Olor Iscanus. A collection of some select poems, and translations, / formerly written by Mr. Henry Vaughan silurist. ; Published by a friend. Vaughan, Henry, 1622-1695. This text is an enriched version of the TCP digital transcription A64746 of text R6212 in the English Short Title Catalog (Wing V123). Textual changes and metadata enrichments aim at making the text more computationally tractable, easier to read, and suitable for network-based collaborative curation by amateur and professional end users from many walks of life. The text has been tokenized and linguistically annotated with MorphAdorner. The annotation includes standard spellings that support the display of a text in a standardized format that preserves archaic forms ('loveth', 'seekest'). Textual changes aim at restoring the text the author or stationer meant to publish. This text has not been fully proofread Approx. 131 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 41 1-bit group-IV TIFF page images. EarlyPrint Project Evanston,IL, Notre Dame, IN, St. Louis, MO 2017 A64746 12706608 Wing V123 ESTC R6212 12706608 ocm 12706608 66031 This keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above is co-owned by the institutions providing financial support to the Early English Books Online Text Creation Partnership. This Phase I text is available for reuse, according to the terms of Creative Commons 0 1.0 Universal . The text can be copied, modified, distributed and performed, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission. Early English books online. (EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A64746) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 66031) Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books; 1641-1700 ; 2900:24, 371:5) Olor Iscanus. A collection of some select poems, and translations, / formerly written by Mr. Henry Vaughan silurist. ; Published by a friend. Vaughan, Henry, 1622-1695. [15], 158, [2] p. Printed by T.W. for Humphrey Moseley, and are to be sold at his shop ..., London, : 1651. Added illustrated t.p. Each part has special t.p. Reproductions of originals in British Library (371:5) and Henry E. Huntington Library and Art Gallery (2900:24). Item at 371:5 imperfect: lacking all after p. 64. eng Literature -- Translations into English -- Early works to 1800. English poetry -- 17th century. A64746 R6212 (Wing V123). civilwar no Olor Iscanus. A collection of some select poems, and translations, formerly written by Mr. Henry Vaughan silurist. Published by a friend. Vaughan, Henry 1651 20273 38 5 0 0 0 0 21 C The rate of 21 defects per 10,000 words puts this text in the C category of texts with between 10 and 35 defects per 10,000 words. 2000-00 TCP Assigned for keying and markup 2001-06 SPi Global Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2001-09 TCP Staff (Michigan) Sampled and proofread 2001-09 TCP Staff (Michigan) Text and markup reviewed and edited 2001-11 pfs Batch review (QC) and XML conversion SELECT Poems , and translations by Hen : Vaughan Silurist . Flumina amo , Sylvasque , inglorius OLOR ISCANUS . A COLLECTION OF SOME SELECT POEMS , AND TRANSLATIONS , Formerly written by Mr. Henry Vaughan Silurist . Published by a Friend . Virg. Georg. Flumina amo , Sylvasque , Inglorius — LONDON , Printed by T.W. for Humphrey Moseley , and are to be sold at his shop , at the Signe of the Prince's Arms in St. Pauls Church-yard , 1651. — O quis me gelidis in vallibus ISCAE Sistat , & Ingenti ramorum protegat umbrâ ! TO The truly Noble , and most Excellently accomplish'd , the LORD KILDARE DIGBY . MY LORD , IT is a Position anciently known , and modern Experience hath allowed it for a sad truth , that Absence and time , ( like Cold weather , and an unnaturall dormition ) will blast and wear out of memorie the most Endearing obligations ; And hence it was that some Politicians in Love have lookt upon the former of these two as a main remedy against the fondness of that Passion . But for my own part ( my Lord ) I shall deny this Aphorisme of the people , and beg leave to assure your Lordship , that , though these reputed obstacles have lain long in my way , yet neither of them could work upon me : for I am now ( without adulation ) as warm and sensible of those numerous favours , and kind Influences receiv'd sometimes from your Lordship , as I really was at the Instant of fruition . I have no plott by preambling thus , to set any rate upon this present addresse , as if I should presume to value a Return of this nature equall with your Lordships Deserts , but the designe is , to let you see that this habit I have got of being troublesome flowes from two excusable principles , Gratitude , and Love . These inward Counsellours ( I know not how discreetly ) perswaded me to this Attempt and Intrusion upon your name , which if your Lordship will vouchsafe to own as the Genius to these papers , you will perfect my hopes , and place me at my full height . This was the Ayme , my Lord , and is the End of this work , which though but a Pazzarello to the voluminoseè Insani , yet as Iezamin and the Violet find room in the bank as well as Roses and Lillies , so happily may this , and ( if shin'd upon by your Lordship ) please as much . To whose Protection , Sacred as your Name , and those eminent Honours which have alwayes attended upon 't through so many generations , I humbly offer it , and remain in all numbers of gratitude , Newton by Usk this 17. of Decemb. 1647. My honour'd Lord , Your most affectionate , humblest Servant VAUGHAN . The Publisher to the Reader . IT was the glorious Maro , that referr'd his Legacies to the Fire , and though Princes are seldome Executors , yet there came a Caesar to his Testament , as if the Act of a Poet could not be repeal'd but by a King . I am not Reader Augustus vindex : Here is no Royall Rescue , but here is a Muse that deserves it . The Author had long agoe condemn'd these Poems to Obscuritie , and the Consumption of that Further Fate , which attends it . This Censure gave them a Gust of Death , and they have partly known that Oblivion , which our Best Labours must come to at Last . I present thee then not onely with a Book , but with a Prey , and in this kind the first Recoveries from Corruption . Here is a Flame hath been sometimes extinguished : Thoughts that have been lost and forgot , but now they break out again like the Platonic Reminiscencie . I have not the Author's Approbation to the Fact , but I have Law on my Side , though never a Sword : I hold it no man's Praerogative to fire his own House . Thou seest how Saucie I am grown , and if thou doest expect I should Commend what is published , I must tell thee , I crie no Sivill Oranges . I will not say , Here is Fine or Cheap : that were an Injurie to the Verse it selfe , and to the Effects it can produce . Read on , and thou wilt find thy Spirit ingag'd : not by the Deserts of what wee call Tolerable , but by the Commands of a Pen , that is Above it . Vpon the most Ingenious pair of Twins , Eugenius Philalethes , and the Authour of these Poems . WHat Planet rul'd your birth ? what wittie star ? That you so like in Souls as Bodies are ! So like in both , that you seem born to free The starrie are from vulgar Calumnie . My doubts are solv'd , from hence my faith begins , Not only your faces , but your wits are Twins . When this bright Gemini shall from earth ascend , They will new light to dull ey'd mankind lend , Teach the Star-gazers , and delight their Eyes , Being fixt a Constellation in the Skyes . T. Powell Oxoniensis . To my friend the Authour upon these his Poems . I Call'd it once my sloth : In such an age So many Volumes deep , I not a page ? But I recant , and vow 't was thriftie Care That kept my Pen from spending on slight ware , And breath'd it for a Prize , whose pow'rfull shine Doth both reward the striver , and refine ; Such are thy Poems , friend : for since th'hast writ , I cann't reply to any name , but wit ; And left amidst the throng that make us grone , Mine prove a groundless Heresie alone , Thus I dispute . Hath there not rev'rence bin Pay'd to the Beard at doore , for Lord within ? Who notes the spindle-leg , or hollow eye Of the thinne Usher , the faire Lady by ? Thus I sinne freely , neighbour to a hand Which while I aime to strengthen , gives Command For my protection , and thou art to me At once my Subject and Securitie . I. Rowlandson Oxoniensis . Vpon the following Poems . I Write not here , as if thy last in store Of learned friends , 't is known that thou hast more ; Who , were they told of this , would find a way To rise a guard of Poets without pay , And bring as many hands to thy Edition , As th'City should unto their May'rs Petition , But thou wouldst none of this , left it should be Thy Muster rather , than our Courtesie , Thou wouldst not beg as Knights do , and appeare Poet by Voice , and suffrage of the Shire , That were enough to make my Muse advance Amongst the Crutches , nay it might enhance Our Charity , and we should think it sit The State should build an Hospital for wit . But here needs no reliefe : Thy richer Verse Creates all Poets , that can but reherse , And they , like Tenants better'd by their land , Should pay thee Rent for what they understand , Thou art not of that lamentable Nation , Who make a blessed Alms of approbation , Whose fardel-notes are Briefes in ev'ry thing , But , that they are not licens'd By the King . Without such scrape-requests thou dost come forth Arm'd ( though I speak it ) with thy proper worth , And needest not this noise of friends , for wee Write out of love , not thy necessitie ; And though this sullen age possessed be With some strange Desamour to Poetrie , Yet I suspect ( thy fancy so delights ) The Puritans will turn thy Proselytes , And that thy flame when once abroad it shines , Will bring thee as many friends , as thou hast lines . EUGENIUS PHILALETHIS Oxoniensis . Olor Iscanus . To the River Isca . WHen Daphne's Lover here first wore the Dayes , Eurotas secret streams heard all his Layes . And holy Orpheus , Natures busie Child By headlong Hebrus his deep Eymns Compil'd . Soft Petrarch ( thaw'd by Laura's flames ) did weep On Tybers banks , when she ( prou'd fair ! ) cou'd sleep ; Mosella boasts Ausonius , and the Thames Doth murmure SIDNEYS Stella to her streams , While Severn sworn with Ioy and sorrow , wears Castara's smiles mixt with fair Sabrin's tears . Thus Poets ( like the Nymphs , their pleasing themes ) Haunted the bubling Springs and gliding streams , And happy banks ! whence such fair flowres have sprung , But happier those where they have sate and sung ! Poets ( like Angels ) where they once appear Hallow the place , and each succeeding year Adds rev'rence to 't , such as at length doth give This aged faith , That there their Genii live . Hence th' Auncients say , That , from this sickly aire They passe to Regions more refin'd and faire , To Meadows strow'd with Lillies and the Rose , And shades whose youthfull green no old age knowes , Where all in white they walk , discourse , and Sing Like Bees soft murmurs , or a Chiding Spring . But Isca , whensoe'r those shades I see , And thy lov'd Arbours must no more know me , When I am layd to rest hard by thy streams , And my Sun sets , where first it sprang in beams , I 'le leave ; behind me such a large , kind light , As shall redeem thee from oblivious night , And in these vowes which ( living yet ) I pay Shed such a Previous and Enduring Ray , As shall from age to age thy fair name lead 'Till Rivers leave to run , and men to read . First , may all Bards born after me ( When I am ashes ) sing of thee ! May thy green banks and streams ( or none ) Be both their Hill and Helicon ; May Vocall Groves grow there , and all The shades in them Propheticall , Where ( laid ) men shall more faire truths see Than fictions were of Thessalie . May thy gentle Swains ( like flowres ) Sweetly spend their Youthfull houres , And thy beauteous Nymphs ( like Doves ) Be kind and faithfull to their Loves ; Garlands , and Songs , and Roundelayes , Mild , dewie nights , and Sun-shine dayes , The Turtles voyce , Ioy without fear , Dwell on thy bosome all the year ! May the Evet and the Tode Within thy Banks have no abode , Nor the wilie , winding Snake Her voyage through thy waters make . In all thy Iourney to the Main No nitrous Clay , nor Brimstone-vein Mixe with thy streams , but may they passe Fresh as the aire , and cleer as Glasse , And where the wandring Chrystal treads Rojes shall kisse , and Couple heads . The factour-wind from far shall bring The Odours of the Scatter'd Spring , And loaden with the rich Aweare , Spend it in Spicie whispers there . No sullen heals , nor flames that are Offensive , and Canicular , Shine on thy Sands , nor pry to see Thy Scalie , shading familie , But Noones as mild as Hasper's rayes , Or the first blushes of fair dayes . What gifts more Heav'n or Earth can adde With all those blessings be thou Clad ! Honour , Beautie , Faith and Dutie , Delight and Truth , With Love , and Youth Crown all about thee And what ever Fate Impose else-where , whether the graver state , Or some toy else , may those lomd , anxious Cares For dead and dying things ( the Common ●ares And showes of time ) he'r break thy Peace , nor make Thy repos'd Armes to a new warre awake ! But Freedome , safety , Ioy and blisse : United in one loving kisse Surround thee quite , and stile thy borders The Land redeem'd from all disorders ! The Charnel-house . BLesse me ! what damps are here ? how stiffe an aire ? Kelder of mists , a second Fiats care , Front speece o' th' grave and darkness , a Display Of ruin'd man , and the disease of day ; Leane , bloudless shamble , where I can descrie Fragments of men , Rags of Anatomie ; Corruptions ward-robe , the transplantive bed Of mankind , and th'Exchequer of the dead . How thou arrests my sense ? how with the sight My winter'd bloud growes stiffe to all delight ? Torpedo to the Eye ! whose least glance can Freeze our wild lusts , and rescue head-long man ; Eloquent silence ! able to Immure An Atheists thoughts , and blast an Epicure . Were I a Lucian , Nature in this dresse Would make me wish a Saviour , and Confesse . Where are you shoreless thoughts , vast tenter'd hope , Ambitious dreams , Aymes of an Endless scope , Whose stretch'd Excesse runs on a string too high And on the rack of self-extension dye ? Chameleons of state , Aire-monging band , Whose breath ( like Gun-powder ) blowes up a land , Come see your dissolution , and weigh What a loath'd nothing you shall be one day , As th' Elements by Circulation passe From one to th'other , and that which first was Is so again , so 't is with you ; The grave And Nature but Complote , what the one gave , The other takes ; I think then , that in this bed There sleep the Reliques of as proud a head As stern and subtill as your own , that hath Perform'd , or forc'd as much , whose tempest-wrath Hath levell'd Kings with slaves , and wisely then Calme these high furies , and descend to men ; Thus Cyrus tam'd the Macedon , a tombe Checkt him , who thought the world too straight a Room . Have I obey'd the Powers of face , A beauty able to undoe the Race Of easie man ? I look but here , and strait I am Inform'd , the lovely Counterfeit Was but a smoother Clay . That famish'd slave Begger'd by wealth , who starvea that he may save , Brings hither but his sheet ; Nay , th' Ostrich-man , That feeds on steele and bullet , he that can Outswea : his Lordship , and reply as tough To a kind word , as if his tongue were Buffe , Is Chap-faln here , wormes without wit , or fear Defie him now , death hath disarm'd the Bear . Thus could I run o'r all the pitteous score Of erring men , and having done meet more , Their shuffled Wills , abortive , vain Intents , Phautasrick humours , perillous Ascents , False , empty honours , traiterous delights , And what soe'r a blind Conceit Invites ; But these and more which the weak vermins swell , Are Couch'd in this Accumulative Cell Which I could scatter ; But the grudging Sun Calls home his beams , and warns me to be gone , Day leaves me in a double night , and I Must bid farewell to my sad library . Yet with these notes . Henceforth with thought of thee I 'le season all succeeding Iollitie , Yet damn not mirth , nor think too much is fit , Excesse hath no Religion , nor wit , But should wild bloud swell to a lawless strain On Check from thee shall Channel it again . In Amicum foeneratorem . THanks mighty Silver ! I rejoyce to see How I have spoyl'd his thrift , by spending thee . Now thou art gone , he courts my wants with more , His Decoy gold , and bribes me to restore . As lesser lode-stones with the North consent Naturally moving to their Element , As bodyes swarm to th' Center , and that fire Man stole from heaven , to heav'n doth still aspire , So this vast crying summe drawes in a lesse , And hence this bag more Northward layd I guesse , For 't is of Pole-star force , and in this sphere Though th'least of many rules the master-bear . Prerogative of debts ! how he doth dresse His messages in Chink ? not an Expresse Without a fee for reading , and 't is fit , For gold 's the best restorative of wit , O how he gilds them o'r ! with what delight I read those lines , where Angels doe Indite ? But wilt have money Og ? must I dispurse ? Will nothing serve thee but a Poets curse ? Wilt rob an Altar thus ? and sweep it once What Orpheus-like I forc'd from stocks and stones ? ' I will never swell thy Bag , nor ring one peale In thy dark Chest . Talk not of Shreives , or gaole , I fear them not . I have no land to glutt Thy durty appetite , and make thee strutt Nimrod of acres ; I 'le no Speech prepare To court the Hopefull Cormorant , thine heire . Yet there 's a Kingdome , at thy beck , if thou But kick this drosse , Parnassus flowre brow I 'le give thee with my Tempe , and to boot That horse which struck a fountain with his foot . A Bed of Roses I 'le provide for thee , And Chrystal Springs shall drop thee melodie ; The breathing shades wee 'l haunt , where ev'ry leafe Shall whisper us asleep , though thou art deafe ; Those waggish Nymph too which none ever yet Durst make love to , wee 'l teach the Loving fit , Wee 'l suck the Corall of their lips , and feed Upon their spicie breath , a meale at need , Rove in their Amber-tresses , and unfold That glist'ring grove , the Curled wood of gold , Then peep for babies , a new Puppet-play , And riddle what their pratling Eyes would say . But here thou must remember to dispurse , For without money all this is a Curse , Thou must for more bags call , and so restore This Iron-age to gold , as once before ; This thou must doe , and yet this is not all , For thus the Poet would be still in thrall , Thou must then ( if live thus ) my neast of honey , Cancell old bonds , and beg to lend more money . To his friend — . I Wonder , Iames , through the whole Historie Of ages , such Entailes of povertie Are layd on Poets ; Lawyers ( they say ) have found A trick to cut them , would they were but bound To practise on us , though for this thing wee Should pay ( if possible ) their bribes and fee . Search ( as thou canst ) the old and moderne store Of Rome and ours , in all the wittie score Thou shalt not find a rich one ; Take each Clime And run o'r all the pilgrimage of time Thou 'lt meet them poor , and ev'ry where descrie A thredbare , goldless genealogie . Nature ( it seems ) when she meant us for Earth Spent so much of her treasure in the birth As ever after niggards her , and Shee , Thus stor'd within , beggers us outwardly . Wofull profusion I at how dear a rate Are wee made up ? all hope of thrise and state Lost for a verse : When I by thoughts look back Into the wombe of time , and see the Rack Stand useless there , untill we are produc'd Unto the torture , and our soules infus'd To learn afflictions , I begin to doubt That as some tyrants use from their chain'd roue Of slaves to pick out one whom for their sport They keep afflicted by some lingring art , So wee are meerly thrown upon the stage The mirth of fooles , and Legend of the age , When I see in the ruines of a sute Some nobler brest , and his tongue sadly mute Feed on the Vocall silence of his Eye , And knowing cannot reach the remedie , When soules of baser stamp shine in their store , And he of all the throng is only poore , When French apes for forraign fashions pay , And English legs are drest th'outlandish way , So fine too , that they their own shadows wooe , While he walks in the sad and Pilgrim-shooe , I 'm mad at Fate , and angry ev'n to sinne , To see deserts and learning clad so thinne : To think how th'earthly Usurer can brood Upon his bags , and weigh the pretious food With palsied hands , as if his soul did feare The Scales could rob him of what he layd there ; Like Divels that on hid Treasures sit , or those Whose jealous Eyes trust not beyond their nose They guard the durt , and the bright Idol hold Close , and Commit adultery with gold . A Curse upon their drosse ! how have we sued For a few scatter'd Chips ? how oft pursu'd Petitions with a blush , in hope to squeeze For their souls health , more than our wants a peece ? Their steel-rib'd Chests and Purse ( rust eat them both ! ) Have cost us with much paper many an oath , And Protestations of such solemn sense , As if our soules were sureties for the Pence . Should we a full nights learned cares present , They 'l scarce return us one short houres Content , Las ! they 're but quibbles , things we Poets feign , The short-liv'd Squibs and Crackers of the brain . But wee 'l be wiser , knowing 't is not they That must redeem the hardship of our way , Whether a Higher Power , or that starre Which neerest heav'n , is from the earth most far Oppresse us thus , or angel'd from that Sphere By our strict Guardians are kept luckless here , It matters not , wee shall one day obtain Our native and Celestiall scope again . To his retired friend , an Invitation to Brecknock . SInce last wee met , thou and thy horse ( my dear , ) Have not so much as drunk , or litter'd here , I wonder , though thy self be thus deceast , Thou hast the spite to Coffin up thy beast ; Or is the Palfrey sick , and his rough hide With the penance of One Spur mortifide ? Or taught by thee ( like Pythagoras's Oxe ) Is then his master grown more Orthodox ? What ever 't is , a sober cause't must be That thus long bars us of thy Companie . The Town believes thee lost , and didst thou see But half her suffrings , now distrest for thee , thou 'ldst swear ( like Rome ) her soule , polluted walls Were sackt by Brennus , and the salvage Gaules . Abominable face of things ! here 's noise Of bang'd Mortars , blew Aprons , and Boyes , Pigs , Dogs , and Drums , with the hoarse hellish notes Of politickly-deafe Usurers throats , With new fine worships , and the old east teame Of Justices vext with the Cough , and flegme . Midst these the Crosse looks sad , and in the Shirt - - Hall furs of an old Saxon Fox appear , With brotherly Ruffs and Beards , and a strange sight Of high Monumentall Hats t'ane at the sight Of Eighty eight ; while ev'ry Bargessi foots The mortall Pavement in eternall boots . Hadst thou been batc'lour , I had soon divin'd Thy Close retirements , and Monastick mind , Perhaps some Nymph had been to visit , or The beauteous Churle was to be waited for , And like the Greek , e'r you the sport would misse You stai'd , and stroak'd the Dislosse for a kisse . But in this age , when thy coole , settled bloud Is ty'd t'one flesh , and thou almost grown good , I know not how to reach the strange device , Except ( Domitian like ) thou murther'st flyes ; Or is 't thy pietie ? for who can tell But thou may'st prove devout , and love a Cell , And ( like a Badger ) with attentive looks In the dark hole sit rooting up of books . Quick Hermit ! what a peacefull Change hadst thou Without the noise of haire-cloth , whip , or Vow ? But is there no redemption ? must there be No other penance but of liberty ? Why two months hence , if thou continue thus Thy memory will scarce remain with us , The Drawers have forgot thee , and exclaim They have not seen thee here since Charles his raign , Or if they mention thee , like some old man . That at each word inserts — Sir , as I can Remember — So the Cyph'rers puzzle mee With a dark , cloudie character of thee . That ( certs ! ) I fear thou wilt be lost , and wee Must ask the Fathers e'r 't be long for thee . Come ! leave this sullen state , and let not Wine And precious Witt lye dead for want of thine , Shall the dull Market-land-lord with his Rout Of sneaking Tenants durtily swill out This harmlesse liquor ? shall they knock and beat For Sack , only to talk of Rye , and wheat ? O let not such prepost'rous tipling be In our Metropolis , may I ne'r see Such Tavern-sacrilege , nor load a line To weep the Rapes and Tragedy of wine ! Here lives that Chimick , quick fire which betrayes Fresh Spirits to the bloud , and warms our layes , I have reserv'd 'gainst thy approach a Cup That were thy Muse stark dead , shall raise her up , And teach her yet more Charming words and skill Than ever Coelia , Chloris , Astrophil , Or any of the Thredbare names Inspir'd Poore riming lovers with a Mistris sir'd . Come then I and while the slow Isicle hangs At the stiffe thatch , and Winters frosty pangs Benumme the year , blith ( as of old let us 'Midst noise and War , of Peace , and mirth discusse . This portion thou wort born for : why should wee Vex at the times ridiculous miserie ? An age that thus hath fool'd it selfe , and will ( Spite of thy teeth and mine ) persist so still . Let 's sit then at this fire , and while wee steal A Revell in the Town , let others seal , Purchase or Cheat , and who can , let them pay , Till those black deeds bring on the dark some day ; Innocent spenders wee ! a better use Shall wear out our short Lease , and leave th'obtuse Rout to their husks ; They and their bags at best Have cares in earnest , wee care for a Iest . Monsieur Gombauld . I'Ave read thy Souls fair night-peece , and have seen Th'Amours and Courtship of the silint Queen , Her stoln descents to Earth , and what did move her To Juggle first with Heav'n , then with a Lover , With Latmos loweer rescue , and ( alas ! ) To find her out a Hue and Crie in Brasse , Thy Journall of deep Mysteries , and sad Nocturnall Pilgrimage , with thy dreams clad In fancies darker than thy Cave , Thy Glosse Of sleepie draughts , and as thy soul did passe In her calm voyage what discourse she heard Of Spirits , what dark Groves and ill-shap'd guard Ismena lead thee through , with thy proud flight O'r Periardes , and deep , musing night Neere fair Eurotas banks , what solemn green The neighbour shades weare , and what forms are seen In their large Bowers , with that sad path and seat Which none but light-heeld Nymphs and Fairies heat ; Their solitary life , and how exempt From Common frailtie , the severe contempt They have of Man , their priviledge to live A Tree , or Fountain , and in that Reprieve What ages they consume , with the sad Vale Of Diophania , and the mournfull tale , Or th' bleeding vocall Myrtle ; These and more Thy richer thoughts we are upon the score To thy rare fancy for , nor doest thou fall From thy first Majesty , or ought at all Betray Consumption , thy full vigorous Bayes Wear the same green , and scorn the lene decayes Of stile , or matter ; Just so have I known Some Chrystal spring , that from the neighbour down Deriv'd her birth , in gentle murmurs steal To their next Vale , and proudly there reveal Her streams in lowder accents , adding still More noise and waters to her Channell , till At last swoln with Increase she glides along The Lawnes and Meadows in a wanton throng Of frothy billows , and in one great name Swallows the tributary brooks drown'd fame . Nor are they meere Inventions , for we In th' same peece find scatter'd Philosophie And hidden , disperst truths that folded lye In the dark shades of deep Allegorie , So neatly weav'd , like Arras , they descrie Fables with Truth , Fancy with Historie . So that thou hast in this thy curious mould Cast that commended mixture wish'd of old , Which shall these Contemplations render far Lesse mutable , and lasting as their star , And while there is a People , or a Sunne , Endymions storie with the Moon shall runne . An Elegie on the death of Mr. R.W. slain in the late unfortunate differences at Routon Heath , neer Chester , 1645. I Am Confirm'd , and so much wing is given To my wild thoughts , that they dare strike at heav'n . A full years griefe I struggled with , and stood Still on my sandy hopes uncertain good , So loth was I to yeeld , to all those fears I still oppos'd thee , and denyed my tears . But thou art gone ! and the untimely losse Like that one day , hath made all others Crosse . Have you seen on some Rivers flowrie brow A well-built Elme or stately Cedar grow , Whose Curled tops gilt with the Morning-ray Becken'd the Sun , and whisperd to the day , When unexpected from the angry North A fatall sullen whirle-wind sallies forth , And with a full-mouth'd blast rends from the ground The Shady twins , which rushing scatter round Their sighing leafes , whilst overborn with strength , Their trembling heads bow to a prostrate length ; So forc'd fell he ; So Immaturely Death Stifled his able heart and active breath . The world scarce knew him yet , his early Soule Had but new-broke her day , and rather stole A sight , than gave one ; as if su'bt'ly she Would learn our stock , but hide his treasurie . His years ( should time lay both his wings and glasse Unto his charge ) could not be summ'd ( alas ! ) To a full score ; Though in so short a span His riper thoughts had purchas'd more of man Than all those worthless livers , which yet quick , Have quite outgone their own Arithmetick . He seiz'd perfections , and without a dull And mossie gray possess'd a solid skull , No Crooked knowledge neither , nor did he Wear the friends name for Ends and policie , And then lay'd by ; As those lost Youths of th'stage Who only flourish'd for the Play 's short age And then retir'd , like Iewels in each part He wore his friends , But chiefly at his heart . Nor was it only in this he did excell , His equall valour could as much , as well . He knew no fear but of his God ; yet durst No injurie , nor ( as some have ●e'r pur'st The sweat and tears of others , yet would be More forward in a royall gallantrie Than all those vast pretenders , which of late Swell'd in the ruines of their King and State . He weav'd not Self-ends , and the Publick good Into one piece nor with the peoples bloud Fill'd his own veins ; In all the doubtfull way Conscience and Honour rul'd him . O that day When like the Fathers in the Fire and Cloud I mist thy face ! I might in ev'ry Crowd See Armes like thine , and men advance , but none So neer to lightning mov'd , nor so fell on . Have you observ'd how soon the nimble Eye Brings th' Object to Conceit , and doth so vic Performance with the Soul , that you would swear The Act and apprehension both lodg'd there , Just so mov'd he : like short his active hand Drew bloud , e'r well the foe could understand . But here I lost him . Whether the last turn Of thy few sands call'd on thy hastie urn , Or some fierce rapid fate ( hid from the Eye ) Hath hurl'd thee Pris'ner to some distant skye I cannot tell , but that I doe believe Thy Courage such as scorn'd a base Reprieve . What ever 't was , whether that day thy breath Suffer'd a Civill or the Common death , Which I doe most suspect , and that I have Fail'd in the glories of so known a grave , Though thy lov'd ashes misse me , and mine Eyes Had no acquaintance with thy Exequies , Nor at the last farewell , torn from thy sight On the Cold sheet have fix'd a sad delight , Yet what e'r pious hand ( in stead of mine ) Hath done this office to that dust of thine , And till thou rise again from thy low bed Lent a Cheap pillow to thy quiet head , Though but a private turffe , it can do more To keep thy name and memory in store Than all those Lordly fooles which lock their bones In the dumb piles of Chested brasse , and stones . Th'art rich in thy own fame , and needest not These Marble-frailties , nor the gilded blot Of posthume honours ; There is not one sand Sleeps o'r thy grave , but can outbid that hand And pencill too , so that of force wee must Confesse their heaps shew lesser than thy dust . And ( blessed soule ! ) though this my sorrow can Adde nought to thy perfections , yet as man Subject to Envy , and the common fate It may redeem thee to a fairer date ; As some blind Dial , when the day is done , Can tell us at mid-night , There was a Sun , So these perhaps , though much beneath thy fame , May keep some weak remembrance of thy name , And to the faith of better times Commend Thy loyall upright life , and gallant End . Nomen & arma locum servant , te , amice , nequivi Conspicere , — Upon a Cloke lent him by Mr. I. Ridsley . HEre , take again thy Sack-cloth ! and thank heav'n Thy Courtship hath not kill'd me ; Is 't not Even Whether wee dye by peecemeale , or at once Since both but ruine , why then for the nonce Didst husband my afflictions , and cast o're Me this forc'd Hurdle to inflame the score ? Had I neer London in this Rug been seen Without doubt I had executed been For some bold Irish spy , and crosse a sledge Had layn mess'd up for their soure gates and bridge . When first I bore it , my oppressed feer . Would needs perswade me , 't was some leaden sheet ; Such deep Impressions , and such dangerous holes Were made , that I began to doubt my soals , And ev'ry step ( so neer necessity ) Devoutly wish'd some honest Cobler by , Besides it was so short , the Iewish rag Seem'd Circumcis'd , but had a Gentile shag . Hadst thou been with me on that day , when wee Left craggie Biston , and the fatall Dee , When beaten with fresh storms , and late mishap It shar'd the office of a Cloke , and Cap , To see how 'bout my clouded head it stood Like a thick Turband , or some Lawyers Hood , While the stiffe , hollow pletes on ev'ry side Like Conduit-pipes rain'd from the Bearded hide , I know thou wouldst in spite of that day's fate Let loose thy mirth at my new shape and state , And with a shallow smile or two professe Some Sarazin had lost the Clowted Dresse . Didst ever see the good wife ( as they say ) March in her short cloke on the Christning day , With what soft motions she salutes the Church , And leaves the Bedrid Mother in the lurch ; Just so Jogg'd I , while my dull horse did trudge Like a Circuit-beast plagu'd with a goutie Judge . But this was Civill . I have since known mo●e And worser pranks : One night ( as heretofore Th' hast known ) for want of change ( a thing which I And Bias us'd before me ) I did lye Pure Adami●e , and simply for that end Resolv'd , and made this for my bosome-friend . O that thou hadst been there next morn , that I Might teach thee new Micro-cosmo graphie ! Thou wouldst have ta'ne me , as I naked stood , For one of th' seven pillars before the sloud , Such Characters and Hierogliphicks were In one night wo●n , that thou mightst justly swear I 'd slept in Cere-cloth , or at Bedlam where The mad men lodge in straw , I 'le not forbear To tell thee all , his wild Impress and tricks Like Speeds old Britans made me look , or Pitts ; His villanous , biting , Wire-embraces Had seal'd in me more strange formes and faces Than Children see in dreams , or thou hast read In Arras , Puppet-playes , and Ginger-bread , With angled Schemes , and Crosses that bred fear Of being handled by some Conjurer , And neerer thou wouldst think ( such strokes were drawn ) I 'd been some rough statue of Fetter-lane , Nay , I believe , had I that instant been By Surgeons or Apothecaries seen , They had Condemned my raz'd skin to be Some walking Herball , or Anatomie . But ( thanks to th'day ! ) 't is off . I 'd now advise Thee friend to put this peece to Merchandize ; The Pedlars of our age have business yet , And gladly would against the Fayr-day fit Themselves with such a Roofe , that can secure Their Wares from Dogs and Cats rain'd in ●●owre , It shall performe ; or if this will not doe 'T will take the Ale-wives sure ; 'T will make them two Fine Roomes of One , and spread upon a stick Is a partition without Lime or Brick . Horn'd obstinacie ! how my heart doth fret To think what Mouthes and Elbowes it would set In a wet day ? have you for two pence e're Seen King Harryes Chappell at Westminster , Where in their dustie gowns of Brasse and Stone The Judges lye , and markt you how each one In sturdie Marble-plets about the knee Bears up to shew his legs and symmetrie ? Iust so would this ; That I think 't weav'd upon Some stiffneckt Brownists exercising loome . O that thou hadst it when this Jugling fate Of Souldierie first seiz'd me ! at what rate Would I have bought it then , what was there but I would have giv'n for the Compendious h●tt ? I doe not doubt but ( if the weight could please , ) 'T would guard me better than a Lapland-lease , Or a German shirt with Inchanted lint Stuft'd through , and th'devils beard and face weav'd in 't . But I have done . And think not , friend , that I This freedome took to Jeere thy Courtesie , I thank thee for 't , and I believe my Muse So known to thee , thou 'lt not suspect abuse ; She did this , 'cause ( perhaps ) thy love paid thus Might with my thanks out-live thy Cloke , and Vs . Upon Mr. Fletchers Playes , published , 1647. I Knew thee not , not durst attendance strive Labell to wit , Verser remonstrative , And in some Suburb-page ( scandal to thine ) Like Lent before a Christmasse scatter mine , This speaks thee not , since at the utmost rate Such remnants from thy piece Intreat their date ; Nor can I dub the Coppy , or afford Titles to swell the reare of Verse with Lord , Nor politickly big to Inch low fame Stretch in the glories of a strangers name , And Clip those Bayes I Court , weak striver I , But a faint Echo unto Poetrie . I have not Clothes t' adopt me , not must sit For Plush and Velvets sake Esquire of wit , Yet Modestie these Crosses would improve , And Rags neer thee , some Reverencemay move . I did believe ( great Beaumont being dead , ) Thy Widow'd Muse slept on his flowrie bed ; But I am richly Cosen'd , and can see Wit transmigrates , his Spirit stayd with thee , Which doubly advantag'd by thy single pen In life and death now treads the Stage agen ; And thus are wee freed from that dearth of wit Which starv'd the Land since into Schismes split , Wherein th'hast done so much , wee must needs guesse Wits last Edition is now i' th Presse , For thou hast drain'd Invention , and he That writes hereafter , doth but pillage thee . But thou hast plotts ; and will not the Kirk strain At the Designe of such a Tragick brain ? Will they themselves think safe , when they shall see Thy most abominable policie ? Will not the Eares assemble , and think 't fit Their Synod fast , and pray , against thy wit ? But they 'le not lyre in such an idle Quest , Thou doest but kill , and Circumvent in Iest , And when thy anger'd Muse swells to a blow 'T is but for Field's , or Swansteed's overthrow . Yet shall these Conquests of thy Bayes outlive Their Scotish zeale , and Compacts made to grieve The Peace of Spirits , and when such deeds fayle Of their foule Ends , a faire name is thy Bayle . But ( happy thou ! ) ne'r saw'st these stormes , our aire Teem'd with even in thy time , though seeming faire ; Thy gentle Soule meant for the shade , and ease Withdrew betimes into the Land of Peace ; So neasted in some Hospitable shore The Hermit-angler , when the mid-Seas roare Packs up his lines , and ( ere the tempest raves , Retyres , and leaves his station to the waves . Thus thou diedst almost with our peace , and wee This breathing time thy last fair Issue see , Which I think such ( if needless Ink not soyle So Choice a Muse , ) others are but thy foile ; This , or that age may write , but never see A Wit that dares run Paralell with thee . True , BEN must live ! but bate him , and thou hast Undone all future wits , and match'd the past . Upon the Poems and Playes of the ever memorable Mr. William Cartwright . I Did but see thee ! and how vain it is To vex thee for it with Remonstrances , Though things in fashion , let those Iudge , who sit Their twelve pence out , to clap their hands at wit ; I fear to Sinne thus neer thee ; for ( great Saint ! ) 'T is known , true beauty hath no need of paint . Yet , since a Labell fixt to thy fair Hearse Is all the Mode , and tears put into Verse Can teach Posterity our present griefe And their own losse , but never give reliefe ; I 'le tell them ( and a truth which needs no passe , ) That wit in Cartwright at her Zenith was , Arts , Fancy , Language , all Conven'd in thee , With those grand Miracles which deifie The old worlds Writings , kept yet from the fire , Because they force these worst times to admire . Thy matchless Genius , in all thou didst write , Like the Sun , wrought with such stayd beat , and light , That not a line ( to the most Critick he ) Offends with flashes , or obscuritie . When thou the wild of humours trackst , thy pen So Imitates that Motley slock in men , As if thou hadst in all their bosomes been , And seen those Leopards that lurk within . The am'rous Youth steals from thy Courtly page His vow'd Addresse , the Souldier his brave rage ; And those soft beauteous Readers whose looks can Make some men Poets , and make any ' man A Lover , when thy Slave but seems to dye , Turn all his Mourners , and melt at the Eye . Thus , thou thy thoughts hast drest in such a strain As doth not only speak , but rule and raign , Nor are those bodyes they assum'd , dark Clouds , Or a thick bark , but clear , transparent shrouds , Which who lookes on , the Rayes so strongly beat They 'l brushe and warm him with a quickning heat , So Souls shine at the Eyes , and Pearls display Through the loose-Chrystal-streams a glaunce of day . But what 's all this unto a Royall Test ? Thou art the Man , whom great Charles so exprest ! Then let the Crowd refrain their needless humme , When Thunder speaks , then Squibs and Winds are dumb . To the best , and most accomplish'd Couple — BLessings as rich and fragrant crown your heads As the mild heav'n on Roses sheds , When at their Cheeks ( like Pearls ) they weare The Clouds that court them in a teare , And may they be fed from above By him which first ordain'd your love ! Fresh as the houres may all your pleasures be , And healthfull as Eternitie ! Sweet as the flowres first breath , and Close As th' unseen spreadings of the Rose , When he unfolds his Curtain'd head , And makes his bosome the Suns bed . Soft as your selves run your whole lifes , and cleare As your own glasse , or what shines there ; Smooth as heav'ns face , and bright as he When without Mask , or Tiffanie , In all your time not one Iarre meet But peace as silent as his feet . Like the dayes Warmth may all your Comforts be , Untoil'd for , and Serene as he , Yet free and full as is that sheafe Of Sun-beams gilding ev'ry leafe , When now the tyrant-heat expires And his Cool'd locks breath milder fires . And as those parcell'd glories he doth shed Are the faire Issues of his head , Which ne'r so distant are soon known By th' heat and lustre for his own , So may each branch of yours wee see Your Coppyes , and our Wonders be ! And when no more on Earth you must remain Invited hence to heav'n again , Then may your vertuous , virgin-flames Shine in those Heires of your fair names , And teach the world that mysterie Your selves in your Posteritie ! So you to both worlds shall rich presents bring , And gather'd up to heav'n , leave here a Spring . An Elegie on the death of Mr. R. Hall , slain at Pontefract , 1684. I Knew it would be thus ! and my Just fears Of thy great spirit are Improv'd to tears . Yet slow these not from any base distrust Of a fair name , or that thy honour must Confin'd to those cold reliques sadly sit In the same Cell an obscure Anchorite . Such low distempers Murther , they that must Abuse thee so , weep not , but wound thy dust . But I past such dimme Mourners can descrie Thy same above all Clouds of obloquie , And like the Sun with his victorious rayes Charge through that darkness to the last of dayes . 'T is true , fair Manhood hath a female Eye , And tears are beauteous in a Victorie , Not are wee so high-proofe , but griefe will find Through all our guards a way to wound the mind ; But in thy fall what addes the brackish summe More than a blott unto thy Martyrdome , Which scorns such wretched suffrages , and stands More by thy single worth , than our whole bands , Yet could the puling tribute rescue ought In this sad lofle , or wert thou to be brought Back here by tears , I would in any wise Pay down the summe , or quite Consume my Eyes . Thou fel●'st our double ruine , and this rent Forc●d in thy life shak'd both the Church and tent , Learning in others steales them from the Van , And basely wise Emasculates the man . But lodged in thy brave soul the book●sh seat Serve'd only as the light unto thy heat ; Thus when some quitted action , to their shame , And only got a discreet towards name , Thou with thy bloud mad'st purchase of renown , And diedst the glory of the Sword and Gown Thy bloud hath hallow'd Pomfret , and this blow ( Prophan'd before ) hath Church'd the Castle now . Nor is 't a Common valour we deplore , But such as with fifteen a hundred bore , And lightning like ( not coopt within a wall ) In stormes of fire and steele fell on them all . Thou went no wool-sack souldier , nor of those Whose Courage lies in winking at their foes , That live at loop-holes , and consume their breath On Match or Pipes , and sometimes peepe at death ; No it were sinne to number these with thee , But that ( thus poiz'd ) our losse wee better see . The fair and open valour was thy shield , And thy known station , the defying suld . Yet these in thee I would not Voturs call . But that this age must know , that thou hadst all . Those richer graces that adorn'd thy mind Like stars of the first magnitude , so shin'd , That is oppos'd unto these lesser lights All we can say , is this , They were fair nights . Thy Paty and Leamme did unite , And though with Severall beames made up one light , And such thy Judgement was , that I dare swear Whole Counsels might as soon , and Synods erre . But all these now are out ! and as some Star Hurl'd in Diurnall motions from far , And seen to droop at night , is vainly sed To fall , and find an Occidentall bed , Though in that other world what wee Judge west Proves Elevation , and a new , fresh East . So though our weaker sense den'es us sight And bodies cannot trace the Spirits flight , Wee know those graces to be still in thee , But wing'd above us to eternitie . Since then ( thus flown ) thou art so much refin'd , That we can only reach thee with the mind , I will not in this dark and narrow glasse Let thy scant shadow for Perfections passe , But leave thee to be read more high , more queint , In thy own bloud a Souldier and a Saint . — Salve aetcrnum mihi maxime Palls ! AEteraumg ; vale ! — To my learned friend , Mr. T. Powell , upon His Translation of Malvezzi's Christian Politician . WEe thank you , worthy Sir , that now we see Malvezzi languag'd like our Infancie , And can without suspition entertain This forraign States-man to our brest or brain , You have enlarg'd his praise , and from your store By this Edition made his worth the more . Thus by your learned hand ( amidst the corse ) Outlandish plants thrive in our thankless soile , And wise men after death , by a strange fate , Lye Leiguer here , and beg to serve our State . Italy now , though Mistris of the Bayes , Waits on this wreath , proud of a forraign praise , For , wise Malvezzi , thou didst lye before Confin'd within the language of one shore , And like those Stars which neer the Poles doe steer Wer 't but in one part of the Globe seen cleer , Provence and Nap'es were the best and most Thou couldst thine in , fixt to that single Coast , Perhaps some Cardinal to be thought wise And honest too , would ask , what was thy price ? Then thou must pack to Rome , where thou mightst lye E'r thou shouldst have new cloathes eternally , For though so neer the seav'n hills , ne'rthelesse Thou cam'st to Antwerp for thy Roman dresse : But now then art come hither , thou mayst run Through any Clime as well known as the Sun , And in thy sev'rall dresses like the year Challenge acquaintance with each peopled Sphere . Come then rare Politicians of the time , Brains of some standing , Elders in our Clime , See here the method : A wise , solid stare Is quick in acting , friendly in debate , Ioynt in advice , in resolutions just , Mild in successe , true to the Common trust . It cements ruptures , and by gentle hand Allayes the heat and burnings of a land , Religion guides it , and in all the Tract Designes so twist , that heav'n confirms the act ; If from these lists you wander as you steere , Look back , and Caltchile your actions here , These are the Marks to which true States-men tend , And greatness here with goodness hath one End . To my worthy friend Master T. Lewes . SEes not my friend , what a deep snow Candies our Countries wooddy brow ? The yeelding branch his load scarse bears Opprest with snow , and frozen tears , While the dumb rivers slowly float , All bound up in an Icie Coat . Let us meet then ! and while this world In wild Excentricks now is hurld , Keep wee , like nature , the same Key , And walk in our forefathers way ; Why any more cast wee an Eye On what may come , not what is nigh ? Why vex our selves with feare , or hope And cares beyond our Horoscope ? Who into future times would peere Looks ost beyond his terme set here , And cannot goe into those grounds But through a Church-yard which them bounds ; Sorrows and sighes and searches spend And draw our bottome to an end , But discreet Joyes lengthen the lease Without which life were a disease , And who this age a Mourner goes , Doth with his tears but seed his foes . To the most Excellently accomplish'd , Mrs K. Philips . SAy wittie fair one , from what Sphere Flow these rich numbers you shed here ? For sure such Incantations come From thence , which strike your Readers dumbe , A strain , whose measures gently meet Like Virgin-lovers , or times feet , Where language Smiles , and accents rise As quick , and pleasing as your Eyes , The Poem smooth , and in each line Soft as your selfe , yet Masculine ; Where not Coorse trifles blot the page With matter borrow'd from the age , But thoughts as Innocent , and high As Angels have , or Saints that dye . These Raptures when I first did see New miracles in Poetrie , And by a hand , the●r good would misse His Bayes and Fountaines but to kisse , My weaker Genius ( cr●ss● to fashion ) Slept in a silent admiration , A Rescue , by whole grace disguise Pretenders oft have past for wise , And yet as Pilgrims humbly touch Those Shrines to which they bow so much , And Clouds in Courtship flock , and run To be the Mask unto the Sun , So I concluded , It was true I might at distance worship you A Persian Votarie , and say It was your light shew'd me the way . So Lodestones guide the duller Steele , And high perfections are the Wheele Which moves the lesse , for gifts divine Are strung upon a Vi●al line Which touch●d by you , Excites in all Affectio●s Epidemicall . And this made me ( a truth most fit ) Adde my weak Eccho to your wit , Which pardon , Lady , for Assayes Obscure as these might blast your Bayes , As Common hands soyle Flowres , and make That dew they wear , weepe the mistake . But I 'le wash off the staine , and vow No Lawrel growes , but for your Brow. An Epitaph upon the Lady Elizabeth , Second Daughter to his late Majestie . YOuth , Beauty , Vertue , Innocence Heav'ns royall , and select Expence , With Virgin-tears , and sighs divine , Sit here the Genii of this shrine , Where now ( thy fair soule wing'd away , ) They guard the Casket where she lay . Thou hadst , e'r thou the light couldst see , Sorrowes layd up , and stor'd for thee , Thou suck'dst in woes , and the brests lent Their Milk to thee , but to lament ; Thy portion here was griefe , thy years Distilld no other rain , but tears , Tears without noise , but ( understood ) As lowd , and shrill as any bloud ; Thou seem'st a Rose bud born in Snow , A flowre of purpose sprung to bow To headless tempests , and the rage Of an Incensed , stormie Age , Others , e're their afflictions grow , Are tim'd , and season'd for the blow , But thine , as Rhumes the tend'rest part , Fell on a young and harmless heart . And yet as Balm-trees gently spend Their tears for those , that doe them rend , So mild and pious thou wert seen , Though full of Suffrings , free from spleen , Thou didst nor murmure , nor revile , But d●ank'st thy wormwood with a smile . As envious Eyes blast , and Infect And cause misfortunes by aspect , So thy sad stars dispens'd to thee No Influxe , but Calamitie , They view'd thee with Ecclypsed rayes , And but the back-side of bright dayes . These were the Comforts she had here , As by an unseen hand 't is cleer , Which now she reads , and smiling wears A Crown with him , who wipes off tears . To Sir William D' avenant , upon his Gondibert . WEll , wee are rescued land by thy rare Pen Poets shall live , when Princes dye like men . Th'hast cleer'd the prospect to our harmless Hill , Of late years clouded with imputed Ill , And thy Soft , youthfull couples there may move As chast as Stars converse and smile above . Th'hast taught their Language , and their love to flow Calme as Rose-leafes , and coole as Virgin-snow , Which doubly feasts us , being so refin'd They both delight , and dignifie the mind , Like to the watrie Musick of some Spring , Whose pleasant flowings at once wash and sing . And where before Heroick Poems were Made up of Spirits , Prodigies , and fear , And shew'd ( through all the Me●ancholy flight , ) Like some dark Region overcast with night , As if the Poet had been quite dismay'd , While only Giants and Inchantments sway'd , Thou like the Sun , whose Eye brooks no disguise Hast Chas'd them hence , and with Discoveries So rare and learned fill'd the place , that wee Those fam'd Grandeza's find out-done by thee , And under-foot see all those Vizards hurl'd , Which bred the wonder of the former world . ' I was dull to sit , as our fore-fathers did , At Crums and Voyders , and because unbid Refrain wise appetite . This made thy fire Break through the ashes of thy aged Sire To lend the world such a Convincing light As shewes his fancy darker than his sight . Nor was 't alone the bars and length of dayes ( Though those gave strength and starwe to his bayes , ) Encounter'd thee , but what 's an old Complaint And kills the fancy , a forlorn Restraint ; How couldst thou mur'd in solitarie stones Dresse BIRTH A'S simi'es , though well thou might'st her grones ? And , strangely Eloquent , thy self divide 'Twixt Sad misfortunes , and a Bloomie Bride ? Through all the tenour of thy ample Song Spun from thy own rich store , and shar'd among Those fair Adventurers , we plainly see Th' Imputed gifts , Inherent are in thee . Then live for ever ( and by high desert ) In thy own mirrour , matchless Gondibert , And in bright Birtha leave thy love Inshrin'd Fresh as her Emrauld , and fair as her mind , While all Confesse thee ( as they ought to doe ) The Prince of Poets , and of Lovers too . Tristium Lib. 5o . Eleg. 3a. To his fellow-Poets at Rome , upon the birth-day of Bacchus . THis is the day ( blith god of Sack ) which wee If I mistake not , Consecrate to thee , When the soft Rose wee marry to the Bayes , And warm'd with thy own wine reherse thy praise , 'Mongst whom ( while to thy Poet fate gave way ) I have been held no small part of the day , But now , dull'd with the Cold Bears frozen seat , Sarmatia holds me , and the warlike Gere . My former life , unlike to this my last , With Romes best wits of thy full Cup did tast , Who since have seen the savage Pontick band , And all the Choler of the Sea and Land : Whether sad Chance , or heav'n hath this design'd , And at my birth some fatall Planet shin'd , Of right thou shouldst the Sisters knots undoe , And tree thy Votarie and Poet too . Or are you God ( like us ) in such a slate As cannot alter the decrees of fate I know with much adoe thou didst obtain Thy Iovial godhead , and on earth thy pain Was no whit lesse , so wandring thou didst run To the Getes too , and Snow-weeping Strymon , With Persia , Ganges , and what ever streams The thirsly Moon drinks in the mid-day beames . But thou wert twice-born , and the Fates to thee ( To make all sure ) doubled thy miserie , My suffrings too are many : if it be Held safe for me to boast adversitie , Nor was 't a Common blow , but from above Like his , that died for Imitating Iove , Which when thou heardst , a ruine so divine And Mother-like , should make thee pitty mine . And on this day , which Poets unto thee Crown with full bowles , ask , what 's become of me ? Help bucksome God then ! so may thy lov'd Vine Swarm with the num'rous grape , and big with Wine Load the kind Elm , and so thy Orgyes be With priest lowd showtes , and Satyrs kept to thee ! So may in death Lycurgus ne'r be blest , Nor Pentheus wandring ghost find any rest ! And so for ever bright ( thy Chiefe desires , ) May thy wifes crown out shine the lesser fires ! It but now , mindfull of my love to thee , Thou wilt , in what thou canst , my helper be . You Gods have Commerce with your selves , try then If Caesar will restore me Rome agen . And you my trusty friends ( the Jollie Crew Of careless Poets ! ) when , without me , you Perform this dayes glad Myst'ries , let it be Your first Appeal unto his Deitie , And let one of you ( touch'd with my sad name ) Mixing his wine tears , lay down the same , And ( sighing ) to the rest this thought Commend , O! There is Ovid now our banish'd friend ? This doe , if in your brests I e'r deserv'd So large a share , nor spitefully reserv'd , Nor basely sold applause , or with a brow Condemning others , did my selfe allow . And may your happier wits grow lowd with fame As you ( my best of friends ! ) preserve my name . De Ponto , Lib. 3o . To his friends ( after his many sollicitations ) refusing to petition Caesar for his releasement . YOu have Consum'd my language , and my pen Incens'd with begging scorns to write agen . You grant , you knew my sute : My Muse , and I Had taught it you in frequent Elegie , That I believe ( yet seal'd ) you have divin'd Our Repetitions , and forestal'd my mind , So that my thronging Elegies , and I Have made you ( more then Poets ) prophesie . But I am now awak'd ; forgive my dream VVhich made me Crosse the Proverb and the Stream , And pardon , friends , that I so long have had Such good thoughts of you , I am not so mad As to continue them . You shall no more Complain of troublesome Verse , or write o're How I endanger you , and vex my s●●ife VVith the sad legends of a banish'd life . I 'le bear these plagues my selfe : for I have past Through greater ones , and can as well at last These pettie Crosses . 'T is for some young beast To kick his bands , or with his neck releast From the sad Yoke . Know then , That as for me VVhom Fate hath us'd to such calamitie , I scorn her spite and yours , and freely dare The highest ills your malice can prepare . 'T was Fortune threw me hither , where I now Rude Getes and Thrace see , with the snowie brow Of Cloudie Amles , and if she decree Her sportive pilgrims List bed here must be I am content ; nay more , she cannot doe That Act which I would not consent unto . I can delight in vain hopes , and desire That state more then her Change and Smiles , then high't I hugge a strong despaire , and think it brave To baffle faith , and give those hopes a grave . Have you not seen cur'd wounds enlarg'd , and he That with the first wave sinks , yielding to th'tree VVaters , without th'Expence of armes or breath Hath still the easiest , and the quickest death . VVhy nurse I sorrows then ? why these desires Of Changing Scythia for the Sun and fires Of some calm kinder aire ? what did bewitch My frantick hopes to flye so vain a pitch , And thus out-run my self ? Mad-man ! could I Suspect fate had for me a Courtesie ? These errours grieve : And now I must forget Those pleas'd idoea's I did frame and set Unto my selfe , with many fancyed Springs And Groves , whose only losse new sorrow brings . And yet I would the worst of fate endure , E're you should be repuls'd , or lesse secure , But ( base , low soules ! ) you left me not for this , But 'cause you durst not . Caesar could not misse Of such a trifle , for I know that he Scorns the Cheap triumphs of my miserie . Then since ( degen'rate friends ) not he , but you Cancell my hopes , and make afflictions new , You shall Confesse , and same shall tell you , I At Isler dare as well as Tyber dye . De Ponto , lib. 4o . Eleg. 3a. To his Inconstant friend , translated for the use of all the Iudases of this touch-stone-Age . SHall I complain , or not ? Or shall I mask Thy hatefull name , and in this bitter task Master my just Impatience , and write down Thy crime alone , and leave the rest unknown ? Or wilt thou the succeeding years should see And teach thy person to posteritie ? No , hope is not ; for know , most wretched man , 'T is not thy base and weak detraction can Buy thee a Poem , nor move me to give Thy name the honour in my Verse to live . Whilst yet my Ship did with no stormes dispute And tem'prate winds fed with a calme salute My prosp'rous failes , thou were the only man That with me then an equall fortune ran , But now since angry heav'n with Clouds and night Stifled those Sun-beams , thou hast ta'ne thy flight , Thou knows't I want thee , and art meerly gone To shun that rescue , I rely'd upon ; Nay , thou dissemblest too , and doest disclame Not only my Acquaintance , but my name ; Yet know ( though deale to this ) that I am he Whose years and love had the same infancie With thine , Thy deep familiar , that did share Soules with thee , and partake thy Ioyes or Care , Whom the same Roose lodg'd , and my Muse those nights So solemnly endear'd to her delights ; But now , perfidious traitour , I am grown The Abject of thy brest , not to be known In that false Closes more ; Nay , thou wilt not So much as let me know , I am forgot . If thou wilt say , thou didst not love me , then Thou didst dissemble : or , if love agen , Why now Inconstant ? came the Crime from me That wrought this Change ? Sure , if no Justice be Of my side , thine must have it . Why dost hide Thy reasons then ? for me , I did so guide My selfe and actions , that I cannot see What could offend thee , but my miserie . Las ! if thou wouldst not from thy store allow Some rescue to my wants , at least I know Thou couldst have writ , and with a line or two Reliev'd my famish'd Eye , and eas'd me so . I know not what to think ! and yet I hear , Not pleas'd with this , th'art witty , and dost Jeare ; Bad man ! thou hast in this those tears kept back I could have shed for thee , shouldst thou but lack . Knows't not that Fortune on a Globe doth stand , Whose upper slipprie part without command Turns lowest still ? the sportive leafes and wind Are but dull Emblems of her fickle mind . In the whole world there 's nothing I can see Will throughly parallel her wayes , but thee . All that we hold , hangs on a slender twine And our best states by sudden chance decline ; Who hath not heard of Croesus proverb'd gold Yet knowes his foe did him pris'ner hold ? He that once aw'd Sicilia's proud Extent By a poor art could famine scarse prevent ; And mighty Pompey e'r he made an end Was glad to beg his slave to be his friend ; Nay , he that had so oft Romes Consull bin , And forc'd Iugurtha , and the Cimbrians in , Great Marius ! with much want , and more disgrace In a foul Marsh was glad to hide his face . A divine hand swayes all mankind , and wee Of one short houre have not the certaintie ; Hadst thou one day told me , the time should be When the Getes bowes , and th'Euxine I should see , I should have check'd thy madness , and have thought Th' hadst need of all Anticira in a draught ; And yet 't is come to passe ! nor though I might Some things foresee , could I procure a sight Of my whole destinie , and free my state From those eternall , higher tyes of fate . Leave then thy pride , and though now brave and high , Think thou mayst be as poore and low as I. Tristium Lib. 3o . Eleg. 3a. To his Wife at Rome , when he was sick . DEarest ! if you those fair Eyes ( wondring ) stick On this strange Character , know , I am sick . Sick in the skirts of the lost world , where I Breath hopeless of all Comforts , but to dye . What heart ( think'st thou ) have I in this sad seat Tormented 'twixt the Samomate and Gete ? Nor aire nor water please : their very skie Looks strange and unaccustom'd to my Eye , I scarse dare breath it , and I know not how The Earth that bears me shewes unpleasant now , Nor Diet here 's , nor lodging for my Ease , Nor any one that studies a disease ; No friend to comfort me , none to defray With smooth discourse the Charges of the day . All tir'd alone I lye and ( thus ) what e're Is absent , and at Rome I fancy here , But when then c●m'st , I blot the Anie Scrowle , And give thee full possession of my soule , Thee ( absent ) I embrace , thee only voice , And night and day holy a Husbands Joyes ; Nay , of thy name so oft I mention make That I am thought distracted for thy sake ; When my tir'd Spirits faile , and my sick heart Drawes in that fire which actuates each part , If any say , th'art come ! I force my pain , And hope to see thee , gives me life again . Thus I for thee , whilst thou ( perhaps ) more blest Careless of me doest breath all peace and rest . Which yet I think not , for ( Deare Soule ! ) too well Know I thy griefe , since my first woes befell . But if strict heav'n my stock of dayes hath spun And with my life my errour wil be gone , How easie then ( O Caesar ! ) wer 't for thee To pardon one , that now doth cease to be ? That I might yeeld my native aire this breath , And banish not my ashes after death ; Would thou hadst either spar'd me untill dead , Or with my bloud redeem'd my absent head , Thou shouldst have had both freely , but O! thou Wouldst have me live to dye an Exile now . And must I then from Rome so far meet death , And double by the place my losse of breath ? Nor in my last of houres on my own bed ( In the sad Conflict ) rest my dying head ? Nor my soules Whispers ( the last pledge of life , ) Mix with the tears and kisses of a wife ? My last words none must treasure , none will rise And ( with a teare ) seal up my vanquish'd Eyes , Without these Rites I dye , distrest in all The splendid sorrowes of a Funerall , Unpittied , and unmourn'd for , my sad head In a strange Land goes friendless to the dead . When thou hear'st this , O how thy faithfull soule Will sink , whilst griefe doth ev'ry part controule ! How often wilt thou look this way , and Crie , O where is 't yonder that my love doth lye ! Yet spare these tears , and mourn not now for me , Long since ( dear heart ! ) have I been dead to thee , Thank then I dyed , when Thee and Rome I lost That death to me more griefe then this hath Cost ; Now , if thou canst ( but thou canst not ) best wise Rejoyce , my Cares are ended with my life , At least , yeeld not to sorrowes , frequent use Should make these miseries to thee no newes . And here I wish my Soul died with my breath And that no part of me were free from death , For , if it be Immortall , and outlives The body , as Phythagoras believes , Betwixt these Sarmates ghosts , a Roman I Shall wander , vext to all Eternitie . But thou ( for after death I shall be free , ) Fetch home these bones , and what is left of me , A few Flowres give them , with some Balme , and lay Them in some Suburb grave hard by the way , And to Informe posterity , who 's there , This sad Inscription let my marble weare , Here lyes the loft-soul'd Lecturer of Love , Whose envy'd wit did his own ruine prove . But thou , ( who e'r thou beest , that passing by Lendst to this sudden stone a bastie Eye , If e'r thou knew'st of Love the sweet disease , Grudge not to say , May Ovid rest in peace ! This for my tombe : but in my books they 'l see More strong and lasting Monuments of mee , Which I believe ( though fatall ) will afford An Endless name unto their ruin'd Lord . And now thus gone , It rests for love of me Thou shewst some sorrow to my memory ; Thy Funerall offrings to my ashes beare With Wreathes of Cypresse bath'd in many a teare , Though nothing there but dust of me remain , Yet shall that Dust perceive thy pious pain . But I have done , and my tyr'd sickly head Though I would fain write more , desires the bed ; Take then this word ( perhaps my last to tell ) Which though I want , I wish it thee , Fare-well . Ausonii Cupido , Edyl. 6. IN those blest fields of Everlasting aire ( Where to a Myrtle-grove the soules repaire Of deceas'd Lovers , ) the sad , thoughtfull ghosts Of Injur'd Ladyes meet where each accosts The other with a sigh , whose very breath Would break a heart , and ( kind Soules ! ) love in death , A thick wood clouds their walks where day scarce peeps , And on each hand Cypresse and Poppey sleepes , The drowsie Rivers slumber , and Springs there Blab not , but softly melt into a teare , A sickly dull aire fans them , which can have When most in force scarce breath to build a wave . On either bank through the still shades appear A Scene of pensive flowres , whose bosomes wear Drops of a Lever's bloud , the Emblem'd truths Of deep despair , and Love-slain Kings and Youths . The Hyacinth , and self-enamour'd Boy Narcissus flourish there , with Venus Joy The spruce Adonis , and that Prince whose flowre Hath sorrow languag'd on him to this houre ; All sad with love they hang their heads , and grieve As if their passions in each lease did live ; And here ( alas ! ) these soft-soul'd Ladies stray , And ( oh ! too late ! ) treason in love betray . Her blasted birth sad Semile repeats , And with her tears would quench the thund'rers heats , Then shakes her bosome , as if fir'd again , And fears another lightnings flaming train . The lovely Pocris ( here ) bleeds , sighes , and swounds , Then wakes , and kisses him that gave her wounds . Sad Hero holds a torch forth , and doth light Her lost Leander through the waves and night . Her Boateman desp'rate Sapho still admires , And nothing but the Sea can quench her fires . Distracted Phoedïa with a restless Eye Her disdain'd Letters reads , then casts them by . Rare , faithfull Thysbe ( sequestred from these ) A silent , unseen sorrow doth best please , For her Loves sake , and last good-night , poor she Walks in the shadow of a Mulberrie . Neer her young Canace with Dido sits A lovely Couple , but of desp'rate wits , Both dy'd alike , both pierc'd their tender brests , This with her Fathers Sword , that with their Guests . Within the thickest textures of the Grove Diana in her Silver-beams doth rove , Her Crown of stars the pi●chi● aire Invades , And with a faint light gilds the silent shades , Whilst her sad thoughts fixt on her sleepie I ever To Latmos-hill , and his retirements move her . A thousand more through the wide , darksome wood Feast on their cares , the Maudlin-Lovers food , For griefe and absence doe but Edge desire , And Death is fuell to a Lovers fire . To see these Trophies of his wanton bow Cupid comes in , and all in triumph now ( Rash , unadvised Boy ! ) disperseth round The sleepie Mists , his Wings and quiver wound With noise the quiet aire . This sudden stirre Betrayes his godship , and as we from far A clouded , sickly Moon observe , so they Through the false Mists his Ecclyps'd torch betray . A hot pursute thy make , and though with care , And a slow wing he softly stems the aire , Yet they ( as subtill now as he ) surround His silenc'd course , and with the thick night bound Surprize the Wag. As in a dream we strive To voyce our thoughts , & vainly would revive Our Entraunc'd tongues , but can not speech enlarge 'Till the Soule wakes and reassumes her Charge , So joyous of their Prize , they flock about And vainly Swell with an Imagin'd shout . Far in these shades , and melancholy Coasts A Myrtle growes , well known to all the ghosts . Whose stretch'd top ( like a great man rais'd by Fate ) Looks big , and scorns his neighbours low estate ; His leavy arms into a green Cloud twist . And on each Branch doth sit a lazie mist . A fatall tree , and luckless to the god , Where for disdain in life ( loves worst of Ods ) The Queen of shades , fair Proserpine did rack The sad Adonis , hithet now they pack This little God , where , first disarm'd , they bind His skittish wings , then both his hands behind His back they tye , and thus secur'd at last The peevish wanton to the tree make fast . Here at adventure without Iudge of Jurie He is condemn'd , while with united furie They all assaile him ; As a thiefe at Bar Lest to the Law , and mercy of his Star , Hath Bills heap'd on him , and is question'd there By all the men that have been rob'd that year , So now what ever Fate , or their own will Scor'd up in life , Cupid must pay the bill . Their Servants falshood , Jealousie , disdain , And all the plagues that abus'd Maids can feign , Are layd on him , and then to heighten spleen Their own deaths crown the summe . Prest thus between His faire accusers , 't is at last decreed , He by those weapons , that they died , should bleed . One grasps an airie Sword , a second holds Illusive fire and in vain , wanton folds Belyes a flame ; Others lesse kind appear To let him bloud , and from the purple tear Create a Rose . But Sapho all this while Harvests the aire , and from a thicken'd pile Of Clouds like Leucas top , spreads underneath A Sea of Mists , the peacefull billowes breath Without all noise , yet so exactly move They seem to Chide , but distant from above Reach not the eare , and ( thus prepar'd ) at once She doth o'rwhelm him with the airie Sconce . Amidst these tumults , and as fierce as they Venus steps in , and without thought , or stay Invades her Son ; her old disgrace is cost Into the Bill , when Mars and Shee made fast In their Embraces were expos'd to all The Scene of gods stark naked in their fall . Nor serves a verball penance , but with hast From her fair brow ( O happy flowres so plac'd ! ) She tears a Rosie garland , and with this Whips the untoward Boy , they gently kisse His snowie skin , but she with angry hast Doubles her strength , untill bedew'd at last With a thin bloudie sweat , their Innate Red , ( As if griev'd with the Act ) grew pale and dead . This layd their spleen : And now ( kind soules ! ) no more They 'l punish him , the torture that he bore , Seems greater then his crime ; with joynt Consent Fate is made guilty , and he Innocent . As in a dream with dangers we contest . And fictious pains seem to afflict our rest , So frighted only in these shades of night Cupid ( got loose ) stole to the upper light , Where ever since ( for malice unto these ) The spitefull Ape doth either Sex displease . But O that had these Ladyes been so wise To keep his Arms , and give him but his Eyes ! Boet. Lib. 1. Metrum 1. I Whose first year flourish'd with youthfull verse , In slow , sad numbers now my griefe reherse ; A broken stile my sickly lines afford , And only tears give weight unto my words ; Yet neither fate nor force my Muse cou'd fright The only faithfull Consort of my flight ; Thus what was once my green years greatest glorie , Is now my Comfort , grown decay'd and hoarie , For killing Cares th'Effects of age spurr'd on That griefe might find a fitting Mansion ; O'r my young head runs an untimely gray , And my loose skin shrinks at my blouds decay . Happy the man whose death in prosp'rous years Strikes not , nor shuns him in his age and tears . But O how deale is she to hear the Crie Of th' opprest S●ule , or shut the weeping Eye ! While treacherous Fortune with slight honours fed My first estate , she almost drown'd my head , But now since ( clouded thus ) she hides those rayes , Life adds unwelcom'd length unto my dayes ; Why then , my friends , Judg'd you my state so good ? He that may fall once , never firmly stood . Metrum 2. O In what haste with Clouds and Night Ecclyps'd , and having lost her light , The dull Soule whom distraction rends Into outward Darkness tends ! How often ( by these mists made blind , ) Have earthly cares opprest the mind ! This Soule sometimes wont to survey The spangled Zodiacks sine way Saw th'early Sun in Roses drest With the Coole Moons unstable Crest , And whatsoever wanton Star In various Courses neer or far Pierc'd through the orbs , he cou'd full well Track all her Journey , and would tell Her Mansions , turnings , Rise and fall , By Curious Calculation all . Of sudden winds the hidden Cause , And why the Calm Seas quiet face With Impetuous waves is Curld , What spirit wheeles th'harmonious world , Or why a Star dropt in the West Is seen to rise again by East , Who gives the warm Spring temp'rate houres Decking the Earth with spicie flowres , Or how it Comes ( for mans recruit ) That Autumne yeelds both Grape and fruit , With many other Secrets , he Could shew the Cause and Mysterie , But now that light is almost out , And the brave Soule lyes Chain'd about With outward Cares , whose pensive weight Sinks down her Eyes from their first height , And clean Contrary to her birth Poares on this vile and foolish Earth . Metrum 4. WHose calme soule in a settled state Kicks under foot the frowns of Fate , And in his fortunes bad or good Keeps the same temper in his bloud , Not him the flaming Clouds above , Nor Alita's fierie tempests move , No fretting seas from shore to shore Boyling with Indignation o're Nor burning thunderbolt that can A mountain shake , can st●rre this man . Dull Cowards then ! why should we start To see ●hese tyrants act their part ? Nor hope , no fear what may befall And you d●sarm their malice all . But wh● doth faintly fea● , or wish And sets no law to what is ●●s , Hath lost the buck●er , and ( poor Elfe ! ) Makes up a Chain to bind himselfe . Metrum 5. O Thou great builder of this starrie frame , Who fixt in thy eternall throne dost tame The rapid Spheres , and lest they jarre Hast giv'n a law to ev'ry starre ! Thou art the Cause that new the Moon With full or be dulls the starres , and soon Again growes dark , her light being done , The neerer still she 's to the Sun . Thou in the early hours of night Mak'st the coole Evening-star shine bright , And at Sun-rising ( 'cause the least ) Look pale and sleepie in the East . Thou , when the leafes in Winter stray , Appointst the Sun a shorter way , And in the pleasant Summer-light With nimble hourses doest wing the night . Thy hand the various year quite through Discreetly tempers , that what now The North-wind tears from ev'ry tree In Spring again restor'd we see . Then what the winter-starrs between The furrowes in meer seed have seen The Dog-star since ( grown up and born ) Hath burnt in stately , full-ear'd Corn . Thus by Creations law controll'd All things their proper stations hold Observing ( as thou didst intend ) Why they were made , and for what end . Only humane actions thou Hast no Care of , but to the flow And Ebbe of Fortune leav'st them all , Hence th' Innocent endures that thrall Due to the wicked , whilst alone They sit possessours of his throne , The Just are kill'd , and Vertue lyes Buried in obscurities , And ( which of all things is most sad ) The good man suffers by the bad . No perjuries , nor damn'd pretence Colour'd with holy , lying sense Can them annoy , but when they mind To try their force , which most men find . They from the highest sway of things Can pull down great , and pious Kings . O then at length , thus loosely hurl'd Look on this miserable world Who e'r thou art , that from above Doest in such order all things move ! And let not man ( of divine art Not the least , nor vilest part ) By Casuall evills thus bandied , be The sport of fates obliquitie . But with that faith thou guid'st the heaven , Settle this Earth , and make them even . Metrum 6. WHen the Crabs fierce Constellation Burns with the beams of the bright Sun , Then he that will goe out to sowe , Shall never reap where he did plough , But in stead of Corn may rather The old worlds diet , Accorns gather . Who the Violet doth love Must seek her in the flowrie grove , But never when the Norths cold wind The Russet fields with frost doth bind . If in the Spring-time ( to no end ) The tender Vine for Grapes we bend , Wee shall find none , for only ( still ) Autumne doth the Wine-presse fill . Thus for all things ( in the worlds prime ) The wise God seal'd their proper time , Nor will permit those seasons he Ordain'd by turns , should mingled be ; Then whose wild actions out of season Crosse to nature , and her reason , VVould by new wayes old orders rend , Shall never find a happy End . Metrum 7. CUrtain'd with Clouds in a dark night The Stars cannot send forth their light . And if a sudden Southern blast The Sea in rolling waves doth cast , That angrie Element doth boile , And from the deep with stormy Coile Spues up the Sands , which in short space Scatter , and puddle his Curl'd face ; Then those Calme waters , which but now Stood clear as heavens unclouded brow , And like transparent glasse did lye Open to ev'ry searchers Eye , Look soulely stirr'd , and ( though desir'd ) Resist the sight , because bemir'd , So often from a high hills brow Some Pilgrim-spring is seen to flow , And in a straight line keep her Course Till from a Rock with headlong force Some broken peece blocks up her way And fo●ceth all her streams astray . Then thou that with inlightned Rayes , Wouldst see the truth , and in her wayes Keep without Errour ; neither fear The future , nor too much give ear To present Joyes ; And give no scope To griefe , nor much to flatt'ring hope . For when these Rebels raign , the mind Is both a Pris'ner , and stark blind . Lib. 2. Metrum 1. FOrtune ( when with rash hands she quite turmoiles The state of things , and in tempestuous foiles Comes whirling like Eurious , ) beats quire down With head long force the highest Monarchs crown , And in his place unto the throne doth fetch The despis'd looks of some mechanick wretch . So Jests at tears and miseries , is proud , And laughs to hear her vassals grone aloud . These are her sports , thus she her wheele doth drive And plagues man with her blind prerogative ; Nor is 't a favour of Inferiour strain , If once kickt down , she lets him rise again . Metrum 2. IF with an open , bounteous hand ( Wholly left at Mans Command ) Fortune should in one rich flow As many heaps on him beslow Of massie gold , as there be sands Tost by the waves and winds rude bands , Or bright stars in a Winter night Decking their silent Orbs with light , Yet would his lust know no restraints , Nor cease to weep in sad Complaints . Though heaven should his vowes reguard , And in a prodigall reward Return him all he could in plore , Adding new horours to his store , Yet all were nothing . Goods in sight Are scorn'd , and lust in greedy flight Layes out for more ; What measure then Can tame these wild desires of men ? Since all wee give both last and first Doth but inflame , and feed their thirst ; For how can he be rich , who 'midst his store Sits sadly pining , and believes he 's poore . Metrum 3. WHen the Sun from his Rosie bed The dawning light begins to shed , The drowsie sky uncurtains round , And the ( but now bright stars all drown'd In one great light , look dull and tame , And homage his victorious flame , Thus , when the warm Etesian wind The Earth's seald bosome doth unbind , Straight she her various store discloses , And purples every Grove with Roses ; But if the Souths tempestuous breath Breaks forth , those blushes pine to death . Oft in a quiet sky the deep With unmov'd waves seems fast asleep , And oft again the blustring North In angrie heaps provokes them forth . If then this world , which holds all Nations , Suffers it selfe such alterations , That not this mighty , massie frame , Nor any part of it can Claime One certain course , why should man prate , Or Censure the designs of Fate ? Why from fraile honours , and goods lent Should he expect things permanent ? ●●nce 't is enacted by divine decree ●hat nothing mortall shall eternall be . Metrum 4. WHo wisely would for his retreat Build a secure and lasting seat , Where stov'd in silence he may sleep Beneath the Wind , above the Deep ; Let him th' high hils leave on one hand , And on the other the false sand ; The first to winds lyes plain and even From all the blustring points of heaven ; The other hollow and unsure , No weight of building will endure . A voyding then the envied state Of buildings bravely situate , Remember thou thy selfe to lock Within some low neglected Rock ; There when fierce heaven in thunder Chides , And winds and waves rage on all sides , Thou happy in the quiet sense Of thy poor Cell with small Expence Shall lead a life serene and faire , And scorn the anger of the aire . Metrum 5. HAppy that first white age ! when wee Lived by the Earths meere Charitie , No soft luxurious Diet then Had Effeminated men , No other meat , nor wine had any Then the Course Mast , or simple honey , And by the Parents care layd up Cheap Berries did the Children sup . No pompous weare was in those dayes Of gummie Silks , or Ska●let bayes , Their beds were on some slowrie brink And clear Spring water was their drink . The shadie Pine in the Suns heat Was their Coole and known Retreat , For then 't was not cut down , but stood The youth and glory of the wood . The daring Sailer with his slaves Then had not cut the swelling waves , Nor for desire of forraign store Seen any but his native shore . No stirring Drum had scarr'd that age , Nor the shrill Trumpets active rage , No wounds by bitter hatred made With warm bloud soil'd the shining blade ; For how could hostile madness arm An age of love to publick harm ? When Common Justice none withstood , Nor sought rewards for spilling bloud . O that at length our age would raise Into the temper of those dayes ! But ( worst then AEtna's fires ! ) debate And Avarice inflame our state . Alas ! who was it that first found Gold hid of purpose under ground , That sought out Pearles , and div'd to find Such pretious perils for mankind ! Metrum 6. HE that thirsts for glories prize , Thinking that the top of all , Let him view th'Expansed skies , And the Earths Contracted ball , 'T will shame him then , the name he wan Fils not the short walk of one man . 2. O why vainly strive you then To shake off the bands of Fate , Though same through the world of men Should in all tongues your names relate , And with proud titles swell that storie The Darke grave scorns your brightest glorie . 3. There with Nobles beggers sway , And Kings with Commons share one dust , What newes of Brutus at this day , Or Fabricius the Just , Some rude Verse Cut in stone , or led Keeps up the names , but they are dead . 4. So shall , you one day ( past reprieve ) Lye ( perhaps ) without a name , But if dead you think to live By this aire of humane fame , Know , when time stops that posthume breath , You must endure a second death . Metrum 7. THat the world in constant force Varies her Concordant course ; That seeds jarring hot and cold Doe the breed perpetuall hold ; That in his golden Coach the Sun Brings the Rofic day still on ; That the Moon swayes all those lights Which Helper ushers to dark nights ; That alternate tydes be sound The Seas ambitious waves to bound , Lest o'r the wide Earth without End Their fluid Empire should extend ; All this frame of things that be , Love which rules Heaven , Land , and Sea , Chains , keeps , orders as we see . This , if the raines he once cast by , All things that now by turns comply , Would fall to discord , and this frame Which now by sociall faith they tame , And comely orders in that fight And jarre of th●ngs would perish quite . This in a holy league of peace Keeps King and People with Increase ; And in the sacred nuptiall bands Tyes up chast hearts with willing hands , And this keeps firm without all doubt Friends by his bright Instinct found out . O happy Nation then were you If love which doth all things subdue , That rules the spacious heav'n , and brings Plenty and Peace upon his wings , Might rule you too ! and without guile Settle once more this floting Ile ! Casimirus , Lib. 4 . Ode 28. ALlmighty Spirit ! thou that by Set turns and changes from thy high And glorious throne , dost here below Rule all , and all things dost foreknow ; Can those blind plots wee here discusse Please thee , as thy wise Counsels us ? When thou thy blessings here dost strow , And poure on Earth , we flock and flow With Ioyous strife , and eager care Strugling which shall have the best share In thy rich gifts , just as we see Children about Nuts disagree . Some that a Crown have got and foyl'd Break it ; Another sees it spoil'd E're it is gotten : Thus the world Is all to peece-meals cut , and hurl'd By factious hands , It is a ball Which Fate and force divide 'twixt all The Sons of men . But o good God! While these for dust fight , and a Clod , Grant that poore I may smile , and be At rest , and perfect peace with thee . Casimirus , Lib. 2. Ode 8. IT would lesse vex distressed man If Fortune in the same pace ran To ruine him , as he did rise ; But highest states fall in a trice . No great Successe held ever long : A restless fate afflicts the throng Of Kings and Commons , and lesse dayes Serve to destroy them , then to raise . Good luck smiles once an age , but bad Makes Kingdomes in a minute sad , And ev'ry houre of life wee drive , H●●● o're us a Prerogative . Then leave ( by wild Impatience driv'n , And rash resents , ) to rayle at heav'n , Leave an ●●●●●●nly , weak complaint That De●●●●●● and Fate have no restraint . In the same houre hat gave thee breath , Thou hadst ordain'd thy houre of death , But he loves most , who here will buy With a few tears , Eternitie . Casimirus , Lib. 3. Ode 22. LEt not thy youth and false delights Cheat thee of life ; Those headely flights But wast thy time , which posts away Like winds unseen , and swift as they . Beauty is but meer paint , whose die With times breath will dissolve and flye , 'T is wax , 't is water , 't is a glasse It melts , breaks , and away doth passe . 'T is like a Rose which in the dawne The aire with gentle breath doth sawne And whisper too , but in the houres Of night is sullied with smart showres . Life spent , is wish'd for but in vain , Nor can past years come back again . Happy the Man ! who in this vale Redeems his time , shatting out all Thoughts of the world , whose longing Eyes Are ever Pilgrims in the skyes , That views his bright home , and desires To slaine amongst those glorious fores . Casimirus Lyric . Lib. 3 . Ode 23. 'T Is not rich furniture and gems With Cedar-roofes , and ancient stems , Nor yet a plenteous , lasting floud Of gold , that makes man truly good . Leave to Inquire in what faire fields A River runs which much gold yeelds , Vertue alone is the rich prize Can purchase stars , and buy the skies . Let others build with Adamant , Or pillars of carv'd Marble plant , Which rude and rough sometimes did dwell Far under earth , and neer to hell . But richer much ( from death releast ) Shines in the fresh groves of the East The Phoenix , or those fish that dwell With silver'd scales in Hiddekel . Let others with rare , various Pearls Their garments dresse , and in forc'd Curls Bind up their locks , look big and high , And shine in robes of Scarlet-die . But in my thoughts more glorious far Those native stars , and speckles are Which birds wear , or the spots which wee In Leopards dispersed see . The harmless sheep with her warm sheet Cloathes man , but who his dark heart sees Shall find a wolfe or Fox within That kills the Castor for his skin . Vertue alone , and nought else can A diffrence make 'twixt beast and man , And on her wines above the Spheres To the true light his spirit bears . Casimirus , Lib. 4. Ode 15. NOthing on Earth , nothing at all Can be exempted from the thrall Of peevish weariness ! The Sun Which our sore-fathers Judg'd to run Clear and unspotted , in our dayes Is tax'd with sullen , Ecclips'd rayes . What ever in the glorious skie Man sees , his rash , andacious Eye Dares Censure it , and in meer spite At distance will condemn the light . The wholesome mornings , whose beams cleer Those hills our fathers walkt on here Wee fancy not nor the Moons light Which through their windows shin'd at night , VVee change the Aire each year , and scorn Those Seates , in which we first were borne . Some nice , affected wond'rers love Belgia's mild winters , others remove For want of health and honestie To Summer it in Italic ; But to no end : The disease still Sticks to his Lord , and kindly will To Venice in a Barge repaire , Or Coach it to Vienna's aire , And then ( to late with home Content , ) They leave this ●rilfull banishment . But he , whose Costancie makes sure His mind and mansion , lives secure From such vain tasks , can dine and sup VVhere his old parents bred him up . Content ( no doubt ! ) most times doth dwell In Countrey-shades , or to some Cell Confines it selfe , and can alone Make simple straw , a Royall Throne . Casimirus , Lib. 4 . Ode 13. IF weeping Eyes could wash away Those Evills they mourn for night and day , Then gladly I to cure my fears With my best Iewells would buy tears . But as dew feeds the growing Corn , So Crosses that are grown sorlorn Increase with griefe , teares make teares way , And cares kept up , keep cares in pay . That wretch whom Fortune finds to seare , And melting still into a teare , She strikes more boldly , but a face Silent and drie doth her amaze . Then leave thy teares , and tedious tale Of what thou doest misfortunes call , What thou by weeping think'st to ease , Doth by that Passion but Increase , Hard things to Soft will never yield , 'T is the drie Eye that wins the field ; A noble patience quells the spite Of Fortune , and disarms her quite . The Praise of a Religious life by Mathias Casimirus . In Answer to that Ode of Horace , Beatus Ille qui procul negotiis , &c. FLaccus not so : That worldly He Whom in the Countreys shade we see Ploughing his own fields , seldome can Be justly stil'd , The Blessed man . That title only fits a Saint , Whose free thoughts far above restraint . And weighty Cares , can gladly part With house and lands , and leave the smart Litigious troubles , and lowd strife Of this world for a better life . He fears no Cold , nor heat to blast His Corn , for his Accounts are cast , He sues no man , nor stands in Awe Of the deuouring Courts of Law ; But all his time he spends in tears For the Sins of his youthfull years , Or having tasted those rich Ioyes Of a Conscience without noyse Sits in some fair shade , and doth give To his wild thoughts rules how to live . He in the Evening , when on high The Stars shine in the silent skye Beholds th'eternall flames with mirth , And globes of light more large then Earth , Then weeps for Ioy , and through his tears Looks on the fire-enamel'd Spheres , Where with his Saviour he would be Listed above mortalitie . Mean while the golden stars doe set , And the slow-Pilgrim leave all wet With his own tears , which flow so fast They make his sheps light , and soon past . By this , the Sun o're night deceast Breaks in fresh Blushes from the East , When mindfull of his former falls With strong Cries to his God he calls , And with such deep-drawn sighes doth move That he turns anger into love . In the Calme Spring , when the Earth bears , And feeds on Aprils breath , and tears , His Eyes accustom'd to the skyes Find here fresh objects , and like spyes Or busie Bees search the soft flowres Contemplate the green fields , and Bowres , Where he in Veyles , and shades doth see The back Parts of the Deitye Then sadly sighing sayes . O how These flowres with hasty , stretch'd heads grow And strive for heav'n , but rooted here Lament the distance with a teare ! The Honey-suckles Clad in white , The Rose in Red point to the light , And the Lillies hollow and bleak Look , as if they would something speak , They sigh at night to each soft gale , And at the day-spring weep it all . Shall I then only ( wretched I ! ) Opprest with Earth , on Earth still lye ? Thus speaks he to the neighbour trees And many sad Soliloquies To Springs , and Fountaines doth impart , Seeking God with a longing heart . But if to ease his busie breast He thinks of home , and taking rest A Rurall Cott , and Common fare Are all his Cordials against Care . There at the doure of his low Cell Under some shade , or neer some well Where the Coole Poplar growes , his Plate Of Common Earth , without more state Expect their Lord , Salt in a shell , Green Cheese , thin beere , Draughts that will tell No Tales , a hospitable Cup , With some fresh berries doe make up His healthfull feast , nor doth he wish For the fatt Carp , or a rare dish Of Lucrine Oysters ; The Swift Quist Or Pigeon sometimes ( if he list ) With the slow Goose that loves the stream , Fresh , various Sallads , and the Bean By Curious Pallats never sought , And to Close with , some Cheap unbought Dish for digession , are the most And Choicest dainties he can boast . Thus feasted , to the slowrie Groves , Or pleasant Rivers he removes , Where neer some fair Oke hung with Mast He shuns the Souths Infectious blast . On shadie hanks sometimes he lyes , Sometimes the open Current tryes , Where with his line and feather'd flye He sports , and takes the Scaly frie . Mean-while each hollow wood and hill Doth ring with lowings long and shrill , And shadie Lakes with Rivers deep , Eccho the bleating of the Sheep . The Black-bird with the pleasant Thrush And Nightingale in ev'ry Bush Choice Musick give , and Shepherds play Unto their sticks some loving Lay ; The thirsty Reapers in thick throngs Return home from the field with Songs , And the Carts loden with ripe Corn Come groning to the well-stor'd Barn . Nor passe wee by as the least good , A peacefull , loving neighbourhood , Whose honest wit , and Chast discourse Make none ( by hearing it ) the worse , But innocent and merry may Help ( without Sin ) to spend the day . Could now the Tyrant usurer Who plots to be a Purchaser Of his poor neighbours seat , but taste These true delights , ô with what haste And hatred of his wayes would he Renounce his Iewish Crueltie , And those Curs'd summes which poor men borrow On use to day , remit to morrow ! Ad fluvium Iscam . ISea parens florum , placido qui spumeus ore Lambis lapillos aureos , Qui moestos hyacinthos & picti {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} topbi Mulces susurris humidis , Dumquenovas pergunt menses Consumere Lunas Coelumquemortale terit , Accumulas cum Sole dies , oevumque per omne Fidelis Induras latex , O quis Inaccessos & quali murmare lucos Mutumq ; Solaris nemus ! Per te discepti credo Thracis ire querelas Plectrumquedivini senis . Venerabili viro , praeceptori suo olim & semper Colendissimo M●o . Mathaeo Herbert . Quod vixi , Mathaee , dedit Pater , haec tamen olim Vita sluat , nec erit fas meminisse datam . Vltrà Curâsti Solers , perituraque mecum Nomina post Cineres das resonare meos . ' Divide discipulum : brevis haec & lubrica nostri Pars vertat Patri , Posthuma vita tibi . Praestrantissimo viro , Thomae Poëllo in suum de Elementis oplicae libellum . VIvaces oculorum Ignes & lumina dia Fixit in angusto maximus orbe Deus , Ille Explorantes radios dedit , & vaga lustra In quibus Intuitus lexque modusque latent . Hos tacitos Jactus , lususque volubilis orbis Pingis in Exiguo , magne Poëlle , libro , Excursusque situsque , ut Lynceus opticus , edis Quotque modis fallunt , quotque adhibenda sides . AEmula naturae manus ! & mens Conscia coeli ! Illa videre dedit , vestra videre docet . Ad Echum . O Quae srondosae per amoena Cubilia silvae Nympha volas , lucoquelequax spatiaris in alto , Annosi numen nemoris , saltusque verendi Effatum , cui sola placent postrema velatûs ! Per te Narcissi morientis verba , precesque Per pueri Lassatam animam , & Conamina vitae Ultima , palantisque precor suspiria linguae . Da quo secretae haec Incaedua devia sylvae , Anfractusq ; loci dubios , & lusha repandam . Sic tibi perpetuâ ( meriloque ) haec regna Juventâ Luxurient , dabiturque tuis , sine sine , viretis Intactas Lunae lachrymas , & lambere rorem Virgineum , Caeliqueanimas haurire tepentis . Nec cedant avo stellis , sed lucida sempèt Et satiata sacro aeterni medicamine veris Ostendant longè vegetos , ut Sydera , vultus ! Sit spiret Muscata Comas , & Cynnama passim ! Dissundat levis umbra , in funere qualia spargit Phoenicis rogus out Panchea nubila slammae !