kind, Long ere he dies will take its leave. 10Had you but seen, as I have done, Strephon's tears, and heard his moan, How pale his cheek, how dim his eye, As if with Chloris he resolv'd to die; And when her spotless soul was fled Heard his amazing praises of the dead; Yet in a very little time address His flame t' another Shepherdess, In a few days giving his love the lie, You'd be as great an infidel as I.

I. Go, gentle Oriana, go, Thou seest the Gods will have it so; Alas! alas! 'tis much in vain Of their ill usage to complain, To curse them when we want relief, Lessens our courage, not our grief: Dear Oriana, wipe thine eye, The time may come that thou and I Shall meet again, long, long to prove 10What vigour absence adds to love. Smile, Oriana, then, and let me see That look again, which stole my liberty. II. But say that Oriana die (And that sad moment may be nigh), The Gods that for a year can sever, If it please them, can part us ever; They that refresh, can make us weep, And into Death can lengthen sleep. Kind Oriana, should I hear 20The thing I so extremely fear, 'Twill not be strange, if it be said, After a while, I too am dead. Weep, Oriana, weep, for who does know Whether we e'er shall meet again below?

I. O mighty King of Terrors, come! Command thy slave to his long home: Great sanctuary Grave! to thee In throngs the miserable flee; Encircled in thy frozen arms, They bid defiance to their harms, Regardless of those pond'rous little things That discompose th' uneasy heads of kings. II. In the cold earth the pris'ner lies 10Ransom'd from all his miseries; Himself forgotten, he forgets His cruel creditors, and debts; And there in everlasting peace Contentions with their authors cease. A turf of grass or monument of stone Umpires the petty competition. III. The disappointed lover there, Breathes not a sigh, nor sheds a tear; With us (fond fools) he never shares 20In sad perplexities and cares; The willow near his tomb that grows Revives his memory, not his woes; Or rain, or shine, he is advanc'd above Th' affronts of Heaven and stratagems of Love. IV. Then, mighty King of Terrors, come, Command thy slave to his long home. And thou, my friend, that lov'st me best, Seal up these eyes that brake my rest; Put out the lights, bespeak my knell, 30And then eternally farewell. 'Tis all th' amends our wretched Fates can give, That none can force a desperate man to live.

Adieu, fond World, and all thy wiles, Thy haughty frowns, and treacherous smiles, They that behold thee with my eyes, Thy double dealing will despise: From thee, false World, my deadly foe, Into some desert let me go; Some gloomy melancholy cave, Dark and silent as the grave; Let me withdraw, where I may be From thine impertinences free: 10There when I hear the turtle groan, How sweetly would I make my moan! Kind Philomel would teach me there My sorrows pleasantly to bear: There could I correspond with none But Heaven, and my own breast alone.

I. Had Phyllis neither charms, nor graces More than the rest of women wear, Levell'd by Fate with common faces, Yet Damon could esteem her fair. II. Good-natur'd Love can soon forgive Those petty injuries of Time, And all th' affronts of years impute To her misfortune, not her crime. III. Wedlock puts Love upon the rack, 10Makes it confess 'tis still the same In icy age, as it appear'd At first when all was lively flame. IV. If Hymen's slaves, whose ears are bored, Thus constant by compulsion be, Why should not choice endear us more Than them their hard necessity? V. Phyllis! 'tis true, thy glass does run, But since mine too keeps equal pace, My silver hairs may trouble thee, 20As much as me thy ruin'd face. VI. Then let us constant be as Heaven, Whose laws inviolable are, Not like those rambling meteors there That foretell ills, and disappear. VII. So shall a pleasing calm attend Our long uneasy destiny, So shall our loves and lives expire, From storms and tempests ever free.

Why should we murmur, why repine, Phyllis, at thy fate, or mine? Like pris'ners, why do we those fetters shake; Which neither thou, nor I can break? There is a better way to baffle Fate, If mortals would but mind it, And 'tis not hard to find it: Who would be happy, must be desperate; He must despise those stars that fright 10Only fools that dread the night; Time and chance he must outbrave, He that crouches is their slave. Thus the wise Pagans, ill at ease, Bravely chastis'd their surly Deities.

I. Why did I ever see those glorious eyes My famish'd soul to tantalize? I hop'd for Heav'n, which I had lately seen, But ne'er perceiv'd the gulf between: In vain for bliss did my presumptions seek, My love so strong I could not hold my tongue, My heart so feeble that I durst not speak. II. Yet why do I my constitution blame, 10Since all my heart is out of frame? 'Twere better, sure, my passion to appease, With hope to palliate my disease: And 'twill be something like tranquillity, To hope for that I must not compass yet, And make a virtue of necessity.

I. When Coridon a slave did lie, Entangled in his Phyllis' eye, How did he sigh! how did he groan! How melancholy was his tone! He told his story to the woods, And wept his passion by the floods; Then Phyllis, cruel Phyllis, too to blame, Regarded not his sufferings, nor his flame. II. Then Coridon resolv'd no more 10His mistress' mercy to implore; How did he laugh, how did he sing! How did he make the forest ring! He told his conquest to the woods, And drown'd his passion in the floods: Then Phyllis, gentle Phyllis, less severe, Would have had him, but he would none of her.

I. Good faith! I never was but once so mad To dote upon an idle woman's face, And then, alas! my fortune was so bad To see another chosen in my place; And yet I courted her, I'm very sure, With love as true as his was, and as pure. II. But if I ever be so fond again To undertake the second part of love, To reassume that most unmanlike pain, 10Or after shipwreck do the ocean prove; My mistress must be gentle, kind, and free, Or I'll be as indifferent as she.

I. As poor Aurelia sate alone, Hard by a rivulet's flow'ry side, Envious at Nature's new-born pride, Her slighted self she thus reflected on. II. Alas! that Nature should revive These flowers, which after Winter's snow Spring fresh again, and brighter show, But for our fairer sex so ill contrive! III. Beauty, like theirs a short-liv'd thing, 10On us in vain she did bestow, Beauty that only once can grow, An Autumn has, but knows no second Spring.

C. Why dost thou all address deny? Hard-hearted Parthenissa, why? See how the trembling lovers come, That from thy lips expect their doom. P. Cloris! I hate them all, they know, Nay I have often told them so; Their silly politics abhorr'd: I scorn to make my slave my lord. C. But Strephon's eyes proclaim his love 10Too brave, tyrannical to prove. P. Ah, Cloris! when we lose our pow'r We must obey the conqueror. C. Yet where a gentle Prince bears sway, It is no bondage to obey. P. But if like Nero, for awhile, With arts of kindness he beguile; How shall the tyrant be withstood When he has writ his laws in blood! C. Love, Parthenissa, all commands: 20It fetters Kings in charming bands; Mars yields his arms to Cupid's darts, And Beauty softens savage hearts. Chorus. If nothing else can pull the Tyrant down, Kill him with kindness, and the day's your own.

Orpheus. Eurydice, my fair, my fair Eurydice! My love, my joy, my life, if so thou be In Pluto's kingdom answer me; appear And come to thy poor Orpheus.—— Eur. Oh, I hear, I hear, dear Orpheus, but I cannot come Beyond the bounds of dull Elysium. I cannot—— Orph. And why wilt thou not draw near? Is there within these courts a shade so dear As he that calls thee? Eur. No, there cannot be 10A thing so lovely in mine eyes as thee. Orph. Why comes not then Eurydice? Eur. The Fates, The Fates forbid, and these eternal gates, Never unbarr'd to let a pris'ner go, Deny me passage; nay, grim Cerberus too Stands at the door—— Orph. But cannot then They that o'er Lethe go, return again? Eur. Never, oh never!—— Orph. Sure they may, let's try If Art can null the Laws of Destiny. My lays compacted Thebes, made every tree 20Loosen its roots to caper; come let's see What thou and I can do. Chor. Perchance the throng Of Ghosts may be enchanted with a song, And mov'd to pity.—— Eur. Hark! the hinges move, The gate's unbarr'd. I come, I come, my Love! Chorus amborum. 'Twas Music, only Music, could unspell Helpless, undone Eurydice from Hell.

Like a dog with a bottle, fast ty'd to his tail, Like vermin in a trap, or a thief in a jail, Like a Tory in a bog, Or an ape with a clog: Such is the man, who when he might go free, Does his liberty lose For a Matrimony noose, And sells himself into captivity. The dog he does howl, when his bottle does jog, 10The vermin, the thief, and the Tory in vain Of the trap, of the jail, of the quagmire complain. But well fare poor Pug! for he plays with his clog; And though he would be rid on 't rather than his life, Yet he lugs it, and he hugs it, as a man does his wife.

How happy a thing were a wedding And a bedding, If a man might purchase a wife For a twelvemonth and a day; But to live with her all a man's life, For ever and for ay, Till she grow as grey as a cat, Good faith, Mr. Parson, I thank you for that.

Ye cats that at midnight spit love at each other, Who best feel the pangs of a passionate lover, I appeal to your scratches and your tattered fur, If the business of Love be no more than to purr. Old Lady Grimalkin with her gooseberry eyes, Knew something when a kitten, for why she was wise; You find by experience, the love-fit's soon o'er, Puss! Puss! lasts not long, but turns to Cat-whore! Men ride many miles, Cats tread many tiles, Both hazard their necks in the fray; Only Cats, when they fall From a house or a wall, Keep their feet, mount their tails, and away!

I. Now fie upon him! what is Man, Whose life at best is but a span? When to an inch it dwindles down, Ice in his bones, snow on his crown, That he within his crazy brain Kind thoughts of Love should entertain, That he, when harvest comes, should plow, And when 'tis time to reap, go sow, Who, in imagination only strong, 10Though twice a child, can never twice grow young. II. Nature did those design for fools, That sue for work, yet have no tools. What fellow-feeling can there be In such a strange disparity? Old age mistakes the youthful breast, Love dwells not there, but Interest: Alas, good man! take thy repose, Get ribband for thy thumbs and toes. Provide thee flannel, and a sheet of lead,— 20Think on thy Coffin, not thy Bridal Bed.

I. I did but crave that I might kiss, If not her lip, at least her hand, The coolest Lover's frequent bliss, And rude is she that will withstand That inoffensive liberty: She (would you think it?) in a fume Turn'd her about and left the room; Not she, she vow'd, not she. II. Well, Chariessa, then said I, 10If it must thus for ever be, I can renounce my slavery, And since you will not, can be free. Many a time she made me die, Yet (would you think 't?) I lov'd the more, But I'll not take 't as heretofore, Not I, I'll vow, not I.

I. Had I but known some years ago What wretched lovers undergo, The tempests and the storms that rise From their Belovèd's dangerous eyes, With how much torment they endure That ague and that calenture; Long since I had my error seen, Long since repented of my sin: Too late the soldier dreads the trumpet's sound 10That newly has receiv'd his mortal wound. II. But so adventurous was I My fortunes all alone to try, Needs must I kiss the burning light, Because it shin'd, because 'twas bright. My heart with youthful heat on fire, I thought some God did me inspire; And that blind zeal embold'ned me T' attempt Althea's Deity. Surely those happy Pow'rs that dwell above, 20Or never courted, or enjoy'd their love.

I. Be not too proud, imperious Dame, Your charms are transitory things, May melt, while you at Heaven aim, Like Icarus's waxen wings; And you a part in his misfortunes bear, Drown'd in a briny Ocean of despair. II. You think your beauties are above The Poet's brain and Painter's hand, As if upon the Throne of Love You only should the world command: 10 Yet know, though you presume your title true, There are pretenders that will rival you. III. There's an experienc'd rebel, Time, And in his squadron's Poverty; There's Age that brings along with him A terrible artillery: And if against all these thou keep'st thy crown, Th' usurper Death will make thee lay it down.

I yield, I yield! Divine Althaea, see How prostrate at thy feet I bow, Fondly in love with my captivity, So weak am I, so mighty thou! Not long ago I could defy, Arm'd with wine and company, Beauty's whole artillery: Quite vanquish'd now by thy miraculous charms, Here, fair Althaea, take my arms, For sure he cannot be of human race, That can resist so bright, so sweet a face.

I. Why so serious, why so grave? Man of business, why so muddy? Thyself from Chance thou canst not save With all thy care and study. Look merrily then, and take thy repose; For 'tis to no purpose to look so forlorn, Since the World was as bad before thou wert born, And when it will mend who knows? And a thousand year hence 'tis all one, 10If thou lay'st on a dunghill, or sat'st on a throne. II. To be troubled, to be sad, Carking mortal, 'tis a folly, For a pound of Pleasure's not so bad As an ounce of Melancholy: Since all our lives long we travel towards Death, Let us rest us sometimes, and bait by the way, 'Tis but dying at last; in our race let us stay, And we shan't be so soon out of breath. Sit the comedy out, and that done, 20When the play's at an end, let the curtain fall down.

I. Remov'd from fair Urania's eyes Into a village far away: Fond Astrophil began to say, Thy charms, Urania, I despise; Go bid some other shepherd for thee die, That never understood thy tyranny. II. Return'd at length the amorous swain, Soon as he saw his deity, Ador'd again, and bow'd his knee, 10Became her slave, and wore her chain. The Needle thus that motionless did lie, Trembles, and moves, when the lov'd Loadstone's nigh.

I. I did but see her, and she's snatch'd away, I find I did but happy seem; So small a while did my contentments stay, As short and pleasant as a dream: Yet such are all our satisfactions here, They raise our hopes, and then they disappear. II. Ill-natur'd Stars, that evermore conspire To quench poor Strephon's flame, To stop the progress of his swift desire, 10And leave him but an aëry name; Why art thou doom'd (of no pretences proud) Ixion-like thus to embrace a cloud? III. Yet why should Strephon murmur, why complain, Or envy Phyllis her delight, Why should her pleasures be to him a pain, Easier perhaps out of his sight? No, Strephon, no! If Phyllis happy be, Thou shouldst rejoice, whate'er becomes of thee. IV. Amidst the charming glories of the spring 20In pleasant fields and goodly bowers, Indulgent Nature seems concern'd to bring All that may bless her innocent hours, While thy disastrous Fate has tied thee down To all the noise and tumult of the Town. V. Strephon that for himself expects no good To Phyllis wishes everywhere A long serenity without a cloud, Sweet as these smiles of th' infant year. May Halcyons in her bosom build their nest, 30Whatever storms shall discompose my breast.