Poems in Manuscript.

Sleep, precious ashes, in thy sacred urn From Death and Grave till th' last trump sounds return; Meanwhile embalm'd in Virtues. Joseph's Tomb Were fitter for thee, than the Earth's dark womb. Cease, Friends, to weep; she's but asleep, not dead,— Chang'd from her husband's, to her mother's, bed; Or from his bosom into Abram's rather, Where now she rests, Blest Soul, in such a Father. Thus Death hath done his best, and worst. His best, 10In sending Virtue to her place of rest; His worst, in leaving him, as dead, in life Whose chiefest Joys were in his dearest Wife.

To what serve Laws, where only Money reigns? Or where a poor man's cause no right obtains? Even those that most austerity pretend, Hire out their tongues, and words for profit lend. What's Judgement then, but public merchandise? And the Court sits, but to allow the price.

When Arria to her Paetus had bequeath'd The sword in her chaste bosom newly sheath'd; Trust me (quoth she) My own wound feels no smart; 'Tis thine (My Paetus) grieves and kills my heart.

He whose advent'rous keel ploughs the rough seas, Takes interest of fate for wealth's increase. He that in battle traffics, and pitch'd fields, Reaps with his sword rich harvests, which war yields. Base parasites repose their drunken heads, Laden with sleep and wine, on Tyrian beds; And he that melts in Lust's adult'rous fire, Gets both reward and pleasure for his hire. But Learning only, midst this wanton heat, Hath (save itself) nothing to wear or eat; Faintly exclaiming on the looser Times, That value Wit and Arts below their crimes.

The fate of books is diverse as man's sense: Two critics ne'er shar'd one intelligence.

I would not in my love too soon prevail: An easy conquest makes the purchase stale.^{1 1} From a copy most kindly made for me by Mr. Nichol Smith. It is a harmless enough, and rather neat, translation of Petronius, Nolo quod cupio, &c.

Blessed Spirit, thy infant breath, Fitter for the quire of saints Than for mortals here beneath, Warbles joys, but mine complaints— Plaints that spring from that great loss Of thy little self, sad cross. Yet do I still repair thee by desire Which warms my benumbed sense, but like false fire. But with such delusive shapes 10Still my pensive thoughts are eased, As birds bating at mock grapes Are with empty error pleased. Yet I err not, for decay Hath but seized thy house of clay, For lo the lively image of each part Makes deep impression on my waxy heart. Thus learn I to possess the thing I want; Having great store of thee, and yet great scant. Oh let me thus recall thee, ne'er repine, 20Since what is thy fate now, must once be mine.

Fond, hapless man, lost in thy vain desire; Thy lost desire May now retire. She, like a salamander, in thy flame Sports with Love's name, And lives the same, Unsinged, impenetrably cold. Sure, careless Boy, thou slep'st; and Death, instead Of thine, conveyed 10His dart of lead. This thou unluckily at her hast sent, Who now is bent Not to relent, Though thou spend all thy shafts of gold. I prithee filch another fatal dart And pierce my heart; To ease this smart, Strike all my senses dull. Thy force devours Me and my powers 20In tedious hours, And thy injustice I'll proclaim Or use some art to cause her heat return, Or whilst I burn Make her my urn, Where I may bury in a marble chest All my unrest. Thus her cold breast, If it but lodge, will quench, my flame.

Come, my shadow, constant, true, Stay, and do not fly me: When I court thee or would sue, Thou wilt not deny me. Female loves I find unkind And devoid of pity; Therefore I have changed my mind And to thee frame this ditty. Child of my body and that flame 10From whence our light we borrow, Thou continuest still the same In my joy or sorrow. Though thou lov'st the sunshine best Or enlightened places, Yet thou dost not fly, but rest, 'Midst my black disgraces. Thou wouldst have all happy days When thou art approaching, No cloud nor night to dim bright rays 20By their sad encroaching. Let but glimmering lights appear To banish night's obscuring, Thou wilt show thou harbourd'st near, By my side enduring; And, when thou art forced away By the sun's declining, Thy length is doubled, to repay Thy absence whilst he's shining. As I flatter not thee fair, 30So thou art not fading; Age nor sickness can impair Thy hue by fierce invading. Let the purest varnished clay Art can show, or Nature, View the shades they cast; and they Grow duskish like thy feature. 'Tis thy truth I most commend— That thou art not fleeting: For, as I embrace my friend, 40So thou giv'st him greeting. If I strike, or keep the peace, So thou seem'st to threaten, And single blows by thy increase Leave my foe double beaten. As thou findst me walk or sit, Standing or down lying, Thou dost all my postures hit, Most apish in thy prying. When our actions so consent— 50Expressions dumb, but local— Words are needless complement, Else I could wish thee vocal. Hadst thou but a soul, with sense And reason sympathising, Earth could match, nor heaven dispense A mate so far enticing. Nay, when bedded in the dust, 'Mongst shades I have my biding, Tapers can see thy posthume trust 60Within my vault residing. Had heaven so pliant women made Or thou their souls couldst marry, I'd soon resolve to wed my shade; This love would ne'er miscarry. But they thy lightness only share; If shunned, the more they follow, And to pursuers peevish are As Daphne to Apollo. Yet this experience thou hast taught: 70A she-friend and an honour Like thee; nor that nor she is caught, Unless I fall upon her.

If wishes may enrich my boy, My Jack, that art thy father's joy, They shall be showered upon thy head As thick as manna, angel's bread; And bread I wish thee—this short word Will furnish both thy back and board; Not Fortunatus' purse or cap Nor Danae's gold-replenished lap Can more supply thee: but content 10Is a large patrimony, sent From him who did thy soul infuse. May'st thou this best endowment use In any state; thy structure is I see complete—a frontispiece Promising fair; may it ne'er be Like Jesuit's volumes, where we see Virtues and saints adorn the front, Doctrines of devils follow on't: May a pure soul inhabit still 20This well-mixed clay; and a straight will Biassed by reason, that by grace. May gems of price maintain their place In such a casket: in that list Chaste turquoise, sober amethyst That sacred breastplate still surround: Urim and Thummim be there found, Which for thy wearing I design, That in thee King and Priest may join, As 'twas thy grandsire's choice, and mine. 30May'st thou attain John the Divine Chief of thy titles, though contempt Now brand the clergy; be exempt, I ever wish thee, from each vice That may that calling scandalize: Let not thy tongue with court oil flow, Nor supple language lay thee low For thy preferment; make God's cause Thy pulpit's task, not thine applause; May'st thou both preach by line and life; 40That thou live well and chaste, a wife I wish thee, such as is thy sire's, A lawful help 'gainst lustful fires; And though promotions often frown On married brows, yet lie not down In single baudry; impure monks, That banish wedlock, license punks. Peace I do wish thee from those wars Which gownmen talk out at the bars Four times a year; I wish thee peace 50Of conscience, country, and increase In all that best of men commends, Favour with God, good men thy friends. Last, for a lasting legacy I this bequeath, when thou shalt die, Heaven's monarch bless mine eyes, to see My wishes crowned, in crowning thee.

Brave flowers, that I could gallant it like you And be as little vain! You come abroad and make a harmless show, And to your beds of earth again; You are not proud, you know your birth, For your embroidered garments are from earth. You do obey your months and times, but I Would have it ever spring; My fate would know no winter, never die, 10Nor think of such a thing. Oh that I could my bed of earth but view, And smile, and look as cheerfully as you! Oh teach me to see death and not to fear, But rather to take truce; How often have I seen you at a bier, And there look fresh and spruce. You fragrant flowers then teach me that my breath Like yours may sweeten and perfume my death.