THE KING AND THE COMMONS. 
 
THE 
 
 KING cAND THE COMMONS. 
 
 CAVALIER AND PURITAN SONG. 
 
 SELECTED AND ARRANGE D 
 
 BY HENRY MORLEY, 
 
 PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH LITERATURE, tJNIV. COL. LOND. 
 
 LONDON: 
 SAMPSON LOW, SON, AND MARSTON, 
 
 CROWN BUILDINGS, 188, FLEET STREET. 
 
 1868. 
 
CHISWICK 1'KliSS: PRINTED HY UH1TTINGHAM AND VVILKINS, 
 
 TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE, 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 HIS little pleasure-book of English veree 
 attempts to blend the voices of true poets 
 who lived in the time of Charles I. and the 
 Commonwealth, into a genuine expression of 
 the manner of their music and the spirit of their time. 
 During the first seven years of the reign of Charles I. 
 all the poets who are here to be heard singing were alive 
 together. In the next year George Herbert passed 
 away ; then Randolph ; then, in the middle of the reign, 
 Ben Jonson ; Carew next ; and in its latter years, besides 
 Quarles and Ford, three died in early manhood Suckling, 
 Cartwright, and Habington. Drummond's death followed 
 close upon the King's ; Crashaw lived only into the next 
 year ; Lovelace and Cleveland did not survive the Com- 
 monwealth ; while Milton and Andrew Marvell, Waller, 
 Davenant, Butler, Denham, Cowley, with George Wither, 
 whose age was sixty at the end of the reign of Charles I., 
 lived on into the time of Charles II. The poems are 
 meant to be so arranged, that while they show the love 
 of song for its own sake, and have for a light back- 
 ground the every-day-^hara^e^^f^ountry life and 
 
vi INTRODUCTION. 
 
 town life, mirth of the harvest home, the college, and 
 the tavern, they do, after striking the keynote with a 
 few strongly marked pieces, indicate something of the 
 drift of events to the time of the king's execution, 
 through verse of his friends. The course of song pro- 
 ceeds, after this, to suggest the spirit of the Common- 
 wealth, and when it has reached the immediate sequel of 
 the story, closes with the trustful words of Milton, which 
 our later history has justified. As far as might be, 
 within limits so narrow, I have tried to give coherence 
 to a book of extracts, by basing it on the grand story of 
 our Civil War, and so blending and contrasting the 
 pieces quoted, sometimes rather for expression of 
 character than for inherent merit, that they shall speak 
 the mind of each great party to the struggle as expressed 
 by its own best men, rather than as caricatured by the 
 meaner sort of its opponents. 
 
 This being the plan of the book, because Cavalier and 
 Puritan are the only words used generally as short 
 symbols of the two camps in the great political and 
 social battle lying at the heart of it, those words are 
 placed unwillingly, for want of better, on the title-page. 
 But they have no more specific sense than loose 
 usage has assigned to them, and are taken as the mere 
 x and y of a popular algebra. The true division here 
 intended, and expressed by the chief title of this vo- 
 lume, is between the men who, upon the great questions 
 of principle then in debate, were with the King, and 
 those who were with the Commons. Some minds are 
 so constituted that they combat change, lest they lose 
 what of truth and right the past has won ; others seek 
 change wherever they believe that they can take part 
 in the conquests of the future. Minds equal in acute- 
 ness are employed continually upon an active test of the 
 
INTR OJD UCTION. v ii 
 
 validity of every questionable plea. Truth only is 
 strong enough to live through this incessant question- 
 ing ; meanwhile the conflict calls forth all the manliness 
 of man. Here, then, there shall be no gathering of 
 narrow spite from anonymous broadsheets. Where 
 there is bitterness, and that, too, must be shown,-^-it 
 is the bitterness which conflict bred in men who earned a 
 right to be remembered among wits and poets of their 
 day. These poets, of all parties, had also a sense of 
 brotherhood in their own craft. Party feeling did 
 not blind Wither or Marvell to the genius of Lovelace. 
 A living poet had the living fellowship of his com- 
 petitors, a dead poet their praise. The lines of Henry 
 Vaughan to a fellow poet (on p. 93), show what was 
 then, and among men of true genius is now, the temper 
 of the craft. A sense of their old comradeship should 
 quicken the enjoyment of this small gathering of the 
 disembodied wit of men who once were glad to come 
 together in the flesh. 
 
 Charles Stuart was twenty-five years old when, on 
 the 27th of March, 1625, he came to the throne of Eng- 
 land as King Charles I. Ben Jonson, in that year 
 twice as old as King Charles, then occupied the throne 
 of English poetry. He had of late been writing court 
 masques, but for the last nine years he had not written 
 a play for the public stage. It was six years since, in 
 the course of a visit to Scotland, he had spent part of an 
 April month with William Drummond of Hawthornden. 
 Drummond, a man eleven years his junior, left notes of 
 the conversation of his famous guest, which are not al- 
 together creditable to the note-taker. King Ben's long 
 sickness began with a stroke of palsy in the year of the 
 accession of King Charles. He wrote again for the 
 theatre because he needed bread ; wrote the " Staple of 
 
viii INTRODUCTION. 
 
 News," and the "New Inn," received ungenerously, 
 though its epilogue said of it, " the maker is sick and sad." 
 This caused him to write the indignant verses which, 
 with a few lines in recognition of a gift from Charles, 
 represent in this little book the painful close of an 
 old master's life among the men of the new generation. 
 The true wits of the day paid Ben Jonson utmost 
 honour ; none more cordially than the best of the young 
 men who pleased the court of Charles. They were 
 Ben's courtiers too, and lived with the better of their 
 sovereigns in kindly fellowship. 
 
 " My son Cartwright writes all like a man," said Jon- 
 son. Cartwright was but fourteen years old at the ac- 
 cession of King Charles, and but six-and-twenty when 
 Ben Jonson died. He was one of those who died, as 
 has been said, before the reign was out, when he had 
 scarcely ripened into man's estate. Yet he had indeed 
 written and worked like a man. He earned repute at 
 Oxford as a scholar with the gift of genius, went into holy 
 orders at the age of twenty-seven, and leapt into fame 
 as " a most florid and seraphical preacher." His loyalty 
 to the king and appetite for work, he is said to have 
 studied sixteen hours a day, caused him to be made by 
 his University one of the council of war to provide for 
 the king's troops sent to protect the colleges. He was 
 imprisoned when the forces of the Parliament prevailed 
 at Oxford, but released on bail. William Cartwright 
 not only wrote some of the best poems and plays of his 
 time, and preached some of the best sermons, but as 
 reader of metaphysics in his University he earned 
 especial praise. King Charles wore black on the day of 
 his funeral, and fifty wits and poets of the time supplied 
 their tributary verses to the volume, first published in 
 1651, of "Comedies, Tragi-Comedies, with other Poems, 
 
INTRODUCTION. ix 
 
 by Mr. William Cart-wright, late Student of Christ 
 Church in Oxford, and Proctor of the University. The 
 Airs and Songs set by Mr. Henry Lawes." There Ls 
 in this book a touching portrait of young Cartwright, 
 evidently a true likeness, with two rows of books over 
 his head, and his elbow upon the open volume of Aris- 
 totle's metaphysics. He rests on his hand a young head, 
 in which the full under-lip and downy beard are har- 
 monized to a face made spiritual by intensity of thought. 
 Cartwright died, in his thirty-second year, of a camp 
 fever that killed many in Oxford. These pages include 
 a Lullaby, from his tragi-comedy of the Siege, or 
 Love's Convert ; the rest of the pieces representing him 
 are independent poems. 
 
 Another of those short-lived men who yet survive as 
 poets, was Thomas Randolph, twenty years old at the 
 accession of King Charles. He too was counted by 
 Ben Jonson in the number of his sons. He was of 
 Westminster School and Cambridge University, before 
 he lived too fast among the wits of town as play writer 
 and poet. Staphyla's Lullaby, given in these pages, as 
 burlesque pendant to the lullaby of Cartwright' s is from 
 Randolph's "Jealous Lovers," and the dainty fairy jingle 
 at p. 65 is from " Amyntas." The language of these 
 fairies, who come from the moon, is not English ; but 
 they say only that they are very small, that they like 
 apples and rob orchards at night, because stolen fruit is 
 sweetest. 
 
 William Habington, whose age was twenty at His 
 Majesty's accession, was of a Roman Catholic family in 
 Worcestershire, the son of a studious man who got ma- 
 terials together for a history of his own county, when, 
 instead of death punishment he was condemned to stay 
 for life in Worcestershire, because he had concealed in 
 
x INTRODUCTION. 
 
 his house persons implicated in the gunpowder plot. 
 William Habington was educated at St. Omer by the 
 Jesuits, but declined to become one of their order. He 
 came home, and expressed the pure delights of love 
 and marriage in a series of poems, his " Castara," first 
 published in 1635, and revised in 1640. Habington's 
 Castara was the lady whom he married, Lucy, daughter 
 of William Herbert, the first Lord Powis. He wrote 
 also a tragi-comedy, " The Queen of Arragon," which 
 was acted and published in 1640 by the King's Chamber- 
 lain, without consent of its author. The song in this 
 volume, entitled " Young Folly," belongs to the fourth 
 act of the play ; the other pieces of his are all from 
 " Castara." Habington took no active part in politics, 
 but was of the king's friends, and wrote a " History of 
 Edward IV." at his majesty's desire. 
 
 Sir John Suckling, son of the Comptroller of the 
 Royal Household, was a year younger than Milton, 
 he being sixteen, Milton seventeen, at the date of the 
 accession of Charles I. ; and he died seven or eight 
 years before the king. He was the lively son of a grave 
 father, who qualified him to speak Latin at the age of 
 five. Suckling made, in his youth, the tour of the Con- 
 tinent, fought in the army of Gustavus Adolphus, lived 
 expensively in London with the poets for his friends, 
 and raised for the king's service a troop of horse. Some 
 have it that his death was hastened by mortification of 
 heart, because his men ran from the Scots after he had 
 spent 12,000 upon their gay equipment. Others say 
 it was mortification of the heel, caused by a penknife 
 or rusty nail which his valet de chambre, before robbing 
 him, put in his boot to stay pursuit. 
 
 Richard Crashaw was of about Suckling's age. He 
 was, like Cartwright, a popular enthusiastic preacher at 
 
INTRODUCTION. xi 
 
 Oxford as well as a poet ; was expelled from Oxford by 
 the parliamentary army, went to France, became a 
 devout Roman Catholic, and suffered much distress till 
 the good offices of the Queen obtained for him employ- 
 ment at Rome, where he died of a fever in 1650. 
 
 Edmund Waller was about four years older than 
 Suckling and Crashaw, and of the same age as Habing- 
 ton. His mother was John Hampden's sister, but a strong 
 royalist, and as his father died when Edmund Waller was 
 an infant, leaving him a large fortune, it was she who 
 sent him to Eton and to Cambridge. He married a 
 great heiress who died young, and left him, a rich 
 widower of five-and-twenty, to pay unsuccessful court 
 to the Lady Dorothea Sidney, whom he celebrated in 
 his verse as Sacharissa. His Amoret is said to have 
 been Lady Sophia Murray. Waller began his political 
 career with his uncle Hampden's party ; was arrested 
 and narrowly escaped with his life for plotting against 
 the Commons. Under the Commonwealth he wrote a 
 panegyric on Cromwell ; and the Restoration maae him 
 flatterer of Charles the Second. 
 
 Probably of the same age as Waller, but a stauncher 
 man, was John Cleveland, the son of a Leicestershire 
 vicar. He was for nine years a Fellow of St. John's 
 College, Cambridge, in repute at the University as orator 
 and poet. Deprived of his Fellowship as one of the 
 first who, at the outbreak of the Civil War, spent his 
 best wit in the king's service, Cleveland betook himself 
 to the king's head- quarters at Oxford. Afterwards, 
 with the garrison at Newark-on- Trent, he served as 
 Judge Advocate, and most unwillingly obeyed the king's 
 order to surrender. He then became a prisoner at 
 Yarmouth, and was in great misery until, upon represen- 
 tation of his suffering, he was set free by Cromwell ; 
 
xii INTRODUCTION. 
 
 whom, after this, it was a point of honour with him not 
 to attack* Cleveland abstained for the rest of his days 
 from politics, and died of fever in 1659. 
 
 Sir William Davenant also was of Waller's age, born 
 in the same year, 1605. His father was an Oxford inn- 
 keeper, but he was willing to be thought a natural son 
 of Shakespeare. He made his first appearance at court 
 as page to a duchess, and pleased both court and town 
 so well with his plays, that on the death of Ben Jonson 
 the Queen procured Davenant's succession to the post 
 of laureate. In the following year he was appointed 
 governor of the king and queen's company of actors at 
 the Cockpit in Drury Lane. He ran great risks for the 
 king's cause in the Civil War, and was knighted for his 
 services at the siege of Gloucester. The queen employed 
 him as a confidential agent. Afterwards, when a pri- 
 soner in Cowes Castle he finished his six cantos of 
 Gondibert, and under the Commonwealth it is said 
 that he owed his safety to the good offices of Milton. 
 Obtaining freedom, he contrived under the Common- 
 wealth to evade the interdict, on plays ; and the Re- 
 storation brought him to great honour as a playhouse 
 manager. 
 
 Samuel Butler, who wrote his " Hudibras " in the 
 Restoration days, was thirteen years old at the accession 
 of Charles I. He was three years older than Sir John 
 Denham, and six years older than Lovelace and Cowley. 
 He was a poor man always, and in some part of the time 
 of Charles I. had an office in the family of the Countess 
 of Kent, from whose library, perhaps, he derived some 
 of his learning. 
 
 Sir John Denham, the son of an Irish Chief Baron, 
 studied law as well as a propensity for gambling would 
 permit. After his father's death he gambled away part 
 
INTR OD UCTION. x iii 
 
 of his inheritance, and was hardly suspected of poetry 
 until in 1642 he produced his play of the " Sophy," 
 wherewith Waller said that he " broke out like the Irish 
 Kebellion, threescore thousand strong, when nobody 
 was aware or in the least suspected it." The queen 
 trusted him in 1647 with a message to the king, and he 
 was employed afterwards with Cowley in carrying on 
 the king's correspondence. Under the Commonwealth 
 he was a ruined man ; but Charles II. made him a 
 Knight of the Bath and surveyor of the king's buildings. 
 
 Lovelace and Cowley, both born in the same year, 
 1618, were seven years old at the accession of Charles I. 
 
 Richard, eldest son of Sir William Lovelace, at sixteen 
 was the handsomest gentleman commoner in Oxford. He 
 was made M.A. of his university at the request of a 
 great lady who admired his beauty ; went to court ; 
 served with the army in the north as ensign and as cap- 
 tain. For presenting a Kentish petition on the king's 
 behalf, Lovelace was committed to the Gatehouse at 
 Westminster, where he wrote his song u To Althea from 
 Prison," and after three or four months' confinement 
 was released only upon heavy bail. He spent much 
 of his fortune in the service of the king, and the relief 
 of men of genius who fell into distress. His " Lucasta " 
 was Lucy Sacheverell, who, upon a false report of his 
 death from wounds received at Dunkirk, married 
 another of her suitors. In the last months of the life 
 of Charles I. Lovelace was again a prisoner in London, 
 solacing himself with poetry. He was released after 
 the execution of the king, when the fine hearted Cava- 
 lier poet ended his days under the Commonwealth in 
 years of extreme misery and want. He died in an 
 alley near Shoe Lane. 
 
 Cowley, a grocer's son, left early to the sole care of 
 
xi v IXTR OD UCTION. 
 
 his mother, poet as a boy and growing up into the 
 largest poetical reputation of a later time, was so 
 heartily the king's friend that in the last years of the 
 great struggle he was chiefly trusted with the ciphering 
 and deciphering of the royal correspondence ; and in 
 him one of the most fanciful of our poets proved himself 
 to be very practical as a man of business. 
 
 Sir Edward Sherburne, too, was born in the year 
 1618. He succeeded his father as clerk of the ordnance 
 in 1641, but was rejected for his adherence to the king. 
 He fought at Edgehill, and was made master of arts 
 when with the king at Oxford. He survived till 1702. 
 
 Alexander Brome, two years younger than Lovelace 
 and Cowley, was an attorney turned song writer, who 
 supplied a chief part of the loyal minstrelsy with which 
 the king's friends graced their cups, and boldly used his 
 pen under the Commonwealth in aid of a restoration of 
 the Monarchy. His gayer strains answered their pur- 
 pose, and there is a poem of his in this volume (p. 103) 
 which shows an underlying earnestness of character. 
 
 Among the elder men blending their voices with these 
 representatives of the generation that fought out the 
 Civil War is George Sandys, born when Shakespeare 
 was a boy of thirteen. George Sandys was the seventh 
 son of an archbishop, and in the seventh year of 
 Charles I. he published that paraphrase of the Psalms 
 from which we take a strain at the close of the first 
 part of this volume. 
 
 George Herbert was sixteen years younger than San- 
 dys. Under James I. George Herbert looked for court 
 patronage and hoped to be a Secretary of State. The 
 death of James destroyed this hope, and on the acces- 
 sion of King Charles he devoted himself to religion. 
 To this reign, then, belongs the memorable part of 
 
INTRODUCTION. xv 
 
 Herbert's life spent in his parsonage at Bemerton, the 
 purest upholder of that principle of church authority 
 which went side by side with maintenance of the divine 
 right of kings. 
 
 Another clergyman was Robert Herrick, who was of 
 George Herbert's age, or about two years older ; but 
 Herbert died of consumption in the eighth year of the 
 reign of Charles I., while Herrick lived through the 
 Commonwealth into the time of Charles II. In 1629, 
 King Charles I. presented Herrick to the Vicarage of 
 Dean Prior, in what he calls " dull Devonshire." There 
 he lived and preached inaudible sermons ; a bachelor 
 poet with a tame pig for his pet, and a maid Prue to 
 take care of him. He professed to be glad when the 
 Parliament, in 1648, deprived him of his vicarage, and 
 obliged him to come to London ; where he would have 
 starved had not his poems made him friends. At the 
 Restoration Herrick got his vicarage again, and he sur- 
 vived till 1674. 
 
 Thomas Carew, who was born nearly in the same 
 year with Herrick, had a shorter life. Being of an old 
 Devonshire family, he perhaps would not have agreed 
 that Devonshire was dull; but he spent little time 
 there. He was lively and gay, enjoying the best plea- 
 sures of the town, which Herrick sighed for. He was 
 gentleman of the privy chamber and sewer in ordinary 
 to King Charles I., and one of the inner circle also in 
 Ben Jonson's court. He is said to have died two years 
 after Jonson. 
 
 Francis Quarles was but a few months older than 
 George Herbert. Cambridge was his university. He 
 had been cupbearer to King James's daughter, and 
 afterwards secretary to Archbishop Usher until the 
 rebellion of 1641 drove him from Ireland. Among his 
 
xvi INTRODUCTION. 
 
 works, " The Emblems" are still popular, was a pam- 
 phlet called " The Loyal Convert," ascribed also to Dr. H. 
 Hammond, written at the outset of the Civil War. AVhen 
 Quarles afterwards joined the king at Oxford, he lost 
 his property, including books and MSS., and his death, 
 which occurred in 1644, is said to have been hastened 
 by his troubles. As there is no verse of his in the fol- 
 lowing pages, he shall be represented here by a few 
 lines out of " The Invocation," before his " Divine 
 Poems " : 
 
 O All-sufficient God, great Lord of Light, 
 
 Without whose gracious aid, and constant sprite, 
 
 No labours prosper, howsoe'er begun ; 
 
 But fly like mists before the morning sun : 
 
 O raise my thoughts, and clear my apprehension, 
 
 Infuse thy spirit into my weak invention : 
 
 Reflect thy beams upon my feeble eyes, 
 
 Shew me the mirror of thy mysteries; 
 
 My artless hand, my humble heart inspire, 
 
 Inflame my frozen tongue with holy fire : 
 
 Ravish my stupid senses with thy glory ; 
 
 Sweeten my lips with sacred oratory : 
 
 And thou, O First and Last, assist my quill, 
 
 That first and last I may perform thy Will . 
 
 My sole intent's to blazon forth thy praise; 
 
 My ruder pen expects no crown of bays. 
 
 Suffice it then thine altar I have kist : 
 
 Crown me with glory : take the bays that list. 
 
 William Drummond of Hawthornden, whom Jonson 
 had visited in Scotland, enjoyed li'terary ease on his 
 paternal estate, before he travelled abroad for eight 
 years, then coming home into the midst of civil war, sought 
 quiet in the society of his brother-in-law, Sir John 
 Scot of Scotstarvet. For his writings as a royalist the 
 Commons fined him heavily in men and arms wherewith 
 to fight against the cause he sang for. His estates 
 
INTRODUCTION. xvii 
 
 lying in three counties, he considered that the men were 
 claimed of him in fractions, and wrote thereupon : 
 
 4< 0f all these forces raised against the King, 
 Tis my strange hap not one whole man to bring ; 
 From divers parishes get divers men, 
 But all in halfs and quarters ; great king, then 
 In halfs and quarters if they come 'gainst thee, 
 In halfs and quarters send them back to me." 
 
 John Ford, the dramatist, was but a few months 
 younger than Drummond. He wrote to please himself, 
 not rapidly ; and though allied to the great company 
 of the Elizabethan dramatists, his best plays were pro- 
 duced in the reign of Charles I. We have here only a 
 dirge from his play of the " Broken Heart." 
 
 James Shirley, who is said to have died of the shock 
 he suffered in the Fire of London, was ten years younger 
 than Ford. He had a curacy in the Church of Eng- 
 land, but having joined the Church of Koine, opened a 
 school at St. Albans. Then he came to London and 
 wrote plays, obtained the good will of the Queen, and 
 went to Ireland for a year with the Earl of Kildare. In 
 the Civil War he fought under the lead of his patron 
 the Earl of Newcastle. Under the Commonwealth, 
 when he might not write plays, he kept school again, 
 and wrote " Rudiments of Grammar." The verses of 
 his here given are from " The Contention of Ajax and 
 Ulysses." 
 
 Barten Holiday was an archdeacon of Oxford, who 
 wrote sermons, and translated Juvenal and Persius. 
 The Tobacco song which he contributes to this volume 
 is from an allegorical play called " Technotamia, or the 
 Marriage of the Arts." 
 
 Jasper Mayne was also a divine, and he was deprived 
 
xviii INTROD UCTION. 
 
 of his studentship of Christ Church for writing an " Och- 
 lomachia, or the People's War examined according to 
 the principles of Scripture and Reason." He was a 
 lively man, who had then written two plays, from one of 
 which " The Amazon's War " there is here a song of 
 the passing away of Time, which is the strophe of a 
 song sung by two Amazons, having an antistrophe which 
 answers to its measure line for line. 
 
 Thomas Hey wood, from whom we take a " Love's 
 Good Morrow," was a veteran playwright, said to have 
 been concerned in two hundred and twenty dramatic 
 pieces, of which twenty-three are printed. He was a 
 Lincolnshire man and Fellow of Petevhouse ; at the 
 close of Elizabeth's reign a regular actor, and sharer in 
 Henslowe's company ; and in the time of Charles I., one 
 of the theatrical servants of the Earl of Worcester. 
 
 Samuel Rowley was a player and dramatist of less 
 mark, from whose "Noble Spanish Soldier," we have 
 here a song of Sorrow. 
 
 Richard Brathwaite, born about 1588, at Kendal, in 
 Westmoreland, was educated at Oriel College, Oxford, 
 lived upon his freehold, was a deputy* lieutenant and 
 justice of the peace in Westmoreland, married twice, 
 had by his first wife six sons and three daughters, and 
 wrote much in prose and verse, with sharp antagonism 
 to the Puritans. ' 
 
 King Charles himself is among the singers ; for al- 
 though his authorship of the verses said to have been 
 written by him at Carisbrook may fairly be doubted, 
 they are in these pages assigned to him as usual. Small 
 as our selection is, it contains pieces by more than thirty 
 writers who represent the side of the court, although 
 but three, Wither, Mar veil, and Milton, who speak 
 for the people. 
 
INTRODUCTION. xix 
 
 George Wither, born in 1588, came from Magdalen 
 College, Oxford, to enter himself of Lincoln's Inn. The 
 examples here given of his verse express his religious 
 sturdiness of character. In 1639 he was a captain of 
 horse in the expedition against the Scots ; but in the 
 Civil War he raised a troop for the Parliament by 
 selling his estate. To royal ears his verse appeared 
 libellous before the days of Charles I., and after the 
 days of the Commonwealth. We may here see for our- 
 selves the temper of his libelling. 
 
 Andrew Marvel! was but a young man in the time of 
 Charles I., and made his chief mark as a satirist of 
 Charles II. and his court. In the time of Charles I. he 
 was tutor to the daughter of Fairfax, and under the 
 Commonwealth assisted Milton in his office of Latin 
 secretary to the Protector. 
 
 Milton, seventeen years old at the accession of 
 Charles I. wrote in his reign " Comus," " Lycidas," 
 " L' Allegro," and " II Penseroso," with other poems 
 which belong to a distinct epoch in his life; the period 
 of his prose works, that is to say of his active participa- 
 tion in the public life of his own day, intervening. The 
 true poet either leads or follows his time ; perhaps there 
 was a hint of this in the form of Ben Jonson's welcome 
 to the Oracle of Apollo ; but whether he lead or follow, 
 it is with his time that he will march. There are soli- 
 tudes of genius, but the outward isolation of the greatest 
 poet is not unlike that of a great captain with ser-ried 
 armies at his back, who is, at heart, of all men in his 
 armies the least isolated, since his mind is the one most 
 occupied with care for all. We think of a Dante with 
 something of the sense which caused Wordsworth to say 
 of Milton that his soul was like a star and dwelt apart; 
 but there is not a poet in all literature, follower or 
 
xx INTRODUCTION. 
 
 leader, whose verse is more thoroughly than Dante's, 
 soul and body of the time for which it was created. 
 Milton put off his singing robes to labour for the State, 
 and between the springtime of his genius and the 
 glorious harvest of its autumn, gave the summer of his 
 life to direct service of the country. His was then the 
 pen of the Commonwealth, the voice of England to the 
 outer world. And in his earlier and later verse, not 
 less than in the middle period of his prose writing, Mil- 
 ton's genius was rich with the life of his own time, 
 although he thought apart from the crowd, and spoke 
 for himself, royally, with independent power. No poet 
 is for all time who is not also for his age, reflecting little 
 or much of its outward manner, but a part of its best 
 mind. 
 
 In the world of intellect, varieties of form and use 
 and stature are as infinite as in the world of animals or 
 plants. Cedar and violet depend for sustenance upon 
 the common earth ; and poets of all forms and fashions 
 draw their life out of the common world of thought from 
 which they spring. Varieties of intellectual soil, changes 
 of climate or of season, local accidents of sun and shade, 
 determine for each place and time what forms of thought 
 shall spring up and flourish, what shall wither without 
 bearing seed. If the estimation of our great writers 
 were not upheld strongly by tradition, and verified 
 from time to time by critical appreciation among those 
 who join a sense of poetry with leisure for the study 
 necessary to enable them to read each author as a con- 
 temporary would have read him, much of our best lite- 
 rature would have become extinct. 1647, 1747, 1847, 
 each has its own accidents of taste. The first appear- 
 ance, in 1847, of a piece written to the taste of men's 
 minds at either of the other dates would be as little 
 
INTRODUCTION. xxi 
 
 appreciated as the entrance of a visitor in a large frilled 
 collar or a periwig. Happily, dress is not all. A 
 well-marked individuality distinguishes the work of 
 every man with a spark of genius in his nature. This 
 individuality, I think, is distinct in a poem by Milton, 
 which is here printed for the first time in any volume. 
 It stands in what I believe to be the handwriting of 
 Milton himself, on a blank page in the volume of " Poems 
 both English and Latin," which contains his " Comus," 
 " Lycidas," " L' Allegro," and " II Penseroso." It is 
 signed, I believe, with his initials, and dated December, 
 1647. It was discovered in this manner : In arranging 
 the pieces contained in this volume I desired to quote, 
 as far as possible, the author's copies. Misprints creep 
 in, and editors take liberties now and then. For example, 
 even so sound an English scholar as the late Robert 
 Bell overlooked in his collection of " Songs of the Dra- 
 matists," misprints in the last two lines of Barten 
 Holiday's Tobacco song (see p. 67), which transformed 
 them into 
 
 He's the wiser that does drink ; 
 
 Thus armed I fear not a Fury. 
 
 Or again, George Wither's " Shall I Wasting in Despair," 
 and his " Hence away, ye Sirens leave me," first printed 
 in a volume of Wither's " Workes," which the author 
 disclaimed, are seldom given without some or all of the 
 variations which he most expressly and emphatically re- 
 pudiated. Desiring to represent faithfully the authors 
 here quoted, 1 where I did not myself possess ori- 
 
 1 I have also avoided the common practice, of quoting 
 abridged pieces as if they were complete, and, unless the piece 
 is distinctly given as an extract, show in the margin (using the 
 abridgments st., II. and MJ.) where stanzas or lines have been 
 omitted, and how many ; also in the two instances where words 
 c 
 
xxii INTR OD UCTION. 
 
 ginal editions of their works to quote from, I looked for 
 them in the reading-room of the British Museum. For- 
 tunately, it, did not seem to me useless to read a proof 
 containing passages from Milton with help of the original 
 edition of his English and Latin poems published in 
 1645. There are two copies of that book in the Museum 
 ' one in the General Library, which would be the one 
 commonly consulted, and the other in the noble collec- 
 tion formed by George III., known as the King's Library, 
 which was the copy I referred to. The volume, which 
 has been rebound since the epitaph was written in it, 
 and has lost, therefore, the original fly leaves, contains 
 first the English, then the Latin poems of that first 
 period of Milton's life, each separately paged. The 
 Latin poems end on page 87, leaving the reverse of the 
 leaf blank ; and this blank I found covered with hand- 
 writing, which I took to be the handwriting of John 
 Milton. It proved to be a transcript of a poem in fifty - 
 four lines entitled simply " An Epitaph," and signed, I 
 think, though the first letter of the signature being 
 much faded and obliterated by the Museum stamp, 
 which covers it, is open to some doubt, " J. M., 10 ber . 
 1647." Milton was in that month 39 years old. As the 
 page is about the size of a leaf of note paper, the hand- 
 writing is small. Thirty-six lines were first written, which 
 filled the left-hand side of the page, then a line was 
 lightly drawn to the right of them, and, the book being 
 turned sideways, the rest of the poem was packed into 
 three little columns, eight lines in each of the first two 
 
 have been changed, the number of words altered. One or two 
 long poems by Wither, given as extracts, are meant to represent 
 the spirit of his work in an epitome, by bringing together its 
 most characteristic lines. 
 
INTRODUCTION. xxiii 
 
 columns, and the other two lines at the top of the third 
 column, followed by the initials and date. Upon the 
 small blank space left in this corner of the page the 
 Museum stamp is affixed, covering the faded first letter 
 of what I hold to be Milton's signature. The following 
 copy of the poem has the MS. contractions expanded, and 
 the spelling modernised ; but on the blank leaf at the end 
 of this volume it is printed just as it is written on the 
 blank leaf at the end of Milton's book. A facsimile of 
 the page itself is also given as the best aid to a settle- 
 ment of the disputed question of handwriting. The 
 subject of the poem is the germ of immortality within the 
 dust to which man has returned: 
 
 AN EPITAPH. 
 
 He whom heaven did call away 
 Out of this Hermitage of clay 
 Has left some reliques in this Urn 
 As a pledge of his return. 
 
 Meanwhile the Muses do deplore 
 The loss of this their paramour, 
 With whom he sported ere the day 
 Budded forth its tender ray. 
 And now Apollo leaves his lays 
 And puts on cypress for his bays ; 
 The sacred sisters tune their quills 
 Only to the blubbering rills, 
 And while his doom they think upon 
 Make their own tears their Helicon ; 
 Leaving the two-topt Mount divine 
 To turn votaries to his shrine. 
 
 Think not, reader, me less blest, 
 Sleeping in this narrow chest, 
 Than if my ashes did lie hid 
 Under some stately pyramid. 
 If a rich tomb makes happy, then 
 That Bee was happier far than men, 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Who, busy in the thymy wood, 
 Was fettered by the golden flood, 
 Which from the Amber-weeping tree 
 Distilleth down so plenteously ; 
 For so this little wanton elf 
 Most gloriously enshrined itself. . 
 A tomb whose beauty might compare 
 With Cleopatra's sepulchre. 
 
 In this little bed my dust 
 Incurtained round I here intrust; 
 While my more pure and nobler part 
 Lies entomb'd in every heart. 
 
 Then pass on gently, ye that mourn, 
 
 Touch not this mine hollowed Urn ; 
 
 These Ashes which do here remain 
 
 A vital tincture still retain ; 
 
 A seminal form within the deeps 
 
 Of this little chaos sleeps ; 
 
 The thread of life untwisted is 
 
 Into its first consistencies ; 
 
 Infant nature cradled here 
 
 In its principles appear; 
 
 This plant thus calcined into dust 
 
 In its Ashes rest it must 
 
 Until sweet Psyche shall inspire 
 
 A softening and prolific fire, 
 
 And in her fostering arms enfold 
 
 This heavy and this earthy mould. 
 
 Then as I am I'll be no more 
 
 But bloom and blossom [as] bef [ore] 
 
 When this cold numbness shall retreat 
 
 By a more than chymick heat. 
 
 [J.] M., IQber, 1 6 47. 
 
 When I first read these verses, I felt that Milton spoke 
 through them, with his own mind in his own manner. 
 The Epitaph was not one of his finished masterpieces, 
 but had touches worthy of him, and the date suggested 
 at once an occasion upon which it might be written. 
 
INTRODUCTION. XXY 
 
 After giving a few days to the consideration of the 
 poem, I took counsel upon the question of matter and 
 style, apart from handwriting, with Mr. John Forster, 
 the friend upon whose sound judgment in all questions 
 of literary criticism I have been accustomed to rely, 
 and whose opinion in this case would be the best at- 
 tainable; for the author of the life of Goldsmith, and 
 of the masterly essays upon Steele, Defoe, and Churchill, 
 as well as of the best studies of the Civil War time yet 
 given to English literature, while second to none 
 among men of letters as a literary critic, is of chief 
 authority in questions which concern the history and 
 literature of the time of Charles I. and the Common- 
 wealth. With Mr. Forster, then, I left a copy of the 
 Epitaph, and when I saw him next found that he had 
 not a shadow of doubt as to the authorship. And whe- 
 ther autograph or copy, or whatever its history, it surely 
 is a piece of Milton of Milton not at his best, nor at 
 his worst, but with his grandeur of thought, and written 
 as he only could have written it. The book now in the 
 reader's hand contains a fair general representation of 
 the writing of the other poets who lived at the same 
 time. To some extent, therefore, he can here learn 
 to distinguish by comparison the tone of Milton's voice 
 among the company of singers. 
 
 It was by Mr. Forster's advice that the poem thus 
 found was submitted at once to the sharpest test by 
 publication in the Times. The question so put excited 
 and is still exciting a degree of interest which makes it 
 necessary that the record of the controversy raised 
 upon it should be more full than otherwise would be 
 consistent with the due proportion of parts in a little book 
 like this. A noble lord who has written verse became 
 the mouthpiece of those who declared that Milton's au- 
 
xxvi INTRODUCTION. 
 
 thorship of the poem was disproved by internal evidence. 
 I am very much indebted to Lord Winchilsea for the 
 courage and good humour with which he has expressed 
 nearly all possible doubts of this description. The 
 greater number of his arguments from internal evi- 
 dence were at once met by writers of a contrary opinion ; 
 and if, to show the complete strength of the case for 
 Milton's authorship of the Epitaph, I take in succession 
 all Lord Winchilsea's objections to it, and, either directly 
 or by inference, include every other objection that I 
 have seen urged, I must often repeat what has already 
 been said more effectively by others. But that part of 
 the reply which consists only in recapitulation is hardly 
 to be separated from the rest without leaving upon some 
 readers the impression that, after all, upon some point 
 or other, some unanswerable difficulty may have been 
 somewhere raised. I will go through these arguments 
 from manner as briefly as I can, for I wish also to say a 
 few words on the matter of the poem, and then add a 
 remark or two upon the handwriting. 
 
 Lord Winchilsea objects to rhyme and sentiment in 
 the lines : 
 
 " Meanwhile the Muses do deplore, 
 The loss of this, their paramour." 
 
 In the hymn on Christ's Nativity Milton says of 
 nature 
 
 " It was no season, then, for her, 
 To wanton with the sun, her lusty paramour.'* 
 
 Here the word has a worse rhyme. Lord Winchilsea 
 seems to have forgotten the original sense of a word 
 kindred to the old French paraimer, to love greatly. 
 Paramour meant the best-beloved, or, as it is Latinised 
 in the Promptorium Parvulorum, preamatus. Ben Jonson, 
 writing in the reign of Charles I., to which the epitaph 
 
INTRODUCTION, xxvii 
 
 belongs, makes it the last word in his " Masque of Chlo- 
 ridia," the crowning compliment to Anne of Denmark, 
 that she is " the top of paramours." 
 
 Lord Winchilsea objects to the beautiful metaphor, 
 
 tf Ere the day 
 Budded forth its tender ray," 
 
 as overstrained. Had the new poem happened to be 
 IS Allegro the same objection might have been made to 
 the sun's rising in state, 
 
 " Kobed in flames and amber light, 
 The clouds in thousand liveries dight," 
 
 Or had it been II Penseroso, what would have been said 
 of a " civil-suited morn," 
 
 " Not trick'd and frounc'd as she was wont 
 With the Attic boy to hunt, 
 But kercheft in a comely cloud." 
 
 Lord Winchilsea's next objection is that he has heard 
 of porcupine quills and goose quills, but never of quills 
 as the poet's reeds. Yet reed is the first sense of the 
 word quill ; derived, as we are taught at school, from 
 calamus, or caulis, and so used by Milton when he 
 writes, 
 
 " The sacred sisters tune their quills 
 Only to the blubbering rills." 
 
 Milton has used the word also in Lycidas : 
 
 " He touched the tender stops of various quills ;" 
 and Spenser writes, 
 
 " To sadder times thou may'st attune thy quill." 
 " Blubbering" is a word of which the sense in Milton's 
 time was not degraded. It had been first taken from 
 the rills to be applied to a face swollen with weeping ; 
 its original sense being drawn from, or closely associated 
 with, the bubbling of a swollen stream. They still say in 
 
xxviii INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Northamptonshire, next county to that in which Milton 
 wrote his early poems, " the water blubbers up," and 
 Palsgrave's French Dictionary explains " Blober upon 
 water" by bouteillis. Thence came the image of a face 
 swollen with tears. Sir Philip Sidney wrote, " Fair 
 streams represent unto me my blubbered face." Spenser 
 used the word always seriously ; and Milton here carries 
 the imitative sound back as an epithet for the rills 
 whence it was taken, with the sense of human grief 
 attached to it. 
 
 Lord Winchilsea' s next objection is to the phrase 
 " turn votaries to his shrine ;" he would have " votaries 
 at." But a votary is one devoted ; people " turn" to and 
 are not said to be " devoted at " anything. So Shake- 
 speare wrote " a votary to fond desire." 
 
 The next objection is to the amber-weeping tree, 
 which 
 
 " Distilleth down so plenteously." 
 
 Lord Winchilsea utterly denies that Milton would have 
 used such a word as " plenteously." In Paradise Lost 
 he uses it, and there, also, with emphasis, to close a 
 line : 
 
 " which plenteously 
 The waters generated by their kinds." 
 
 As to rhyme, " tree" is as fairly linked with " plen- 
 teously" in this Epitaph as with " cruelty" in the 
 Epitaph on the Marchioness of Winchester. 
 
 Lord Winchilsea objects to the rhyme 
 
 "A tomb whose beauty might compare 
 With Cleopatra's sepulchre." 
 
 But it is obvious that the intellectual music would have 
 been destroyed had Milton not preferred an assonance 
 to a true rhyme, which would have forced emphasis 
 upon the last syllable of the word sepulc/tre. 
 
INTRODUCTION. xxix 
 
 Lord Winchilsea objects to the voice from the tomb 
 which speaks of the soul as " my more pure and nobler 
 part." Any reader may, by trial of other possible 
 methods of expression, discover for himself that the best 
 emphasis is obtained by repeating and varying the form 
 that expresses the soul's exaltation ; so varying it also 
 as to give simple force to the word "pure," which 
 is a characteristic epithet more frequent in the works 
 of Milton than, I believe, in those of any other English 
 poet. Indeed, the two epithets here linked are precisely 
 those which elsewhere we find applied by Milton to the 
 definition of the soul. In Paradise Lost (Bk. X., 
 1. 784) he calls it " that pure breath of life, the spirit of 
 man ;" and in Paradise Regained (Bk. II. 1. 477), 
 
 ' The soul 
 Governs the inner man, the nobler part." 
 
 Lord Winchilsea next objects to the rhyme " mourn" 
 and urn. Precisely this rhyme occurs in a passage of 
 Lycidas, which also disposes of another of Lord Win- 
 chilsea's objections, that Milton could not (although 
 Shakespeare did in the Midsummer NigMs Dream?) re- 
 present thyme as growing in a wood : 
 
 " Now thou art gone and never must return ! 
 Thee, shepherd, thee the woods and desert caves, 
 With wild thyme and the gadding vine o'ergrowii, 
 And all their echoes mourn." 
 
 The same rhyme occurs also in Samson Agonistes. 
 
 As to the matter of fact concerning wild thyme, I 
 may add that it often abounds in hilly woodlands in the 
 short open greensward between the trees ; and I am told, 
 as an instance of this, that the upper Cranham woods, 
 
 1 And Horace too : 
 
 " Tuttim per nemns arbutos 
 Quzerunt latentes et thyma." Od. I. xvii. 
 
xxx INTRODUCTION. 
 
 near Birdlip, Gloucestershire, now contain some of the 
 finest banks of wild thyme in the county. 
 The real defect of grammar in the lines, 
 
 " Infant nature cradled here 
 In its principles appear," 
 
 suggests to Lord Winchilsea that Milton was incapable 
 of such oversights. Every student knows that, even in 
 their finished works as published by themselves, not 
 many of our old authors are free from them ; and that 
 one feature of Bentley's edition of Paradise Lost was 
 an absurd attempt to rectify the poet's grammar, some- 
 times in passages where there was really a defect, 
 sometimes where the defect was in Bentley's own 
 sense of the language of poetry. Had Lycidas been the 
 poem newly-found, Lord Winchilsea might have been 
 shocked to find, within the first seven or eight lines, that 
 the author had not been particular enough about the 
 agreement of his verb with his nominatives : 
 
 " Bitter constraint and sad occasion dear 
 Compels me to disturb your season due." 
 
 And he may doubt Milton's authorship of Comus when 
 he learns that this poem also confounds singular and 
 plural in speaking of 
 
 tl Those thick and gloomy shadows damp, 
 Oft seen in charnel vaults and sepulchres, 
 Lingering and sitting by a new made grave, 
 As loth to leave the body that it loved." 
 
 The last twelve lines are nonsense to Lord Winchelsea. 
 That statement involves a question not of style, but of 
 the purport and sense of the whole poem, to which I 
 will turn presently. To every one of Lord Winchilsea' s 
 instances of difference between the style of the Epitaph 
 and Milton's way of writing, the reply, it will be seen , 
 is of a kind more or less strongly confirming the opinion 
 
INTRODUCTION. xxxi 
 
 I have ventured to express, that the new poem is in 
 Milton's manner. 
 
 Another critic has found difficulty in believing that so 
 good a scholar as Milton could have confounded Heli- 
 con, the mountain, with its fountains, Aganippe and 
 Ilippocrene, as the author of the Epitaph appears to 
 have done in saying that the sacred sisters, while they 
 think upon the doom of their lost friend, " Make their 
 own tears their Helicon." Helicon, famed for its abun- 
 dant waters, was very commonly used, by Metonym, be- 
 fore Milton to represent them. It is one of the most 
 frequent forms of trope to put the container for the 
 thing contained, " ex eo quod continet, id quod contine- 
 tur," as Quintilian expressed it. Thus, Helicon passed 
 into poetry as a name for all its waters. Spenser who, 
 like Milton, was a scholar, and delighted in the adorn- 
 ment of his verse with thoughts from the old Latin and 
 modern Italian writers, transferred the name of the 
 mountain to its streams much more distinctly than it is 
 here done, or even in Milton's Latin poem on the death 
 of the Vice- Chancellor mourned " mediis Helicon in 
 undis," when, fresh from College, he wrote in the Shep- 
 herds Calendar, 
 
 " And eke you Virgins that on Parnasse dwell, 
 Whence floweth Helicon, the learned well, 
 Help me to blaze 
 Her worthy praise 
 Which in her sex doth all excel." 
 
 And Spenser, it may be remembered, was Milton's 
 favourite poet. " Milton," wrote Dryden in the pre- 
 face to his Fables, "was the poetical son of Spenser. 
 . . . Milton has acknowledged to me that Spenser was 
 his original." 
 
 Upon this point let me add what has been written to 
 
xxxii INTRODUCTION. 
 
 me by Dean Stanley, who is well acquainted with the 
 scenery of Greece : 
 
 " There are two special reasons for Milton's employ- 
 ing a general instead of a specific name for the springs 
 of Helicon. One is the fact that as there are two sacred 
 springs there, Aganippe and Hippocrene, Helicon is the 
 only name which covers both. The other is that under 
 no circumstances could the more famous of the two 
 names, Aganippe, and with difficulty the less famous, 
 Hippocrene, come into the verse. 'Leaving the two- 
 topt Mount divine ' is Milton all over. ' With hollow 
 shriek the steep of Delphos leaving* is used of the same 
 locality. The allusion to the two cliffs of Parnassus is 
 in exact accordance with that familiarity with Grecian 
 scenery that appears in stanzas xix. and xx. of the 
 k Hymn on the Nativity,' and also in the description of 
 Athens in the Paradise Regained" familiarity acquired, 
 of course, by study and poetic insight. 
 
 It is obvious, also, that the poetical use of the word 
 Helicon did not proceed from ignorance of one of the 
 tritest common-places of a time when poetry was much 
 adorned with classical mythology, in a writer who directly 
 afterwards enshrined a thought from Martial in verse 
 that could have been written only by one greater than 
 Martial. Milton delighted in this kind of adaptation, 
 and the skill with which he assimilated to his own thought 
 passages or phrases from the Greek and Latin poets is 
 old matter of admiration among his editors and critics. 
 From the very epigram of Martial which suggested the 
 entombed bee in this epitaph, Milton drew the closing 
 thought of his lines upon Shakespeare " That kings 
 for such a tomb would wish to die" (Credibile est ipsam 
 sic voluisse mori). To say nothing of the adaptations 
 from Homer and Virgil which abound in Paradise Lost, 
 
INTRODUCTION. xxxiii 
 
 I may mention Milton's literal translation of the descrip- 
 tion of Apollo's hair in the Argonautics of Apollonius 
 Rhodius, which he transfers to Adam, in whom 
 " Hyacinthine locks 
 
 Round from his parted forelock manly hung 
 
 Clustering ;" 
 
 the passage of Iphigenia in Tauris paraphrased in 
 Comus's description of her brothers to the Lady ; the 
 passage in the Homeric Hymn to Apollo recalled by the 
 lines in the llth book of Paradise Lost, beginning 
 " Then shall this mount 
 
 Of Paradise by might of waves be moved 
 
 Out of his place," &c. 
 
 Milton's poetry abounds in such recollections, and in 
 touches from Ariosto or Tasso, which, in his day and 
 before it, gave always additional pleasure to the educated 
 reader by whom their source was recognized. 
 
 But some may say that all this is too true. The new 
 poem is too like Milton's writing in its phraseology and 
 turns of thought, and therefore somebody must have 
 amused himself in piecing together an ingenious imita- 
 tion. But does a coiner make his base money of gold ? 
 The poem is not only in Milton's manner, but it speaks 
 his mind. Doubtless, it is a sketch wanting in some 
 places the last touches of the master. Yet who but 
 Milton could have left us such a sketch? Some of its 
 imagery and outward beauty would have been attain- 
 able, as Mr. Goodhart has well observed, by Cowley at 
 his best. But at the soul of it there is a grandeur as of 
 Milton only. A mere imitator of Milton, with a mind 
 capable of no higher aspiration than the chance of 
 cheating somebody with a forged style, would hardly 
 have advanced beyond the reproduction of old thoughts 
 to a new effort to represent that mystery which is the 
 subject of this Epitaph, the resurrection of the dust 
 
xxxiv INTRODUCTION. 
 
 itself; the mystery of life in death ; of the corruptible 
 that, in the great day to come, shall put on incorrup- 
 tion. This is the central thought of the Epitaph, fore- 
 shadowed in the first four lines, and expressed, as so 
 large and difficult a conception could only be expressed, 
 by labour of imagination in the close : 
 
 " He whom Heaven did call away 
 Out of this hermitage of clay 
 Has left some reliques in this urn, 
 As a pledge of his return." 
 
 The pledge of resurrection in the buried ashes of the 
 dead, the subject of the poem, the thought which unites 
 it together, is thus shortly expressed in its opening 
 lines. Meanwhile, he lies here dead who sported with 
 the Muses, and the Muses mourn ; but he being dead 
 yet lives, and with a fine poetical transition from the 
 customary strain of grief, which is confined to a dozen 
 lines, and expressed only that it may be so interrupted, 
 the voice rises from the grave. My grave, it says, be 
 it rich or poor, is nothing to me. A bee in amber is 
 enshrined more gloriously than the Pharaohs. Within 
 the grave my dust sleeps, curtained round. My nobler 
 part lies yet within your hearts, and here, in this dust 
 of the grave itself, is life. Life has not all passed from 
 these ashes. The seed of form is in this chaos of the 
 corrupted body ; the thread of life is untwisted ; ex- 
 istence is returned to its first principles ; nature lies 
 cradled here, as in its infancy. This plant (and a plant, 
 it will be remembered, is so called from being set in the 
 ground, while the word suggests immediately the process 
 of nature most nearly resembling resurrection from 
 the dust) this plant, thus calcined into dust, must rest 
 in its ashes until the returning soul breathe into it a 
 softening prolific fire. Then it shall spring forth and 
 
INTRODUCTION. xxxv 
 
 renew its blossom. The chill of death shall yield to a 
 diviner heat than human wisdom comprehends. 
 
 The suggestion of revival from the dust with which 
 the poem closes, is directly taken from the old doctrine 
 of Palingenesis, by which, says Isaac Disraeli, in his 
 chapter on "Dreams at the Dawn of Philosophy," 
 " Schott, Kircher, Gaffarel, Borelli, Digby, and the 
 whole of that admirable school, discovered in the ashes 
 of plants their primitive forms, which were again raised 
 up by the force of heat . . . The process of Palingenesis, 
 this picture of immortality, is described. These phi- 
 losophers, having burnt a flower, by calcination dis- 
 engaged the salts from its ashes, and deposited them in 
 a glass phial ; a chemical mixture acted on it ... This 
 dust thus excited by heat shoots upward into its primi- 
 tive forms." As the heat passes away the form fades. 
 Hence the allusion to the " more than chymick heat," 
 that shall produce the last great Palingenesis of man. 
 As to the other imagery, Psyche, it may be observed, 
 is used, as here, and even with Cupid and Adonis, in the 
 purely religious close to Comus, spoken by the Attendant 
 Spirit. 
 
 One question remains unanswered that must have 
 occurred to many readers of this poem. Whose death 
 suggested it? In October, 1647, William Cartwright, 
 who was not unworthy of an epitaph from Milton, had 
 been dead nearly four years ; but the collection of his 
 comedies and other verse, to which some 50 of the wits 
 and poets of the day prefixed memorial lines, was not 
 published until 1651. One has only to observe how 
 immeasurably the new Epitaph overtops the work of all 
 the 50 to form some notion of its author's place among 
 the writers of his time. It is possible that, although 
 Milton, under the Commonwealth, would not join his 
 
xxxvi INTRODUCTION. 
 
 verse to that of Royalist wits before a volume of come- 
 dies, he too had found a theme in the early death of 
 the young man of genius who was at once wit, poet, 
 philosopher, and divine. About two years before the 
 date of this Epitaph died also William Habington, the 
 author of the purest love poetry written in the time of 
 Charles I. ; and, although Habington was a Catholic, 
 Milton would have appreciated that character in the 
 author of Castara. 
 
 I know no other poets, newly dead, upon whom these 
 lines could have been written ; but I do know of a 
 musician, dearly loved by Milton, then only a few months 
 in the grave, to whom he addressed the most beautiful 
 of the Latin poems in the volume to which this Epitaph 
 is added, his own father. The elder Milton, scrivener 
 though he had been, ranked with the good musicians of 
 his time. Pieces of his composing are in two contem- 
 porary collections of sacred music. To this day his 
 arrangements of the psalm tunes " Norwich " and 
 " York " are in use ; and Professor Masson, in his very 
 valuable first part of the Life of Milton^ quotes a state- 
 ment of Sir John Hawkins as to the tenor part of 
 " York tune," that " within memory half the nurses in 
 England were used to sing it by way of lullaby." The 
 poet's father died, says Professor Masson, in March, 
 1646-7; and Aubrey states that he read without spec- 
 tacles at eighty-four. But if this Epitaph was as it 
 may possibly have been a thought of immortality over 
 his father's grave, Milton would have remembered the 
 dead not as he was only at the end of life, but as he had 
 known him during all the years of his own growth ; as 
 he knew him when, tenderly expostulating with his 
 Puritanic prejudices against verse- writing, he pointed to 
 bis father's own delight in music and said I quote 
 
INTR OD UCTION. xxx vii 
 
 Cowper's translation of the Latin verses while styling 
 him " heir by right indisputable of Arion's fame," 
 
 '* Thou hast thy gift, and I 
 Mine also, and between us we receive, 
 Father and Son, the whole inspiring God." 
 
 Professor Brewer and Professor Masson are of 
 opinion that Milton had no leisure for writing verse in 
 1647. "From 1645 until the total loss of his sight," 
 says Mr. Brewer, "the poet was engaged upon his 
 Treatises on Divorce, the Tenure of Kings and Magis- 
 trates, written in his sternest mood, on his Defence of 
 the People of England, and in his duties as Latin 
 secretary." The reply to this is clear. The Doctrine 
 of Divorce, the Judgment of Martin Bucer, Tetra- 
 chordon, and Colasterion, all appeared in or before the 
 year 1645, in which Milton found time to arrange his 
 poems for the press. He published little or nothing in the 
 years 1646-7-8. The Tenure of Kings and Magistrates 
 was written after the sentence on the king, which, in 
 1647, was not at all in question. Milton was not Latin 
 secretary to the Commonwealth before the Common- 
 wealth existed, and his reply to Salmasius did not 
 occupy his mind before the production of the work, even 
 before the occasion of the work, that he replied to. 
 " Three years," says a biographer of Milton, " elapsed 
 without any new publications from his pen, a silence 
 which the various affecting occurrences in his family 
 would naturally produce." To the middle of this period 
 of three years belongs the poem now under discussion. 
 At this time he was living, says his nephew, in great 
 privacy, and perpetually engaged in a variety of studies. 
 Professor Masson writes that "about the year 1647, 
 Milton was engaged, as far as I have heard, in more 
 thunderous work than the pursuit of bees, or the study 
 d 
 
xxxviii INTRODUCTION. 
 
 of honey-making." It is nowhere said that he chased 
 bees or learnt to make honey, but I doubt whether any 
 man's work can be so thunderous, least of all Milton's, 
 as to leave him no time for a thought of immortality, and 
 that, too, in the year of his father's death. 
 
 The last stand made against Milton's authorship of 
 the new Poem has been on the recurrence in it of the 
 word "its."' I shall not take advantage of the mis- 
 take made by one objector, who asserts that this word 
 occurs only three times in Shakespeare, or be content 
 simply to show Lord Winchilsea's error in believing 
 that the word " its " was not used by Milton. The true 
 difficulty, which I have not seen fully stated, would be 
 incompletely met by arguments which would dispose of 
 such objections. In brief, these are the facts. The 
 neuter genitive originally corresponded to the masculine ; 
 the declension being he, she, it ; his, her, his. Originally 
 also, there was a complex distribution of genders among 
 things animate and inanimate, as there is now in Ger- 
 man. As inflexions disappeared and grammatical forms 
 were simplified, we arrived at a very convenient solution 
 of the difficulty with the genders. Apart from figurative 
 speech, and with a few logical exceptions, as in the word 
 child, every male creature was masculine, every female 
 feminine, and all that was not actually he or she was 
 neuter. Then gradually there began to be felt some 
 need of an occasional distinction between masculine and 
 neuter in the inflected cases of the demonstrative pro- 
 noun. "It" stood for "him" in the dative, sometimes 
 also in the genitive, as in Ben Jonson's Silent Woman 
 (Act II., sc. 3), "/ knighthood and it friends," and in 
 King Lear, " You know, nuncle, the hedge sparrow fed 
 the cuckoo so long that it's (it has) had it head bit off 
 by it young." " It," as a neuter genitive, is thus used at 
 
INTRODUCTION. xxxix 
 
 the present day in some of our north-western counties. 
 But in the construction of good English " it" served 
 badly for a genitive, and at the end of the reign of 
 Elizabeth the form " its" was beginning to come into 
 use. In the reign of James L this form was slowly 
 making way. The authorised translation of the Bible, 
 based upon an elder version, is almost 1 without it, and 
 the best writers seldom used it without a distinct reason 
 for doing so. Thus, in Measure for Measure, " Heaven 
 grant us its peace, but not the King of Hungary's," was 
 a form of avoiding what might look like an irreverent 
 antithesis between the persons of God and the King of 
 Hungary. Yet here is a passage from the Winter's 
 Tale (Act I., sc. 2) printed before the accession of 
 Charles I. in which the word "its," most rare as it 
 usually is in Shakespeare, occurs three times in seven 
 lines, and that, too, where need for it is not strong. 
 
 " How sometimes Nature will betray its folly, 
 Its tenderness, and make itself a pastime 
 To harder bosoms ! Looking on the lines 
 Of my boy's face, methought I did recoil 
 Twenty-three years, and saw myself unbreeched, 
 In my green velvet coat, my dagger muzzled 
 Lest it should bite its master." 
 
 In the reign of Charles L the use of " its," established 
 by the need of such a word, became much more fami- 
 liar. George Herbert, dead before 1647, wrote 
 
 " Sweet rose, whose hue angry and brave 
 Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, 
 Thy root is ever in its grave, 
 
 And thou must die." 
 
 Lovelace wrote for the curtain of Lucasta's picture 
 1 " Its " occurs in Levit. xxv. 5 ; and perhaps elsewhere. 
 
xl INTRODUCTION. 
 
 " Her fair soul's in all 
 So truly copied from the originall, 
 That you will swear her body by this law 
 Is but its shadow, as this its now draw." 
 
 Cowley wrote 
 
 "What pity in my breast does reign, 
 Methinks I feel, tob, all its pain." 
 
 The word, in fact, had in 1647 become common. But 
 the true argument is and I have no wish to evade it 
 that, common as the use of the word had become, Milton 
 followed the elder poets, was a master of the language, 
 and avoided indiscriminate use of the modern form. 
 Nearly twenty years before the date of the Epitaph, 
 Milton, in the Hymn on the Nativity, wrote of Nature 
 that she 
 
 " Now was almost won 
 To think her part was done, 
 And that her reign had here its last fulfilling." 
 
 Put " his" for " its," and the reason for the adoption of 
 the new form becomes obvious. The equivocal " his" 
 was to be avoided in a context which included double 
 use of the word " her." So in Paradise Lost (Book I., 
 1. 254) 
 
 ' c The mind is its own place, and in itself 
 Can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven ;" 
 
 the necessary use of the word " itself" made the use of 
 " its" preferable to " his" in association with it. Or 
 take the famous lines (Book IV., 1. 810-14) : 
 
 " Him thus intent Ithuriel with his spear 
 Touch'd lightly ; for no falsehood can endure 
 Touch of celestial temper, but returns 
 Of force to its own likeness : up he starts 
 Discovered and surprised." 
 
INTRODUCTION. xli 
 
 Had " his" been used for " its," the equivocal gender 
 would have connected itself inconveniently with the 
 " he" which follows. 
 
 Now, although a looser use of " its" might have been 
 permitted for once to Milton in a piece not polished for 
 the Press since we find the word used loosely three 
 times in seven lines of a finished work of Shakespeare, 
 who wrote when the employment of it was far more ex- 
 ceptional 1 enter no such plea. Let us rather see 
 whether Milton's own test will not bear strict applica- 
 tion to the occurrences of the word " its " in the 
 Epitaph. 
 
 " With whom lie sported ere the day 
 Budded forth its tender ray " 
 
 is precisely one of the cases in which Milton would 
 avoid the equivocal genitive. Substitute " his " for " its," 
 and the reason becomes obvious. The other three occur- 
 rences of u its" are virtually one, since they are all part 
 of the same construction. The repetition of " his" would 
 have injured the poetry by not excluding a suggestion of 
 masculine remains which the feminine Psyche shall " in 
 her fostering arms enfold." To the very essence of the 
 thought belonged reduction of man's body to an " it," 
 which yet contains the germ of life, and absolute shut- 
 ting out of all suggestion of a sexual relation in the 
 return of the soul to the body that springs up again out 
 of its dust, 
 
 There remains only the question of handwriting. 
 If the poem be in Milton's autograph, his authorship 
 becomes indisputable. If not, this piece is in the 
 position of other poems written before his blindness, 
 which come down to us in a handwriting either not his, 
 or supposed to be that of a copyist. Milton's natural 
 
xlii INTR OD UCTION. 
 
 and unrestricted handwriting was large and bold, but, 
 he was skilful with the pen, and when restricted by 
 space to a cramped form, or in the act of copying, would 
 fall into such variations of style as we know, in our own 
 experience, to be usual to a practised hand, 
 
 In Milton's case this difficulty is complicated by the 
 facts, that often before his blindness, and always after 
 it, he used an amanuensis, and that the quantity of his 
 undoubted handwriting, now left to us, is not large. In 
 the British Museum there is very little. The most 
 precious collection is that kept in a glass-case at Trinity 
 College, Cambridge, a volume of original MSS. of 
 Milton's earlier period, including drafts, with his cor- 
 rections, of Comus and Lycidas. The facsimile now 
 published of the MS. of the Epitaph will enable those 
 who have ready access to this collection, or more espe- 
 cially to examples of Milton's small hand upon margins 
 or fly leaves of books, to make, with the requisite 
 thoroughness, the direct comparison on which alone a 
 safe opinion can be based. That the scrutiny may take 
 the right direction, I add here a letter addressed to the 
 Times, in which Mr. Bond, the experienced Keeper of 
 the MSS. in the British Museum, defines the ground of 
 his belief that it is not the handwriting of Milton : 
 
 " Sir, As my opinion on the handwriting and signa- 
 ture of the poem ascribed to Milton has been referred 
 to by writers in the controversy, I think it becoming to 
 state it publicly and in my own words. 
 
 "I have several times examined both writing and 
 signature, and always with the same conclusion, that the 
 writing is not Milton's, and the signature is not c J. M.' 
 
 44 The difference between Milton's handwriting and 
 that of the poem is perceptible in their general cha- 
 racter; and it is important to study the expression 
 
INTR OD UCTION. xliii 
 
 in discriminating handwritings. The firm and some- 
 what rigid characters of Milton are not in harmony with 
 the light, pliant, and rather weak forms of the poem. 
 
 "Applying the test of comparison of particular letters, 
 I find essential variations in the two writings. Charac- 
 teristic forms used by Milton are not found in the 
 writing of the poem. 
 
 "It has been pleaded that same letters are found 
 similarly formed in the two writings. But on such 
 grounds volumes of anonymous verses might be fathered 
 on Milton. The differences in forms of letters are too 
 considerable in the present case to be disregarded. 
 
 " Some of these differences have been questioned on 
 the authority of certain pieces included in Sotheby's 
 specimens, which are themselves of doubtful genuineness. 
 One of these, the verses found in the Mel Heliconium, 
 Mr. Masson has recently condemned; and I also remem- 
 ber to have examined it and declared it not of Milton's 
 writing many years ago. 
 
 " In addition to the evidence of general expression 
 and the forms of letters, I would refer to the ortho- 
 graphy and the contractions of words used in the poem. 
 Both forms of spelling and contractions I find foreign 
 to Milton's common use in the year 1647. 1 Indeed, there 
 is ground for surmising that the poem is by the hand of 
 a copyist. The word "nature" in the twelfth line from 
 
 1 This argument founded upon spelling is much open to'ques- 
 tion. It is in no man's power to define precisely how Milton 
 would have spelt a word in a particular year of his life. Except 
 in the case of a few words, Milton's spelling varied like that of 
 his neighbours. I have before me an exact copy, made in 
 1792, of Milton's MSS. in Trinity College, and find by com- 
 parison of spelling my belief that Milton was here the copyist 
 of his own lines distinctly strengthened. 
 
xliv INTRODUCTION. 
 
 the end is written with a stroke of contraction over the 
 a, and without the t. This is not a true contraction, 
 and would not have been used by the author in writing 
 his lines. The poem has probably been transcribed from 
 a draught copy, and the word written down as imper- 
 fectly deciphered by the scribe. 
 
 "The more important question, as determining author- 
 ship, is as to the signature. I have closely examined it, 
 both with the naked eye and under strong magnifying 
 power, and have always come to the same conclusion. 
 The first of the two letters is a ' ' P,' similar in form to 
 that used in the word 4 Psyche ' in the poem itself. The 
 second is an unquestioned 4 M,' but not of the form used 
 by Milton. 
 
 " British Museum, July 25. " EDW. A. BOND." 
 
 It is fair also to point attention to the difference 
 of opinion among experts indicated by the fact that the 
 editor of the Athenaum records in his journal that he 
 examined the signature to the MS. Epitaph " in a good 
 light, with two magnifying glasses, in the presence of 
 four officers of the British Museum. We all resolved 
 the signature into J. M." As the object of this con- 
 troversy, happily so free from bitterness, is not to pre- 
 vail in combat, but to ascertain truth, I reply to the 
 denial that the handwriting as well as the poetry of the 
 Epitaph is Milton's, by publishing a facsimile as the 
 best help to a true settlement of that part of the question. 
 
 One or two suggestions, however, bearing upon this 
 part of the argument I wish to add. That there are ob- 
 vious affinities between the writing of a little off-hand 
 complimentary inscription in a book called the Mel 
 Heliconium, and the writing of this Epitaph. That 
 Mr. Bond long since denied that inscription to be in 
 
INTRODUCTION. xlv 
 
 Milton's writing upon grounds which were not un- 
 successfully disputed, and were not held to be satis- 
 factory by the late Mr. Sotheby in the volume which 
 contains the result of his special research into the 
 handwriting of Milton ; Mr. Sotheby being hitherto 
 the only man who has made the difficult subject of 
 Milton's handwriting a special study. That the pro- 
 babilities are very great indeed against the writing by 
 any one else than Milton of a thoroughly Miltonic piece 
 at the back of a printed leaf of Milton's first collection 
 of his poems ; this being done only two years after its 
 first publication, before Milton's name had become a 
 power. The improbability is enormously increased by 
 the fact that this unknown second Milton must have 
 had a name beginning with M. and a Christian name of 
 which the initial, when faded and half obliterated, as it 
 now is, bears, at least, a strong resemblance to a J. It 
 is to be observed, too, that the denial of this letter to 
 be a J, and declaration upon doubtful evidence of one 
 small scratch that it must be a P, sets out from the pre- 
 sumption of a uniformity and freedom from occasional 
 chance touches of the pen, which is not to be found in 
 the known signatures of Milton, and is rare in the 
 signature of any man. It is also not unworthy of notice 
 that Mr. Bond finds in the line " A vitall tincture still 
 retain," the word " still " to have been written over the 
 word " yet." This is a change more likely to have been 
 made by an author copying his own lines than by a 
 mere transcriber. And whoever may be the transcriber 
 of this Epitaph, the author of it is John Milton. 
 
 August 4, 1868. H. M. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PART I. 
 WITH THE KING. 
 
 Page 
 UCASTA. Going to the 
 
 Wars Lovelace ... 3 
 
 The difference betwixt 
 
 Kings and Subjects . Herrick ... 3 
 
 In the Woods .... Drummond . . 4 
 
 A Dirge Ford .... 4 
 
 Death's Final Conquest Shirley ... 5 
 
 Constancy Suckling ... 6 
 
 "Why dost thou say I am forsworn?". Lovelace ... 6 
 
 The Epicure Cowley ... 7 
 
 A Song of Sack Cleveland . . 7 
 
 TheKainbow Herrick ... 8 
 
 The Shadow Drummond . . 9 
 
 Anacreontic Heath .... 9 
 
 Ungrateful Beauty threatened . . . Carew. ... 10 
 
 Drinking Song Suckling ... 11 
 
 Young Folly Habington . . 11 
 
 The Surprise Sherburne . .12 
 
 Good Counsel to a young Maid . . . Carew ... 13 
 
 To Castara Habington . . 14 
 
 Constancy Herbert ... 15 
 
xlviii CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 Loving and beloved Suckling . 16 
 
 To the King Herrick 
 
 To the Queen Waller. . 
 
 The Puritan Cleveland . 
 
 Upon the troublesome Times Herrick 
 
 Cherry ripe Herrick 
 
 Leucasia's Lullaby : Cartwright 
 
 Staphyla's Lullaby Randolph . 
 
 On his Majesty's receiving the News of the 
 
 Duke of Buckingham's Death .... Waller . . 
 
 The Hunt Drummond 
 
 The Hock-cart, or Harvest Home . . . Herrick . 
 
 The Long Vacation in London Davenant . 
 
 Part of an Ode upon his Majesty's Pro- 
 clamation (A.D. 1630) commanding the 
 Gentry to reside upon their Estates in the 
 
 Country Fanshawe . 
 
 A Song to Amoret Vaughan . 
 
 Chloris and Hylas Waller . . 
 
 Gratiana dancing and singing Lovelace . 
 
 The Dance Waller . . 
 
 How Violets came blue Herrick 
 
 Lesbia on her Sparrow Cartwright 
 
 From a Ballad upon a Wedding .... Suckling . 
 
 Herrick on himself . Herrick 
 
 The Hag Herrick . 
 
 To the King on New Year's Day, 1630 . . Davenant . 
 
 To the Queen on a New Year's Day . . . Davenant . 
 Ben Jonson's Ode to himself upon the Cen- , 
 
 sure of his " New Inn" Jonson . 
 
 An Epigram to King Charles for an Hundred 
 Pounds he sent me in my Sickness 
 
 (1630) Jonson. . 
 
 Virtue Herbert 
 
 Upon the Curtain of Lucasta's Picture . . Lovelace . 
 
 The Description of Castara Habington . 
 
 Herri ck's Cavalier Herrick 
 
 To Althea from Prison ...... Lovelace . 
 
CONTENTS. xlix 
 
 Page 
 To Amarantha, that she would dishevel her 
 
 Hair Lovelace . 52 
 
 To Music, to becalm his Fever .... Herrick . 52 
 
 Time passes Mayne . . 53 
 
 Desire changes Suckling . 54 
 
 Change of Air Randolph . 55 
 
 Song Suckling . 58 
 
 Jove's Prophecy in the Horoscopal Pageant Drummond 58 
 
 On His Majesty's Return out of Scotland . Cowley . 60 
 
 The perfect Lover Suckling . 62 
 
 The careless Lover Suckling . 64 
 
 Song of the Fairies ........ Randolph . 65 
 
 Tobacco Holiday . 65 
 
 Sadness Cartwright 67 
 
 Sorrow Rowley . 68 
 
 Stratford's Trial and Death Denham . 69| 
 
 Epitaph upon the Earl of Strafford . . . Cleveland . 70| 
 
 The Fall Fanshawe . 70 
 
 The Vintage to the Dungeon Lovelace . 71 
 
 Courante Monsieur . . , Lovelace . 72 
 
 Disdain Returned Carew . . 72 
 
 Love's Good Morrow Hey wood . 73 
 
 A King and no King Herrick . 73 
 
 Man's Medley Herbert . 74 
 
 Care's Cure . Brathwaite 75 
 
 To Amoret Waller . 76 
 
 Wishes, to his supposed Mistress . . . Crashaw . 78 
 
 Montrose's Love Montrose . 81 
 
 A Lover's Absence Cartwright 82 
 
 The Message of the Rose Waller . . 82 
 
 To Daffodils Herrick . 83 
 
 The Nightingale Drummond 84 
 
 To Henry Lawes , . Herrick . 85 
 
 Litany to the Holy Spirit , Herrick . 85 
 
 The Arrest of the Five Members .... Denham . 87 
 
 The Saint's Encouragement Brome . . 89 
 
 A Bill of Fare . Cartwright 90 
 
 Persuasions to Love ..... Carew . . 92 
 
1 CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 To his Fellow Poet Vaughan . 93 
 
 Spring Sun Drummond 94 
 
 A Western Wonder Denham . 95 
 
 The Soldier going to the Field .... Davenant . 96 
 
 Two Hearts Suckling . 97 
 
 Upon Kings Herrick . 97 
 
 To live merrily, and to trust to good 
 
 Verses Herrick . 98 
 
 Obedience Herrick . 100 
 
 To the King on his coming with an Army 
 
 into the West Herrick . 100 
 
 Kings and Tyrants Herrick . 100 
 
 To the King, upon his taking of Leicester. Herrick . 101 
 
 The Downfall of Charing Cross . . . Percy Reliques 101 
 
 On the Loss of a Garrison, Meditation. . Brome . . 103 
 
 The Commoners Brome , . 104 
 
 The Eoyalist Brome . . 106 
 
 To keep a true Lent Herrick . 106 
 
 When the King enjoys his own again . . Parker . . 107 
 From an Ode upon an hypocritical Non- 
 conformist Butler . . 109 
 
 The Story of Phoebus and Daphne applied. Waller . 110 
 
 To God, in time of plundering .... Herrick . Ill 
 
 Rest Herrick . Ill 
 
 The Character of an Anti-covenanter or 
 
 Malignant Drummond 111 
 
 A Lyric to Mirth Herrick , 115 
 
 To the Virgins, to make much of Time . . Herrick . 116 
 To a Lady singing a Song of his Com- 
 posing Waller . 116 
 
 On a Girdle . Waller . 117 
 
 To Lucasta. From Prison Lovelace . 117 
 
 The poor Cavalier, in Memory of his old 
 
 Suit .... Cleveland 119 
 
 Majesty in Misery Charles I. 121 
 
 A Lenten Litany Cleveland 124 
 
 The King beheaded Cleveland 126 
 
CONTENTS. li 
 
 Page 
 
 Psalm Ixxxii Sandys . 127 
 
 A mock Song Lovelace . 128 
 
 PART IT. 
 WITH THE COMMONS. 
 
 A Dialogue between the resolved Soul and 
 
 created Pleasure Marvell . 131 
 
 From Euripides Milton . 134 
 
 Labour in vain Wither . 135 
 
 At a solemn Music Milton . 137 
 
 The Poet g Wither . 138 
 
 Bermudas Marvell . 139 
 
 From Seneca Milton . 140 
 
 From Wither's Motto Wither . 141 
 
 The manly Heart Wither . 145 
 
 Man's Day and Night Milton . 146 
 
 To the Nightingale Mtiton . 147 
 
 From Comus Milton . 147 
 
 From Britain's Remembrancer .... Wither . 150 
 
 The fair Singer Marvell . 154 
 
 Song on May Morning Milton . 154 
 
 Music's Empire Marvell . 155 
 
 To Mr. H. Lawes, on his Airs Milton . 156 
 
 Liberty Milton . 156 
 
 When the Assault was intended to Brent- 
 ford Milton . 157 
 
 The Soldier Wither . 157 
 
 The Colours taken at Naseby Wither . 160 
 
 On the new Forcers of Conscience under 
 
 the Long Parliament Milton . 162 
 
 Labour and Cheerfulness ...... Milton . 162 
 
Hi CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 To the Lord General Fairfax Milton . 163 
 
 The conquered King Wither . 163 
 
 A Horatian Ode Marvell . 164 
 
 To the Lord General Cromwell .... Milton . 168 
 
 To Sir Henry Vane the Younger 169 
 
 From "The Protector" Wither . 169 
 
 The First Anniversary of the Government 
 under His Royal Highness the Lord 
 
 Protector Marvell . 170 
 
 Uncaged Wither . 177 
 
 To Cyriac Skinner ' Milton . 178 
 
 On the late Massacre in Piemont . . . . Milton . 178 
 On the Victory obtained by Blake . . . Marvell . 179 
 A Poem upon the Death of His late High- 
 ness the Lord Protector Marvell . 185 
 
 Royal Resolutions Marvell . 193 
 
 The Contented Man's Morrice Wither . 194 
 
 From Samson Agonistes Milton . 196 
 
'"fcaPHi 7 ? 
 ^ *?**$*"* 
 
I'll love good wine, 
 I'll love my book and Muse, 
 
 Nay, all the Nine ; 
 I'll lave my real friend , 
 I'll love my horse; and could I choose 
 One that would not my love abuse, 
 
 To her my heart should bend. 
 1 will love those that laugh, and those that sing, 
 I'll love my country, prince and laws, and those that love my Xing, 
 
 ALEXANDER BROME. 
 
LUCASTA. GOING TO THE WAES. 
 
 iLL me not, sweet, I am unkind, 
 
 That from the nunnery 
 Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind 
 
 To war and arms I fly ; 
 
 True, a new mistress now I chase, 
 
 The first foe in the field ; 
 And, with a stronger faith embrace 
 
 A sword, a horse, a shield. 
 
 Yet this inconstancy is such 
 
 As you too shall adore ; 
 I could not love you, dear, so much, 
 
 Loved I not honour more. 
 
 Richard Lovelace. 
 
 THE DIFFERENCE BETWIXT KINGS AND SUBJECTS. 
 
 WIXT kings and subjects there's this mighty 
 
 odds, 
 
 Subjects are taught by men ; kings by the gods. 
 Robert Herrick. 
 
CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 IN THE WOODS. 
 
 I HRICE happy he who by some shady grove, 
 Far from the clamorous world, doth live his own, 
 Though solitary, who is not alone, 
 But doth converse with that eternal love. 
 O. how more sweet is biro's harmonious moan, 
 Or t}i3 hoarse sobbing of the widow'd dove, 
 Than those smooth whisp'rings near a prince's throne, 
 Which g9^^d make doubtful, do the evil approve! 
 O how more sweet is zephyrs' wholesome breath, 
 And sighs embalm' d which new-born flow'rs unfold, 
 Than that applause vain honour doth bequeath ! 
 How sweet are streams to poison drank in gold ! 
 The world is full of horrors, troubles, slights : 
 Woods 1 harmless shades have only true delights. 
 
 William Drummond. 
 
 A DIRGE. 
 
 jjLORIES, pleasures, pomps, delights and ease, 
 
 Can but please 
 
 The outward senses, when the mind 
 Is or untroubled, or by peace refined. 
 Crowns may flourish and decay, 
 Beauties shine, but fade away. 
 Youth may revel, yet it must 
 Lie down in a bed of dust. 
 Earthly honours flow and waste, 
 Time alone doth change and last. 
 Sorrows mingled with contents, prepare 
 
 Rest for care ; 
 
 Love only reigns in death ; though art 
 Can find no comfort for a broken heart. 
 
 John Ford. 
 
WITH THE KING. 
 
 DEATH'S FINAL CONQUEST. 
 
 3HE glories of our birth and state 
 
 Are shadows, not substantial things ; 
 There is no armour against fate ; 
 Death lays his icy hands on kings. 
 Sceptre and crown 
 Must tumble down, 
 And in the dust be equal made 
 With the poor crooked scythe and spade. 
 
 Some men with swords may reap the field, 
 And plant fresh laurels where they kill ,' 
 But their strong nerves at last must yield ; 
 They tame but one another still. 
 Early or late, 
 They stoop to fate, 
 
 And must give up their murmuring breath, 
 When they, pale captives, creep to death. 
 
 The garlands wither on your brow, 
 
 Then boast no more your mighty deeds ; 
 Upon death's purple altar now, 
 
 See where the victor victim bleeds. 
 All heads must come 
 To the cold tomb ; 
 Only the actions of the just 
 Smell sweet and blossom in the dust. 
 
 James Shirley. 
 
CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 CONSTANCY. 
 
 UT upon it. I have loved 
 
 Three whole days together ; 
 And am like to love three more, 
 If it prove fair weather. 
 
 Time shall moult away his wings 
 
 Ere he shall discover 
 In the whole wide world again 
 
 Such a constant lover. 
 
 But the spite on't is, no praise 
 
 Is due at all to me : 
 Love with me had made no stays, 
 
 Had it any been but she. 
 
 Had it any been but she 
 
 And that very face, 
 There had been at least ere this 
 
 A dozen dozen in her place. 
 
 Sir John Suckling, 
 
 2HY dost thou say I am forsworn, 
 Since thine I vow'd to be ? 
 
 ; Lady, it is already morn ; 
 It was last night I swore to thee 
 That fond impossibility. 
 
 Yet have I loved thee well, and long ; 
 
 A tedious twelve-hours' space ! 
 I should all other beauties wrong, 
 
 And rob thee of a new embrace, 
 
 Did I still dote upon that face. [3 st. 
 
 Richard Lovelace. 
 
WITH THE KING. 7 
 
 THE EPICUBE. 
 
 | ILL the bowl with rosy wine, 
 Around our temples roses twine, 
 And let us cheerfully awhile 
 Like the wine and roses smile. 
 Crown'd with roses we contemn 
 Gyges' wealthy diadem. 
 To-day is ours, what do we fear ? 
 To-day is ours, we have it here. 
 Let 's treat it kindly, that it may 
 Wish at least with us to stay. 
 Let 's banish business, banish sorrow, 
 To the gods belongs to-morrow. 
 
 Abraham Cowley. 
 
 A SONG OF SACK. 
 
 j OME let us drink away the time, [i /. 
 
 When wine runs high, wit's in the prime, 
 Drink and stout drinkers are true joys ; 
 
 Odd sonnets, and such little toys 
 
 Are exercises fit for boys. 
 
 The whining lover that doth place 
 
 His fancy on a painted face, 
 
 And wastes his substance in the chase, 
 
 Would ne'er in melancholy pine 
 
 Had he affections so divine 
 
 As once to fall in love with wine. 
 
 Then to our liquor let us sit ; 
 
 Wine makes the soul for action fit. 
 
 Who drinks most wine h ath the most wit : 
 
CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 The gods themselves do revels keep, 
 And in pure nectar tipple deep 
 When slothful mortals are asleep : 
 
 The gods then let us imitate, 
 Secure from carping care and fate ; 
 Wine, wit and courage both create. 
 In wine Apollo always chose 
 His darkest oracles to disclose, 
 'Twas wine gave him his ruby -nose. 
 
 Who dares not drink 's a wretched wight, 
 Nor do I think that man dares fight 
 All day, that dares not drink at night : 
 Come fill my cup until it swim 
 With foam, that overlooks the brim. 
 Who drinks the deepest ? Here's to him. 
 
 Sobriety and Study breeds 
 Suspicion in our acts and deeds ; 
 The downright drunkard no man heeds. 
 Give me but sack, tobacco store, 
 A drunken friend I'll ask no more. [i /. 
 
 John Cleveland. 
 
 THE RAINBOW. 
 
 OOK how the rainbow doth appear 
 But in one only hemisphere ; 
 So likewise after our decease, 
 No more is seen the arch of peace. 
 That cov'nant*s here, the under- bow, 
 That nothing shoots but war and woe. 
 
 Robert Herricli. 
 
WITH THE KING. 
 
 THE SHADOW. 
 
 IFE a right shadow is ; 
 For if it long appear, 
 Then is it spent, and death's long night draws 
 
 near ; 
 
 Shadows are moving, light, 
 And is there aught so moving as is this ? 
 When it is most in sight 
 
 It steals away, and none knows how or where, 
 So near our cradles to our coffins are. 
 
 William Drummond. 
 
 ANACREONTIC. 
 
 JJNVEST my head with fragrant rose, 
 That on fair Flora's bosom grows ! 
 Distend my veins with purple juice, 
 That mirth may through my soul diffuse. 
 'Tis wine and love, and love in wine 
 Inspires our youth with flames divine. 
 
 Thus, crown'd with Paphian myrtle, I 
 In Cyprian shades will bathing lie ; 
 Whose snows if too much cooling, then 
 Bacchus shall warm my blood again. 
 
 'Tis wine and love, and love in wine 
 Inspires our youth with flames divine. 
 
 Life's short and winged pleasures fly ; 
 Who mourning live, do living die. 
 
CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 On down and floods then, swan-like, I 
 Will stretch my limbs, and singing die. 
 'Tis wine and love, and love in wine, 
 Inspires our youth with flames divine. 
 
 Robert Heath. 
 
 UNGRATEFUL BEAUTY THREATENED. 
 
 NOW Celia, (since thou art so proud,) 
 
 'Twas I that gave thee thy renown ; 
 Thou hadst, in the forgotten crowd 
 Of common beauties, lived unknown, 
 Had not my verse exhaled thy name, 
 And with it impt the wings of fame. 
 
 That killing power is none of thine, 
 I gave it to thy voice and eyes ; 
 
 Thy sweets, thy graces, all are mine ; 
 Thou art my star, shin'st in my skies : 
 
 Then dart not from thy borrowed sphere 
 
 Lightning on him that fix'd thee there. 
 
 Tempt me with such affrights no more, 
 
 Lest what I made I uncreate, 
 Let fools thy mystic forms adore, 
 
 I'll know thee in thy mortal state : 
 Wise poets, that wrapt truth in tales, 
 Knew her themselves through all her veils. 
 
 Thomas Carew. 
 
WITH THE KING. 
 
 DRINKING SONG. 
 
 SOME, let the state stay 
 
 And drink away, 
 There is no business above it : 
 It warms the cold brain, 
 Makes us speak in high strain, 
 He 's a fool that does not approve it. 
 The Macedon youth 
 Left behind him this truth, 
 That nothing is done with much thinking ; 
 He drunk and he fought, 
 Till he had what he sought : 
 The world was his own by good drinking. 
 
 Sir John Suckling. 
 
 YOUNG FOLLY. 
 
 JINE young Folly, tho' you were 
 That fair beauty I did swear, 
 
 Yet you ne'er could reach my heart ; 
 For we courtiers learn at school, 
 Only with your sex to fool 
 
 You 're not worth the serious part. 
 
 When I sigh and kiss your hand, 
 Cross my arms, and wond'ring stand, 
 
 Holding parley with your eye : 
 Then dilate on my desires, 
 Swear the sun ne'er shot such fires, 
 
 All is but a handsome lie. 
 
CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 When I eye your curl or lace, 
 Gentle soul, you think your face 
 
 Straight some murder doth commit ; 
 And your virtue doth begin 
 To grow scrupulous of my sin, 
 
 When I talk to show my wit. 
 
 Therefore, madam, wear no cloud, 
 Nor to check my love grow proud, 
 
 For in sooth, I much do doubt 
 'Tis the powder on your hair, 
 Not your breath, perfumes the air, 
 
 And your clothes that set you out. 
 
 Yet though truth has this confessed, 
 And I vow I love in jest, 
 
 When I next begin to court, 
 And protest an amorous flame, 
 You will swear I in earnest am, 
 
 Bedlam ! this is pretty sport. 
 
 William Habington. 
 
 THE SURPRISE. 
 
 1 HERE'S no dallying with love, 
 
 Though he be a child and blind ; 
 Then let none the danger prove, 
 Who would to himself be kind ; 
 Smile he does when thou dost play, 
 But his smiles to death betray. 
 
 Lately with the boy I sported, 
 Love I did not, yet love feign'd ; 
 
 Had not mistress, yet I courted ; 
 Sigh I did, yet was not pain'd ; 
 
WITH THE KING. i 
 
 'Till at last this love in jest 
 Proved in earnest my unrest. 
 
 When I saw my fair one first, 
 
 In a feigned fire I burn'd ; 
 But true flames my poor heart pierced 
 
 When her eyes on mine she turn'd : 
 So a real wound I took 
 For my counterfeited look. [2, st. 
 
 None who loves not then make shew, 
 
 Love's as ill deceived as fate ; 
 Fly the boy, he'll cog and woo ; 
 
 Mock him, and he wounds thee straight. 
 Ah ! who dally boast in vain ; 
 False love wants not real pain. 
 
 Edward Sherburne. 
 
 GOOD COUNSEL TO A YOUNG MAID. 
 
 | HEN" you the sun-burnt pilgrim see, 
 
 Fainting with thirst, haste to the springs ; 
 Mark how, at first with bended knee 
 
 He courts the crystal nymphs, and flings 
 His body to the earth, where he 
 Prostrate adores the flowing deity. 
 
 But when this sweaty face is drench'd 
 In her cool waves, when from her sweet 
 
 Bosom his burning thirst is quench 7 d ; 
 Then mark how with disdainful feet 
 
 He kicks her banks, and from the place, 
 
 That thus refresh'd him, moves with sullen pace. 
 
14 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 So shalt thou be despised, fair maid, 
 When by the sated lover tasted ; 
 
 What first he did with tears invade, 
 
 Shall afterwards with scorn be wasted : 
 
 When all thy virgin-springs grow dry, 
 
 When no streams shall be left, but in thine eye. 
 
 Thomas Carew. 
 
 TO C A STAR A. 
 
 \ IVE me a heart where no impure 
 
 Disordered passions rage ; 
 Which jealousy doth not obscure, 
 Nor vanity t' expense engage ; 
 Nor woo'd to madness by quaint oaths, 
 Or the fine rhetoric of clothes, 
 
 Which not the softness of the age 
 To vice or folly doth decline : 
 Give me that heart, Castara, for 'tis thine. 
 
 Take thou a heart, where no new look 
 
 Provokes new appetite : 
 With no fresh charm of beauty took, 
 
 Or wanton stratagem of wit ; 
 Not idly wandering here and there, 
 Led by an amorous eye or ear ; 
 
 Aiming each beauteous mark to hit ; 
 Which virtue doth to one confine : 
 Take thou that heart, Castara, for 'tis mine. [ i sf. 
 William Habington. 
 
WITH THE KING. 15 
 
 CONSTANCY. 
 
 3 HO is the honest man ? 
 
 He that doth still and strongly good pursue, 
 To God, his neighbour, and himself most true : 
 Whom neither force nor fawning can 
 Unpin, or wrench from giving all their due. 
 
 Whose honesty is not 
 So loose or easy, that a ruffling wind 
 Can blow away, or glittering look it blind : 
 
 Who rides his sure and even trot, 
 While the world now rides by, now lags behind. 
 
 Who, when great trials come, 
 Nor seeks, nor shuns them ; but doth calmly stay, 
 Till he the thing and the example weigh : 
 
 All being brought into a sum, 
 What place or person calls for, he doth pay. 
 
 Whom none can work or woo, 
 To use in any thing a trick or sleight ; 
 For above all things he abhors deceit : 
 
 His words and works and fashion too 
 All of a piece, and all are clear and straight. 
 
 Who never melts or thaws 
 At close temptations : when the day is done, 
 His goodness sets not, but in dark can run : 
 
 The sun to others writeth laws, 
 And is their virtue ; virtue is his sun. 
 
 Who, when he is to treat 
 
 With sick folks, women, those whom passions sway, 
 Allows for that, and keeps his constant way : 
 Whom others' faults do not defeat ; 
 But though men fail him, yet his part doth play. 
 
1 6 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 Whom nothing can procure, 
 When the wild world runs bias, from his will 
 To writhe his limbs, and share, not mend the ill* 
 This is the marksman, safe and sure, 
 Who still is right, and prays to be so still. 
 
 George Herbert. 
 
 LOVING AND BELOVED. 
 
 HERE never yet was honest man 
 
 That ever drove the trade of love ; 
 It is impossible, nor can 
 Integrity our ends promove : 
 For kings and lovers are alike in this, 
 That their chief art in reign dissembling is. 
 
 Here we are loved, and there we love, 
 Good nature now and passion strive 
 Which of the two should be above, 
 
 And laws unto the other give. 
 So we false fire with art sometimes discover, 
 And the true fire with the same art do cover. 
 
 What rack can fancy find so high ? 
 
 Here we must court, and here engage, 
 Though in the other place we die. 
 
 Oh ! 'tis torture all, and cozenage ; 
 And which the harder is I cannot tell, 
 To hide true love, or make false love look well. 
 
 Since it is thus, God of desire, 
 Give me my honesty again, 
 And take thy brands back, and thy fire : 
 
 I am weary of the state I am in. 
 Since (if the very best should not befall) 
 Love's triumph must be Honour's funeral. 
 
 Sir John Suckling. 
 
WITH THE KING. 17 
 
 TO THE KING. 
 
 JIVE way, give way ; now, now my Charles shines 
 
 here, 
 
 A public light, in this immensive sphere ; 
 Some stars were fix'd before, but these are dim, 
 Compared, in this my ample orb, to him. 
 Draw in your feeble fires, while that he 
 Appears but in his meaner majesty ; 
 Where, if such glory flashes from his name, 
 Which is his shade, who can abide his flame ! 
 Princes, and such-like public lights as these, 
 Must not be look'd on but at distances ; 
 For, if we gaze on these brave lamps too near, 
 Our eyes they '11 blind, or if not blind, they '11 bleer. 
 
 Robert Herrick. 
 
 TO THE QUEEN. 
 
 [ 10 //. 
 whom th' extremes of power and beauty move, 
 
 The Queen of Britain and the Queen of Love. 
 
 As the bright sun (to which we owe no sight 
 Of equal glory to your beauty's light) 
 Is wisely placed in so sublime a seat, 
 T* extend his light, and moderate his heat : 
 So happy 'tis you move in such a sphere 
 As your high majesty with awful fear 
 In human breasts might qualify that fire, 
 Which, kindled by those eyes, had flamed higher 
 Than when the scorched world like hazard run, 
 By the approach of the ill-guided sun. 
 No other nymphs have title to men's hearts, 
 But as their meanness larger hope imparts : 
 
1 8 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 Your beauty more the fondest lover moves 
 With admiration than his private loves ; 
 With admiration ! for a pitch so high 
 (Save sacred Charles his) never Love durst fly. 
 Heaven that preferr'd a sceptre to your hand, 
 Favour'd our freedom more than your command : 
 Beauty had crown'd you, and you must have been 
 The whole world's mistress, other than a queen. 
 All had been rivals, and you might have spared, 
 Or kill'd and tyrannized without a guard. 
 No power achieved, either by arms or birth, 
 Equals Love's empire, both in heaven and earth. 
 Such eyes as yours on Jove himself have thrown 
 As bright and fierce a lightning as his own : 
 Witness our Jove, prevented by their flame 
 In his swift passage to th' Hesperian dame ; 
 When, like a lion, finding in his way 
 To some intended spoil a fairer prey, 
 The royal youth pursuing the report 
 Of beauty, found it in the Gallic court ; 
 There public care with private passion fought 
 A doubtful combat in his noble thought : 
 Should he confess his greatness and his love, 
 And the free faith of your great brother prove, 
 With his Achates breaking through the cloud 
 Of that disguise which did their graces shroud, 
 And, mixing with those gallants at the ball, 
 Dance with the ladies and outshine them all ; 
 Or on his journey o'er the mountains ride ? 
 So when the fair Leucothoe he spied, 
 To check his steeds impatient Phoebus yearn'd, 
 Though all the world was in his course concern'd 
 What may hereafter her meridian do, 
 Whose dawning beauty warm'd his bosom so ? [4 II. 
 
 Edmund Waller. 
 
WITH THE KING. 
 
 THE PUEITAN. 
 
 ITH face and fashion to be known 
 
 For one of sure election, 
 With eyes all white, and many a groan, 
 
 With neck aside to draw in tone, 
 With harp in 's nose, or he is none : 
 See a new teacher of the town, 
 O the town, O the town's new teacher ! 
 With pate cut shorter than the brow, 
 With little ruff starch' d you know how, 
 With cloak like Paul, no cape I trow ; 
 With surplice none ; but lately now. 
 With hands to thump, no knees to bow. 
 See a new teacher of the town, 
 O the town, O the town's new teacher ! 
 With coz'ning cough and hollow cheek, 
 To get new gatherings every week, 
 With paltry change of and to eke, 
 With some small Hebrew, and no Greek, 
 To find out words where stuff's to seek. 
 See a new teacher of the town, 
 O the town, O the town's new teacher ! 
 With shop-board breeding and intrusion, 
 With some outlandish institution, 
 With Ursin's catechism to muse on, 
 With System's method for confusion, 
 With grounds strong laid of mere illusion. 
 See a new teacher of the town, 
 O the town, O the town's new teacher ! 
 With rites indifferent all damned, 
 And made unlawful, if commanded, 
 
CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 Good works of Popery down banded, 
 
 And moral laws from him estranged, 
 
 Except the Sabbath still unchanged. 
 
 See a new teacher of the town, 
 
 O the town, O the town's new teacher ! 
 
 With speech unthought, quick revelation, 
 With boldness in predestination, 
 With threats of absolute damnation, 
 For yea and nay hath some salvation 
 For his own tribe, not every nation. 
 See a new teacher of the town, 
 O the town, the town's new teacher ! 
 With after-licence cost a crown, 
 When bishop new had put him down, 
 With tricks call'd repetition, 
 And doctrine newly brought to town, 
 Of teaching men to hang and drown. 
 See a new teacher of the town, 
 O the town, O the town's new teacher! 
 With flesh provision to keep Lent, 
 With shelves of sweetmeats often spent, 
 Which new maid bought, old lady sent, 
 Though to be saved a poor present ; 
 Yet legacies assure the event. 
 
 See a new teacher of the town, 
 O the town, O the town's new teacher I 
 With troops expecting him at th' door, 
 That would hear sermons, and no more ; 
 With noting tools, and sighs great store, 
 With Bibles great to turn them o'er, 
 While he wrests places by the score. 
 See a new teacher of the town, 
 O the town, O the town's new teacher ! 
 
WITH THE KING. 21 
 
 With running text, the nam'd forsaken, 
 With for and but, both by sense shaken, 
 Cheap doctrines forced, wild uses taken, 
 Both sometimes one, by mark mistaken, 
 With anything to any shapen. 
 
 See a new teacher of the town, 
 
 O the town, O the town's new teacher ! 
 
 With new-wrought caps, against the canon, 
 For taking cold, though sure he have none ; 
 A sermon's end, where he began one 
 A new hour long, when 's glass had run one, 
 New use, new points, new notes to stand on. 
 See a new teacher of the town, 
 O the town, O the town's new teacher ! 
 
 John Cleveland. 
 
 UPON THE TEOUBLESOME TIMES. 
 
 Times most bad, 
 Without the scope 
 
 Of hope 
 Of better to be had ! 
 
 Where shall I go, 
 Or whither run 
 
 To shun 
 This public overthrow ? 
 
 No places are, 
 This I am sure, 
 
 Secure 
 In this our wasting war. 
 
 Some storms we have past ; 
 Yet we must all 
 
 Down fall, 
 And perish at the last. Robert Herrick. 
 
CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 CHEERY EIPE. 
 
 CHERRY-RIPE, ripe, ripe, I cry, 
 Full and fair ones ; come, and buy : 
 If so be you ask me where 
 They do grow ? I answer, there, 
 Where my Julia's lips do smile, 
 There 's the land, or cherry-isle ! 
 Whose plantations fully show 
 All the year where cherries grow. 
 
 Robert Herrick. 
 
 LEUCASIA'S LULLABY. 
 
 up her eyes, O Sleep, but flow 
 Mild as her manners to and fro : 
 Slide softly into her that she 
 May receive no wound from thee. 
 And ye, present her thoughts, O Dreams, 
 With hushing winds and purling streams, 
 Whiles hovering Silence sits without 
 Careful to keep disturbance out. 
 Thus seize her, Sleep, thus her again resign, 
 So what was Heaven's gift we '11 reckon thine. 
 William Cartwright. 
 
 STAPHYLA'S LULLABY. 
 
 jjUIET sleep, or I will make 
 Erinnys whip thee with a snake, 
 And cruel Rhadamanthus take 
 
 Thy body to the boiling lake, 
 
 Where fire and brimstone never slake. 
 
 Thy heart shall burn ; thy head shall ache, 
 
 And every joint about thee quake. 
 
 And therefore dare not yet to wake. 
 
WITH THE KING. 23 
 
 Quiet sleep, or thou shalt see 
 The horrid hags of Tartary, 
 Whose tresses ugly serpents be ; 
 And Cerberus shall bark at thee, 
 And all the furies that are three, 
 The worst is call'd Tisiphone, 
 Shall lash thee to eternity. 
 And therefore sleep thou peacefully. 
 
 Thomas Randolph. 
 
 ON HIS MAJESTY'S RECEIVING THE NEWS OF THE 
 DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM'S DEATH.* 
 
 O earnest with thy God, can no new care, 
 No sense of danger interrupt thy prayer ? 
 The sacred wrestler, till a blessing given, 
 Quits not his hold, but halting conquers Heaven ; 
 Nor was the stream of thy devotion stopp'd 
 When from the body such a limb was lopp'd, 
 As to thy present state was no less maim ; 
 Though thy wise choice has since repair'd the same. 
 Bold Homer durst not so great virtue feign 
 In his best pattern ; of Patroclus slain 
 With such amazement as weak mothers use, 
 And frantic gesture, he receives the news : 
 Yet fell his darling by th' impartial chance 
 Of war, imposed by royal Hector's lance ; 
 Thine in full peace, and by a vulgar hand 
 Torn from thy bosom, left his high command. 
 
 The famous painter could allow no place 
 For private sorrow in a prince's face : 
 
 * Without visible emotion. 
 
24 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 Yet, that his piece might not exceed belief, 
 He cast a veil upon supposed grief. 
 
 *Twas want of such a precedent as this 
 
 Made the old heathens frame their gods amiss. 
 
 Their Phoebus should not act a fonder part 
 
 For their fair boy, than he did for his heart ; 
 
 Nor blame for Hyacinthus' fate his own 
 
 That kept from him wish'd death, hadst thou been known. 
 
 He that with thine shall weigh good David's deeds, 
 Shall find his passion, not his love, exceeds. 
 He cursed the mountains where his brave friend died, 
 But let false Ziba with his heir divide : 
 Where thy immortal love to thy best friends, 
 Like that of heaven, upon their seed descends. 
 Such huge extremes inhabit thy great mind, 
 God-like unmoved, and yet like woman kind. [ 4 //. 
 
 Edmund Waller. 
 
 THE HUNT. 
 
 f HIS world a hunting is, 
 The prey, poor man; the Nimrod fierce is 
 
 Death ; 
 His speedy greyhounds are 
 Lust, Sickness, Envy, Care ; 
 Strife that ne'er falls amiss, 
 
 With all those ills which haunt us while we breathe. 
 Now, if by chance we fly 
 Of these the eager chace, 
 Old age with stealing pace 
 Casts on his nets, and there we panting die. 
 
 William Drummond. 
 
WITH THE KING. 25 
 
 THE HOCK- CART, OR HARVEST HOME. 
 
 TftttH OME sons of summer, by whose toil 
 p?^vl e are tb e i or( } s of wine and oil ; 
 
 By whose tough labours and rough hands 
 
 We rip up first, then reap our lands. 
 Crown'd with the ears of corn, now come, 
 And, to the pipe, sing harvest home. 
 Come forth, my lord, and see the cart 
 Drest up with all the country art. 
 See, here a maukin, there a sheet, 
 As spotless pure as it is sweet ; 
 The horses, mares, and frisking fillies, 
 Clad all in linen white as lilies. 
 The harvest swains and wenches bound 
 For joy to see the hock- cart crown'd. 
 About the cart hear how the rout 
 Of rural youngling raise the shout, 
 Pressing before, some coming after, 
 Those with a shout, and these with laughter. 
 Some bless the cart, some kiss the sheaves, 
 Some prank them up with oaken leaves ; 
 Some cross the fill-horse, some with great 
 Devotion stroke the home-borne wheat ; 
 While other rustics, less intent 
 To prayers than to merriment, 
 Run after with their breeches rent- 
 Well, on, brave boys ! to your lord's hearth, 
 Glitt'ring with fire, where, for your mirth, 
 Ye shall see first the large and chief 
 Foundation of your feast, fat beef ; 
 With upper stories, mutton, veal, 
 And bacon, which makes full the meal, 
 
26 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 With several dishes standing by, 
 
 As, here a custard, there a pie, 
 
 And here all-tempting frumenty. 
 
 And for to make the merry cheer, 
 
 If smirking wine be wanting here, 
 
 There 's that which drowns all care, stout beer ; 
 
 Which freely drink to your lord's health, 
 
 Then to the plough, the commonwealth, 
 
 Next to your flails, your fanes, your fats ; 
 
 Then to the maids with wheaten hats ; 
 
 To the rough sickle, and the crookt scythe, 
 
 Drink, frolic, boys, till all be blithe. 
 
 Feed and grow fat, and as ye eat 
 
 Be mindful that the lab'ring neat, 
 
 As you, may have their full of meat ; 
 
 And know, besides, ye must revoke 
 
 The patient ox unto the yoke, 
 
 And all go back unto the plough 
 
 And harrow, though they 're hang'd up now. 
 
 And, you must know, your lord's word's true, 
 
 Feed him ye must, whose food fills you. 
 
 And that this pleasure is like rain, 
 
 Not sent ye for to drown your pain, 
 
 But for to make it spring again. 
 
 Robert Herrick. 
 
 THE LONG VACATION IN LONDON. 
 
 SOW town-wit says to witty friend, 
 " Transcribe apace all thou hast penned ; 
 For I in journey hold it fit 
 To cry thee up to country-wit." 
 
WITH THE KING. 27 
 
 Our mules are come ! dissolve the club ! 
 The word till term, is rub, O rub ! 
 
 Now gamester poor, in cloak of stammel, 
 Mounted on steed as slow as camel 
 Batoon of crab in luckless hand, 
 (Which serves for bilbo and for wand) 
 Early in morn does sneak from town 
 Lest landlord's wife should seize on crown ; 
 On crown which he in pouch does keep, 
 When day is done to pay for sleep ; 
 For he in journey nought does eat. 
 Host spies him come, cries, " Sir, what meat ? " 
 He calls for room, and down he lies. 
 Quoth host, " No supper, sir ? " He cries, 
 " I eat no supper, fling on rug ! 
 I'm sick, d' you hear ; yet, bring a jug !" 
 
 Now damsel young that dwells in Cheap 
 For very joy begins to leap ; 
 Her elbow small she oft does rub, 
 Tickled with hope of sillabub ! 
 For mother (who does gold maintain 
 On thumb, and keys in silver chain) 
 In snow-white clout wrapt nook of pie, 
 Fat capon's wing, and rabbit's thigh, 
 And said to hackney coachman, *' Go. 
 Take shillings six, say ay or no." 
 " Whither ?" says he. Quoth she, "Thy team 
 Shall drive to place where groweth cream." 
 
 But husband gray now comes to stall, 
 For prentice notch'd he straight does call : 
 " Where 's dame ? " quoth he. Quoth son of shop, 
 " She's gone her cake in milk to sop." 
 
28 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 " Ho, ho ! to Islington ; enough ! 
 
 Fetch Job my son, and our dog Euff ! 
 
 For there in pond, through mire and muck, 
 
 We '11 cry, hey duck ! there Ruff, hey duck ! " [ 12 II. 
 
 Now man that trusts, with weary thighs, 
 Seeks garret where small poet lies. 
 He comes to lane, finds garret shut ; 
 Then not with knuckle, but with foot 
 He rudely thrusts, would enter doors ; 
 Though poet sleeps not, yet he snores : 
 Cit chafes like beast of Lybia then, 
 Swears he '11 not come or send again. 
 From little lump triangular 
 Poor poet's sighs are heard afar. 
 Quoth he, " Do noble numbers choose 
 To walk on feet that have no shoes ? " 
 Then he does wish with fervent breath, 
 And as his last request ere death, 
 Each ode a bond, each madrigal 
 A lease from Haberdashers' Hall, 
 Or that he had protected been 
 At court, in list of chamberlain ; 
 For wights near thrones care not an ace 
 For Wood-street friend that wieldeth mace. 
 Courts pay no scores but when they list, 
 And treasurer still has cramp in fist. 
 Then forth he steals, to Globe does run, 
 And smiles, and vows four acts are done : 
 Finis to bring he does protest ; 
 Tells every player his part is best : 
 And all to get (as poet's use) 
 Some coin in pouch to solace muse. 
 
WITH THE KING. 29 
 
 Now wight that acts on stage of Bull, 
 In scullers' bark does lie at Hull, 
 Which he for pennies two does rig 
 All day on Thames to bob for grig ; 
 Whilst Fencer poor does by him stand 
 In old dung lighter, hook in hand, 
 Between knees rod, with canvass crib, 
 To girdle tied close under rib, 
 Where worms are put, which must small fish 
 Betray at night to earthen dish. 
 
 Now, London's chief on saddle new 
 Rides into fair of Bartholomew ; 
 He twirls his chain and looketh big, 
 As if to fright the head of pig 
 That gaping lies on greasy stall, 
 Till longing women eat it all. [ 5 w. 
 
 Now alderman in field does stand, 
 With foot on trig, a quoit in hand, 
 " I'm seven," quoth he, " the game is up ! 
 Nothing I pay, and yet I sup." 
 To alderman, quoth neighbour then, 
 " I lost but mutton, play for hen :" 
 But wealthy blade cries out, " At rate 
 Of kings shouldst play ; let 's go, 'tis late." 
 
 Now lean attorney, that his cheese 
 Ne'er pared, nor verses took for fees ; 
 And aged Proctor, that controls 
 The feats of Poll in court of Pauls, [ i w. 
 
 Do each with solemn oath agree 
 To meet in fields of Finsbury ; 
 
30 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 With loins in canvass bow-case tied, 
 Where arrows stick with mickle pride ; 
 With hats pinn'd up, and bow in hand, 
 All day most fiercely there they stand, 
 Like ghosts of Adam Bell, and Clymme : 
 Sol sets for fear they '11 shoot at him. 
 
 Now Spynie, Ralph, and Gregory small, 
 And short hair'd Stephen, whey-faced Paul, 
 Whose times are out, indentures torn, 
 Who seven long years did never scorn 
 To fetch up coals for maid to use, 
 Wipe mistresses and children's shoes, 
 Do jump for joy they are made free, 
 Hire meagre steeds, to ride and see 
 Their parents old, who dwell as near 
 As place call'd Peak in Derbyshire. 
 There they alight, old crones are mild, 
 Each weeps on crag of pretty child : 
 They portions give, trades up to set, 
 That babes may live, serve God and cheat. 
 
 Near house of law by Temple-Bar, 
 Now man of mace cares not how far 
 In stockings blue he marcheth on, 
 With velvet cape his cloak upon ; 
 In girdle scrolls, where names of some 
 Are written down, whom touch of thumb 
 On shoulder left must safe convoy, 
 Annoying wights with name of Roy. 
 Poor pris'ner's friend that sees the touch 
 Cries out aloud, " I thought as much ! " 
 
 Now vaulter good, and dancing lass 
 On rope, and man that cries " Ay pass ! " 
 
WITH THE KING. 31 
 
 And tumbler young that needs but stoop, 
 Lay head to heel, to creep through hoop ; 
 And man in chimney hid to dress 
 Puppet that acts our old Queen Bess ; 
 And man that, whilst the puppets play, 
 Through nose expoundeth what they say : 
 And man that does in chest include 
 Old Sodom and Gomorrah lewd ; 
 And white oat-eater, that does dwell 
 In stable small at sign of Bell, 
 That lifts up hoof to show the pranks 
 Taught by magician styled Banks ; 
 And ape led captive still in chain, 
 Till he renounce the Pope and Spain. 
 All these on hoof now trudge from town 
 To cheat poor turnip-eating clown. 
 
 Now man of war with visage red 
 Grows choleric and swears for bread. 
 He sendeth note to man of kin, 
 But man leaves word, " I'm not within." 
 He meets in street with friend call' d Will, 
 And cries. " Old rogue ! what, living still ? " 
 But ere that street they quite are past, 
 He softly asks, " What money hast ? " 
 Quoth friend, "A crown." He cries, "Dear heart! 
 O base no more ; sweet, lend me part ! " 
 
 But stay, my frightened pen is fled ; 
 Myself through fear creep under bed ; 
 For just as muse would scribble more 
 Fierce city dun did rap at door. 
 
 Sir William Davenant. 
 
32 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 PART OF AN ODE 
 
 Upon His Majesty's Proclamation (A.D. 1630) com- 
 manding the gentry to reside upon their estates in the 
 country. 
 
 OW war is all the world about, 
 And everywhere Erinnys reigns 
 Or else the torch so late put out, 
 The stench remains. 
 
 Holland for many years hath been 
 Of Christian tragedies the stage, 
 Yet seldom hath she play'd a scene 
 Of bloodier rage. 
 
 And France that was not long composed, 
 With civil drums again resounds, 
 And ere the old are fully closed 
 
 Receives new wounds. 
 
 The great Gustavus in the west 
 Plucks the imperial eagle's wing, 
 Than whom the earth did ne'er invest 
 A fiercer king. 
 
 What should I tell of Polish bands 
 And the bloods boiling in the north 
 'Gainst whom the furied Russians 
 
 Their troops bring forth. 
 
 Only the island which we sow 
 (A world without the world) so far 
 From present wounds it cannot show 
 An ancient scar. 
 
WITH THE KING. 33 
 
 White Peace (the beautifull'st of things) 
 
 Seems here her everlasting rest 
 
 To fix, and spreads her downy wings 
 
 Over the nest- 
 Yet we, as if some foe were here, 
 Leave the despised fields to clowns, 
 And come to save ourselves, as 'twere 
 
 In walled towns. 
 
 Hither we bring wives, babes, rich clothes 
 And gems, till now my sovereign 
 The growing evil doth oppose, 
 Counting in vain 
 
 His care preserves us from annoy 
 Of enemies his realms t' invade, 
 Unless he force us to enjoy 
 
 The peace he made. 
 
 To roll themselves in envied leisure 
 He therefore sends the landed heirs, 
 Whilst he proclaims not his own pleasure 
 So much as theirs. 
 
 The sap and blood o' th' land, which fled 
 Into the root and choked the heart, 
 Are bid their quick'ning power to spread 
 Through every part. 
 
 Oh, 'twas an act not for my muse 
 To celebrate, nor the dull age, 
 Until the country air infuse 
 A purer rage. 
 
34 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 And if the fields as thankful prove 
 For benefits received as seed, 
 They will, to 'quite so great a love, 
 A Virgil breed. 
 
 A hymn that shall not cease 
 Th' Augustus of our world to praise 
 In equal verse, author of peace 
 And halcyon days. 
 
 Sir Richard Fanshawe. 
 
 A SONG TO AMOKET. 
 
 F I were dead, and in my place 
 Some fresher youth designed, 
 To warm thee with new fires, and grace 
 Those arms I left behind ; 
 
 Were he as faithful as the sun 
 
 That 's wedded to the sphere, 
 His blood as chaste and temp'rate run 
 
 As April's mildest tear ; 
 
 Or were he rich, and with his heaps 
 
 And spacious share of earth 
 Could make divine affection cheap 
 
 Arid court his golden birth ; 
 
 For all these arts Fd not believe 
 
 (No, though he should be thine) 
 The mighty Amorist could give 
 
 So rich a heart as mine. 
 
WITH THE KING. 35 
 
 Fortune and beauty thou might'st find, 
 
 And greater men than I; 
 But my true resolved mind 
 
 They never shall come nigh. 
 
 For I not for an hour did love, 
 
 Or for a day desire, 
 But with my soul had from above 
 
 This endless holy fire. 
 
 Henry Vaughan. 
 
 CHLORIS AND HYLAS. 
 
 CHLORIS. 
 
 ijYLAS, O Hylas, why sit we mute, 
 
 Now that each bird saluteth the spring ? 
 Wind up the slacken'd strings of thy lute, 
 Never can'st thou want matter to sing : 
 For love thy breast doth fill with such a fire, 
 That whatsoe'er is fair moves thy desire. 
 
 Sweetest, you know, the sweetest of things, 
 Of various flowers the bees do compose, 
 
 Yet no particular taste it brings 
 
 Of violet, woodbind, pink or rose : 
 
 So love the result is of all the graces 
 
 Which flow from a thousand several faces. 
 
 Hylas, the birds which chant in this grove, 
 
 Could we but know the language they use, 
 
36 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 They would instruct us better in love, 
 
 And reprehend thy inconstant muse; 
 For Love their breasts does fill with such a fire, 
 That what they once do choose bounds their desire. 
 
 Chloris, this change the birds do approve, 
 
 Which the warm season hither does bring ; 
 
 Time from yourself does further remove 
 
 You than the winter from the gay spring. 
 
 She that like light'ning shined while her face lasted, 
 
 The oak now resembles which light'ning hath blasted. 
 
 Edmund Waller. 
 
 GRATIANA DANCING AND SINGING. 
 
 jjEE ! with what constant motion, 
 Even and glorious as the sun, 
 
 Gratiana steers that noble frame, 
 Soft as her breast, sweet as her voice, 
 That gave each winding law and poize, 
 And swifter than the wings of fame. 
 
 She beat the happy pavement 
 By such a star-made firmament, 
 
 Which now no more the roof envies ; 
 But swells up high with Atlas even, 
 Bearing the brighter, nobler heaven, 
 
 And in her all the deities. 
 
 Each step trod out a lover's thought 
 And the ambitious hopes he brought, 
 
 Chained to her brave feet with such arts, 
 
WITH THE KING. 37 
 
 Such sweet command and gentle awe, 
 As when she ceased, we sighing saw 
 
 The floor lay paved with broken hearts. 
 
 So did she move : so did she sing : 
 Like the harmonious spheres that bring 
 
 Unto their rounds their music's aid ; 
 Which she performed such a way, 
 As all th' enamour'd world will say, 
 
 The Graces danced, and Apollo play'd. 
 
 Richard Lovelace. 
 
 THE DANCE. 
 
 j EHOLD the brand of beauty tost ; 
 
 See how the motion does dilate the flame : 
 
 Delighted Love his spoils does boast, 
 And triumph in this game. 
 Fire, to no place confined, 
 Is both our wonder and our fear, 
 
 Moving the mind 
 As lightning hurled through the air. 
 
 High heaven the glory does increase 
 Of all her shining lamps this artful way ; 
 
 The sun in figures, such as these, 
 Joys with the moon to play. 
 
 To the sweet strains they advance 
 Which do result from their own spheres, 
 
 As this nymph's dance 
 Moves with the numbers which she hears. 
 
 Edmund Waller. 
 
CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 HOW VIOLETS CAME BLUE. 
 
 JOVE on a day, wise poets tell, 
 
 Some time in wrangling spent, 
 Whether the violets should excel, 
 Or she, in sweetest scent. 
 
 But Venus having lost the day, 
 
 Poor girls, she fell on you, 
 And beat ye so, as some dare say, 
 
 Her blows did make ye blue. 
 
 Robert Herrick. 
 
 LESBIA ON HER SPARROW. 
 
 JELL me not of joys, there's none 
 Now my little sparrow *s gone ; 
 
 He, just as you, 
 Would sigh and woo, 
 He would chirp and flatter me ; 
 
 He would hang the wing awhile, 
 Till at length he saw me smile ; 
 Lord ! how sullen he would be ! 
 
 He would catch a crumb, and then 
 Sporting let it go again ; 
 
 He from my lip 
 
 Would moisture sip, 
 He would from my trencher feed, 
 
 Then would hop, and then would run, 
 
 And cry Philip when he had done ; 
 Oh ! whose heart can choose but bleed ? 
 
WITH THE KING. 39 
 
 Oh ! how eager would he fight, 
 And ne'er hurt though he did bite ; 
 
 No morn did pass 
 
 But on my glass 
 He would sit, and mark and do 
 
 What I did ; now ruffle all 
 
 His feathers o'er, now let them fall, 
 And then straightway sleek them too. 
 
 Wh^re will Cupid get his darts 
 Feather' d now, to pierce our hearts ? 
 
 A wound he may, 
 
 Not love, convey ; 
 Now this faithful bird is gone, 
 
 Oh ! let mournful turtles join 
 
 With loving redbreasts, and combine 
 To sing dirges o'er his stone. 
 
 William Cartwright. 
 
 FROM A BALLAD UPON A WEDDING. 
 
 TELL thee, Dick, where I have been, 
 Where I the rarest things have seen ; 
 
 Oh, things without compare ! 
 Such sights again cannot be found 
 In any place on English ground, 
 Be it at wake or fair. 
 
 At Charing Cross, hard by the way 
 Where we (thou know'st) do sell our hay, 
 
 There is a house with stairs ; 
 And there did I see coming down 
 Such folk as are not in our town, 
 
 Vorty at least, in pairs. 
 
40 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 Amongst the rest, one pest'lent fine, 
 (His beard no bigger though than thine) 
 
 Walked on before the rest : 
 Our landlord looks like nothing to him : 
 The King (God bless him) 'twould undo him, 
 
 Should he go still so dress'd. 
 
 At course-a-park, without all doubt, 
 He should have first been taken out 
 
 By all the maids i* th' town : 
 Though lusty Roger there had been, 
 Or little George upon the Green, 
 
 Or Vincent of the Crown. 
 
 But wot you what ? the youth was going 
 To make an end of all his wooing ; 
 
 The parson for him stay'd : 
 Yet by his leave, for all his haste, 
 He did not so much wish all pass'd, 
 
 Perchance, as did the maid. 
 
 The maid (and thereby hangs a tale) 
 For such a maid no Whitsun ale 
 
 Could ever yet produce : 
 No grape that 's kindly ripe could be 
 So round, so plump, so soft as she, 
 
 Nor half so full of juice. 
 
 Her finger was so small, the ring 
 Would not stay on which they did bring, 
 
 It was too wide a peck : 
 And to say truth, for out it must, 
 It look'd like the great collar just 
 
 About our young colt's neck. 
 
WITH THE KING. 41 
 
 Her feet beneath her petticoat, 
 Like little mice, stole in and out, 
 
 As if they fear'd the light : 
 But oh ! she dances such a way ! 
 No sun upon an Easter day 
 
 Is half so fine a sight. 
 
 Her cheeks so rare a white was on, 
 No daisy makes comparison, 
 
 (Who sees them is undone) 
 For streaks of red were mingled there, 
 Such as are on a Katharine pear, 
 
 The side that 's next the sun. 
 
 Her lips were red, and one was thin, 
 Compared to that was next her chin ; 
 
 (Some bee had stung it newly). 
 But, Dick, her eyes so guard her face, 
 I durst no more upon them gaze 
 
 Than on the sun in July. 
 
 Her mouth so small when she does speak, 
 Thou'dst swear her teeth her words did break, 
 
 That they might passage get ; 
 But she so handled still the matter, 
 They came as good as ours, or better, 
 
 And are not spent a whit. 
 
 Just in the nick the cook knock'd thrice, 
 And all the waiters in a trice 
 
 His summons did obey ; 
 Each serving man, with dish in hand, 
 March'd boldly up, like our train'd band, 
 
 Presented, and away. 
 
42 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 When all the meat was on the table, 
 What man of knife or teeth was able 
 
 To stay to be intreated ? 
 And this the very reason was, 
 Before the parson could say grace, 
 
 The company was seated. 
 
 The business of the kitchen 's great, 
 For it is fit that men should eat ; 
 
 Nor was it there denied : 
 Passion, oh me ! how I run on ! 
 There J s that that would be thought upon, 
 
 I trow, besides the bride. 
 
 Now hats fly off, and youths carouse ; 
 Healths first go round, and then the house, 
 
 The Bridges came thick and thick : 
 And when 'twas named another's health, 
 Perhaps he made it her's by stealth 
 
 And who could help it, Dick ? 
 
 Sir John Suckling. 
 
 HERRICK ON HIMSELF. 
 
 WEARIED pilgrim I have wandered here, 
 Twice five-and-twenty, bate me but one year ; 
 Long I have lasted in this world, 'tis true, 
 But yet those years that I have lived, but few. 
 Who by his gray hairs doth his lustres tell, 
 Lives not those years, but he that lives them well : 
 One man has reached his sixty years, but he 
 Of all those three-score has not lived half three : 
 He lives who lives to virtue ; men who cast 
 Their ends for pleasure, do not live, but last. 
 
 Robert Herrick. 
 
WITH THE KING, 43 
 
 THE HAG. 
 
 3 HE hag is astride, 
 
 This night, for to ride, 
 The devil and she together; 
 Through thick and through thin, 
 Now out, and then in, 
 Though ne'er so foul be the weather. 
 
 A thorn or a burr 
 
 She takes for a spur ; 
 With a lash of a bramble she rides now, 
 
 Through brakes and through briers, 
 
 O'er ditches and mires, 
 She follows the spirit that guides now. 
 
 No beast, for his food, 
 
 Dares now range the wood, 
 But hush'd in his lair he lies lurking ; 
 
 While mischiefs, by these, 
 
 On land and on seas, 
 At noon of night are a working. 
 
 The storm will arise, 
 
 And trouble the skies, 
 This night ; and, more for the wonder, 
 
 The ghost from the tomb 
 
 Affrighted shall come, 
 Call'd out by the clap of the thunder. 
 
 Robert Ilerrick. 
 
44 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 TO THE KING ON NEW YEAR'S DAY. 1630. 
 
 1HE joys of eager youth, of wine, and wealth, 
 Of faith untroubled, and unphysick'd health ; 
 Of lovers when their nuptial 's nigh, 
 Of saints forgiven when they die ; 
 Let this year bring 
 To Charles our king : 
 
 To Charles, who is th* example and the law, 
 By whom the good are taught, not kept in awe. 
 
 Long-profFer'd peace, and that not compass'd by 
 Expensive treaties, but a victory ; 
 And victories by fame obtained 
 Or prayer, and not by slaughter gain'd ; 
 Let this year bring 
 To Charles our king : 
 
 To Charles, who is th* example and the law, 
 By whom the good are taught, not kept in awe. 
 
 A session, too, of such who can obey, 
 As they were gather'd to consult, not sway ; 
 Who now rebel, in hope to get 
 Some office to reclaim their wit ; 
 Let this year bring 
 To Charles our king : 
 
 To Charles who is th' example and the law, 
 By whom the good are taught, not kept in awe. 
 
 Praetors, who will the public cause defend, 
 With timely gifts, not speeches finely penn'd ; 
 To make the northern victors' fame 
 No more our envy rior our shame ; 
 
WITH THE KING. 45 
 
 Let this year bring 
 To Charles our king : 
 
 To Charles, who is th' example and the law, 
 By whom the good are taught, not kept in awe. 
 
 Sir W. Davenant. 
 
 TO THE QUEEN ON A NEW YEAR'S DAY. 
 
 JWAKE, great Queen ! for as you hide or clear 
 Your eyes, we shall distrust or like the year. 
 Queens set their dials by your beauty's light, 
 By your eyes learn to make their own move right ; 
 Yet know our expectation when you rise 
 Is not entirely furnish' d from your eyes ; 
 But wisely we provide how to rejoice 
 In the fruition of your breath and voice ; 
 Your breath which nature the example meant, 
 From whence our early blossoms take their scent, 
 Teaching our infant flowers how to excel, 
 Ere strong upon their stalks, in fragrant smell ; 
 Your voice, which can allure and charm the best 
 Most gaudy-feather'd chanter of the east 
 To dwell about your palace all the spring, 
 And still can make him silent whilst you sing. 
 Rise, then ! for I have heard Apollo swear, 
 By that first lustre which did fill his sphere, 
 He will not mount, but make eternal night, 
 Unless relieved, and cherish' d by your sight ; 
 Y"our sight, which is his warmth, now he is old, 
 His horses weary, and his chariot cold. 
 
 Sir W. Davenant. 
 
46 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 BEN JONSON'S ODE TO HIMSELF UPON THE 
 
 CENSURE OF HIS "NEW INN." 
 
 JANUARY 1630. 
 
 P^^ OME, leave the loathed stage, 
 And the more loathsome age : 
 
 Where pride and impudence, in faction knit, 
 
 Usurp the chair of wit ! 
 Indicting and arraigning every day 
 
 Something they call a play. 
 Yet their fastidious, vain 
 Commission of the brain 
 
 Run on and rage, sweat, censure and condemn ; 
 They were not made for thee, less thou for them. 
 
 Say that thou pour'st them wheat, 
 
 And they will acorns eat ; 
 'Twere simple fury still thyself to waste 
 
 On such as have no taste ! 
 To offer them a surfeit of pure bread, 
 Whose appetites are dead ! 
 
 No, give them grains their fill, 
 
 Husks, draff to drink and swill : 
 If they love lees, and leave the lusty wine, 
 Envy them not, their palate ? s with the swine. 
 
 No doubt some mouldy tale, 
 Like Pericles, and stale 
 As the shrieve's crusts, and nasty as his fish 
 
 Scraps, out of every dish 
 
 Thrown forth, and raked into the common tub, 
 May keep up the Play-club : 
 
WITH THE KIXG. 47 
 
 There, sweepings do as well 
 
 As the best-order' d meal ; 
 For who the relish of these guests will fit, 
 Needs set them but the alms-basket of wit. 
 
 And much good do 't to you then : 
 
 Brave plush and velvet-men, 
 Can feed on orts ; and, safe in your stage-clothes, 
 
 Dare quit, upon your oaths, 
 
 The stagers and the stage-wrights too, your peers, 
 Of larding your large ears 
 
 With their foul comic socks, 
 
 Wrought upon twenty blocks ; 
 
 Which if they are torn, and turn'd, and patch'd enough, 
 The gamesters share your gilt, and you their stuff. 
 
 Leave things so prostitute, 
 
 And take the Alcaic lute, 
 Or thine own Horace, or Anacreon's lyre ; 
 
 Warm thee by Pindar's fire ; 
 
 And though thy nerves be shrunk, and blood be cold 
 Ere years have made thee old, 
 
 Strike that disdainful heat 
 
 Throughout, to their defeat, 
 As curious fools, and envious of thy strain, 
 May, blushing, swear no palsy 's in thy brain. 
 
 But when they hear thee sing 
 The glories of thy king, 
 His zeal to God, and his just awe o'er men, 
 
 They may, blood-shaken then, 
 
 Feel such a flesh-quake to possess their powers 
 
 As they shall cry, " Like ours, 
 
48 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 In sound of peace or wars, 
 
 No harp e'er hit the stars, 
 In tuning forth the acts of his sweet reign ; 
 And raising Charles his chariot 'bove his wain." 
 
 Ben Jonson. 
 
 AN EPIGRAM TO KING CHAELES FOB AN 
 
 HUNDRED POUNDS HE SENT ME 
 
 IN MY SICKNESS. (1630.) 
 
 Charles, among the holy gifts of grace 
 Annexed to thy person and thy place, 
 'Tis not enough (thy piety is such) 
 To cure the call'd King's-Evil with thy touch ; 
 But thou wilt yet a kinglier mastery try, 
 To cure the Poefs-Evil, poverty : 
 And in these cures dost so thyself enlarge, 
 As thou dost cure our evil at thy charge. 
 Nay, and in this, thou show'st to value more 
 One poet, than of other folks ten score. 
 O piety, so to weigh the poor's estates ! 
 O bounty, so to difference the rates ! 
 What can the poet wish his king may do, 
 But that he cure the People's Evil too ? 
 
 Ben Jonson. 
 
 VIRTUE. 
 
 jjWEET day, so cool, so calm, so bright, 
 The bridal of the earth and sky, 
 The dew shall weep thy fall to-night, 
 For thou must die. 
 
WITH THE KING. 49 
 
 Sweet rose, whose hue angry and brave 
 Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, 
 Thy root is ever in its grave, 
 
 And thou must die. 
 
 Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses, 
 A box where sweets compacted lie, 
 My music shows ye have your closes, 
 And all must die. 
 
 Only a sweet and virtuous soul. 
 Like seasoned timber, never gives ; 
 But though the whole world turn to coal, 
 Then chiefly lives. 
 
 George Herbert. 
 
 UPON THE CURTAIN OF LUCASTA'S PICTURE. 
 
 , stay that covetous hand ; first turn all .eye, 
 All depth and mind ; then mystically spy 
 Her soul's fair picture, her fair soul's, in all 
 So truly copied from the original, 
 That you will swear her body by this law 
 Is but its shadow, as this its ; -now draw. 
 
 Richard Lovelace. 
 
 THE DESCRIPTION OF CASTARA, 
 
 I IKE the violet, which alone 
 
 Prospers in some happy shade, 
 My Castara lives unknown, 
 To no looser eye betray'd ; 
 For she's to herself untrue 
 Who delights i' th' public view. 
 
50 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 Such is her beauty, as no arts 
 
 Have enrich' d with borrowed grace ; 
 
 Her high birth no pride imparts, 
 For she blushes in her place ; 
 
 Folly boasts a glorious blood 
 
 She is noblest, being good. [ 4 $t. 
 
 She her throne makes reason climb, 
 Whilst wild passions captive lie ; 
 
 And, each article of time, 
 
 Her pure thoughts to heaven fly. 
 
 All her vows religious be, 
 
 And her love she vows to me. 
 
 William Habington. 
 
 HERRICK'S CAVALIER. 
 
 jIVE me that man that dares bestride 
 The active sea-horse, and with pride 
 Through that huge field of waters ride ; 
 Who, with his looks too, can appease 
 The ruffling winds and raging seas 
 In midst of all their outrages. 
 This, this a virtuous man can do, 
 Sail against rocks, and split them too ; 
 Ay, and a world of pikes pass through. 
 
 Robert Herrick. 
 
 TO ALTHEA FROM PRISON, 
 
 3 HEIST love with unconfined wings 
 
 Hovers within my gates, 
 
 And my divine Althea brings 
 
 To whisper at the grates ; 
 
WITH THE KING. 51 
 
 When I lie tangled in her hair, 
 
 And fetter'd to her eye, 
 The birds, that wanton in the air, 
 Know no such liberty. 
 
 When flowing cups run swiftly round 
 
 With no allaying Thames, 
 Our careless heads with roses bound, 
 
 Our hearts with loyal flames ; 
 When thirsty grief in wine we steep, 
 
 When healths and draughts go free, 
 Fishes, that tipple in the deep, 
 
 Know no such liberty. 
 
 When like committed linnets I 
 
 With shriller throat shall sing 
 The sweetness, mercy, majesty, 
 
 And glories of my king ; 
 When I shall voice aloud how good 
 
 He is, how great should be, 
 Enlarged winds, that curl the flood, 
 
 Know no such liberty. 
 
 Stone walls do not a prison make, 
 
 Nor iron bars a cage ; 
 Minds innocent and quiet take 
 
 That for an hermitage ; 
 If I have freedom in my love, 
 
 And in my soul am free, 
 Angels alone that soar above 
 
 Enjoy such liberty. 
 
 Richard Lovelace. 
 
52 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 TO AMARANTHA, THAT SHE WOULD 
 DISHEVEL HER HAIR, 
 
 sweet and fair, 
 Ah, braid no more that shining hair ! 
 
 As my curious hand or eye, 
 Hovering round thee, let it fly. 
 
 Let it fly as unconfined 
 As its calm ravish er, the wind, 
 
 Who hath left his darling, th' East, 
 To wanton o'er that spicie nest. 
 
 Every tress must be confest 
 But neatly tangled at the best, 
 
 Like a clue of golden thread 
 Most excellently ravelled. 
 
 Do not then wind up that light 
 In ribands, and o'er -cloud in night, 
 
 Like the sun in 's early ray ; 
 But shake your head, and scatter day. [ 3 st. 
 Richard Lovelace. 
 
 TO MUSIC, TO BECALM HIS FEVER. 
 
 j HARM me asleep, and melt me so 
 
 With thy delicious numbers, 
 That being ravish'd, hence I go 
 Away in easy slumbers. 
 Ease my sick head, 
 And make my bed, 
 
WITH THE KING. 53 
 
 Thou power that canst sever 
 From me this ill, 
 And quickly still, 
 Though thou not kill 
 My fever. 
 
 Thou sweetly canst convert the same 
 
 From a consuming fire 
 Into a gentle-licking flame, 
 And make it thus expire. 
 Then make me weep 
 My pains asleep, 
 And give me such reposes, 
 That I, poor I, 
 May think, thereby, 
 I live and die 
 'Mongst roses. 
 
 Fall on me like a silent dew, 
 
 Or like those maiden showers, 
 Which, by the peep of day, do strew 
 A baptime o'er the flowers. 
 Melt, melt my pains 
 With thy soft strains, 
 That having ease me given, 
 With full delight 
 I leave this light 
 And take my flight 
 For heaven. 
 
 Robert Herrick. 
 
 TIME PASSES. 
 
 jjJIME is a feather'd thing ; 
 And whilst I praise 
 
 The sparklings of thy looks, and call them rays, 
 Takes wing ; 
 
54 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 Leaving behind him, as he flies, 
 
 An unperceived dimness in thine eyes. 
 
 His minutes, whilst they're told, 
 Do make us old, 
 
 And every sand of his fleet glass, 
 Increasing age as it doth pass, 
 Insensibly sows wrinkles there, 
 Where flowers and roses did appear. 
 
 Whilst we do speak, our fire 
 Doth into ice expire ; 
 Flames turn to frost, 
 
 And ere we can 
 
 Know how our crow turns swan, 
 
 Or how a silver snow 
 
 Springs there where jet did grow, 
 Our fading spring is in dull winter lost. 
 
 Jasper Mayne. 
 
 DESIRE CHANGES. 
 
 30'ST see how unregarded now 
 
 That piece of beauty passes ? 
 There was a time when I did vow 
 
 To that alone ; 
 But mark the fate of faces ; 
 The red and white works now no more on me 
 Than if it could not charm, or I not see ; 
 
 And yet the face continues good, 
 
 And I have still desires, 
 And still the self-same flesh and blood, 
 As apt to melt 
 
 And suffer from those fires ; 
 
WITH THE KING. 55 
 
 Oh ! some kind power unriddle, where it lies, 
 Whether my heart be faulty or her eyes ? 
 
 She every day her man does kill, 
 
 And I as often die ; 
 Neither her power then nor my will 
 
 Can question' d be ; 
 What is the mystery ? 
 
 Sure, beauties' empires, like to greater states, 
 Have certain periods set and hidden fates. 
 
 Sir John Suckling. 
 
 CHANGE OF AIR. 
 
 SOME, spur away, 
 
 I have no patience for a longer stay, 
 
 But must go down 
 And l^ave the chargeable noise of this great town : 
 I will the country see 
 Where old simplicity, 
 Though hid in grey, 
 Doth look more gay 
 Than foppery in plush and scarlet clad. 
 Farewell you city wits, that are 
 Almost at civil war; 
 "Pis time that I grow wise when all the world grows mad. 
 
 More of my days 
 
 I will not spend to gain an idiot's praise ; 
 Or to make sport 
 
 For some slight puny of the inns of court. 
 Then, worthy Stafford, say, 
 How shall we spend the day ? 
 
56 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 With what delights 
 Shorten the nights 
 
 When from this tumult we are got secure ; 
 Where mirth with all her freedom goes, 
 Yet shall no finger lose ; 
 Where every word is thought, and every thought is pure. 
 
 There, from the tree 
 
 We '11 cherries pluck, and pick the strawberry ; 
 And every day 
 
 Go see the wholesome girls make hay, 
 Whose brown hath lovelier grace 
 Than any painted face 
 That I do know 
 Hyde Park can show ; 
 Where I had rather gain a kiss than meet 
 (Though some of them, in greater state, 
 Might court my love with plate) 
 The beauties of the Cheape, and wives of Lombard 
 Street. 
 
 But think upon 
 
 Some other pleasures, these to me are none. 
 Why do I prate 
 
 Of women, that are things against my fate ? 
 I never mean to wed 
 That torture to my bed. 
 
 My muse is she 
 
 My love shall be : 
 Let clowns get wealth and heirs! when I am gone, 
 
 And the great bugbear, grisly death, 
 
 Shall take this idle breath, 
 If I a poem leave, that poem is my son. 
 
WITH THE KING. 57 
 
 Of this no more 
 
 We '11 rather taste the bright Pomona's store ; 
 No fruit shall 'scape 
 
 Our palates, from the damson to the grape. 
 Then full, we '11 seek a shade, 
 And hear what music 's made ; 
 
 How Philomel 
 
 Her tale doth tell, 
 And how the other birds do fill the quire, 
 
 The thrush and blackbird lend their throats 
 
 Warbling melodious notes, 
 We will all sports enjoy, which others but desire. 
 
 Ours is the sky, 
 
 Where, at what fowl we please, our hawks shall fly, 
 Nor will we spare 
 
 To hunt the crafty fox, or tim'rous hare ; 
 But let our hounds run loose 
 In any ground they choose ; 
 The buck shall fall, 
 The stag and all. 
 
 Our pleasures must from their own warrants be, 
 For to my muse, if not to me, 
 I am sure all game is free ; 
 Heaven, earth, are all but parts of her great royalty. 
 
 And when we mean 
 
 To taste of Bacchus' blessings now and then, 
 And drink by stealth 
 A cup or two to noble Barkley's health, 
 I '11 take my pipe and try 
 The Phrygian melody, 
 Which he that hears 
 Lets through his ears 
 
58 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 A madness to distemper all the brain. 
 
 Then I another pipe will take, 
 
 And Doric music make, 
 To civilize with graver notes our wits again. 
 
 Thomas Randolph. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 AST thou seen the down in the air, 
 
 When wanton blasts have toss'd it ? 
 Or the ship on the sea, 
 
 When ruder winds have cross'd it ? 
 Hast thou mark'd the crocodiles weeping, 
 
 Or the foxes sleeping ? 
 Or hast view'd the peacock in his pride, 
 Or the dove by his bride, 
 When he courts for his lechery ? 
 Oh, so fickle, oh, so vain, oh, so false, so false is she ! 
 
 Sir John Suckling. 
 
 JOVE'S PROPHECY IN THE HOROSCOPAL 
 
 PAGEANT 
 
 Presented to Charles at his entering his city of Edin- 
 burgh, June 15, 1633. 
 
 jjE LIGHT of heaven ! sole honour of the earth ! 
 Jove (courting thy ascendant) at thy birth 
 Proclaimed thee a king, and made it true, 
 That to thy worth great monarchies are due : 
 He gave thee what was good, and what was great, 
 What did belong to love, and what to state ; 
 
WITH THE KING. 59 
 
 Rare gifts, whose ardours burn the hearts of all ; 
 
 Like tinder, when flint's atoms on it fall. 
 
 The tramontane, which thy fair course directs, 
 
 Thy counsels shall approve by their effects ; 
 
 Justice, kept low by giants, wrongs, and jars, 
 
 Thou shalt relieve, and crown with glistering stars ; 
 
 Whom nought, save law of force, could keep in awe, 
 
 Thou shalt turn clients to the force of law ; 
 
 Thou arms shalt brandish for thine own defence, 
 
 Wrongs to repel, and guard weak innocence, 
 
 Which to thy last effort thou shalt uphold, 
 
 As oak the ivy which it doth enfold. 
 
 All overcome, at last thyself overcome, 
 
 Thou shalt make Passion yield to Reason's doom : 
 
 For smiles of Fortune shall not raise thy mind, 
 
 Nor shall disasters make it e'er declined; 
 
 True Honour shall reside within thy court, 
 
 Sobriety and Truth there still resort; 
 
 Keep promised faith, thou shalt all treacheries 
 
 Detest, and fawning parasites despise ; 
 
 Thou, others to make rich, shalt not make poor 
 
 Thyself, but give, that thou mayst still give more. 
 
 Thou shalt no paranymph raise to high place, 
 
 For frizzled locks, quaint pace, or painted face : 
 
 On gorgeous raiments, womanizing toys, 
 
 The works of worms, and what a moth destroys, 
 
 The maze of fools, thou shalt no treasure spend, 
 
 Thy charge to immortality shall tend ; 
 
 Raise palaces, and temples vaulted high ; 
 
 Rivers o'erarch ; of hospitality 
 
 And sciences the ruin'd inns restore ; 
 
 With walls and ports encircle Neptune's shore ; 
 
 To new-found worlds thy fleets make hold their course, 
 
 And find of Canada the unknown source ; 
 
60 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 People those lands which pass Arabian fields 
 In fragrant woods, and musk which zephyr yields. 
 Thou, fear'd of none, shalt not thy people fear, 
 Thy people's love thy greatness shall up-rear : 
 Still rigour shall not shine, and mercy lower ; 
 What love can do thou shalt not do by power ; 
 New and vast taxes thou shalt not extort, 
 Load heavy those thy bounty should support. 
 Thou shalt not strike the hinge nor master- beam 
 Of thine estate ; but errors in the same, 
 By harmless justice, graciously reform. 
 Delighting more in calm than roaring storm, 
 Thou shalt govern in peace, as did thy sire ; 
 Keep, save thine own, and kingdoms new acquire 
 Beyond Alcides' pillars, and those bounds 
 Where Alexander gain'd the eastern crowns, 
 Till thou the greatest be among the Greats : 
 Thus heavens ordain, so have decreed the fates. 
 
 William Drummond. 
 
 ON HIS MAJESTY'S KETURN OUT OF 
 SCOTLAND. 
 
 3ELCOME, great sir, with all the joy that's due 
 
 To the return of peace and you. 
 Two greatest blessings which this age can know \ 
 For that to thee, for thee to heaven we owe. 
 Others by war their conquests gain, 
 You like a god your ends obtain. 
 Who when rude chaos for his help did call, 
 Spoke but the word, and sweetly order'd all. 
 
 This happy concord in no blood is writ, 
 
 None can grudge heaven full thanks for it ; 
 
WITH THE KING. 61 
 
 No mothers here lament their children's fate, 
 
 And like the peace, but think it comes too late ; 
 No widows hear the jocund bells, 
 And take them for their husbands' knells ; 
 
 No drop of blood is spilt which might be said 
 
 To mark our joyful holiday with red. 
 
 'Twas only heaven could work this wondrous thing, 
 
 And only work't by such a king. 
 Again the northern hinds may sing and plough, 
 And fear no harm but from the weather now. 
 Again may tradesmen love their pain 
 By knowing now for whom they gain. 
 The armour now may be hung up to sight, 
 And only in their halls the children fright. 
 
 The gain of civil wars will not allow 
 
 Bay to the conqueror's brow. 
 At such a game what fool would venture in, 
 When one must lose, yet neither side can win ? 
 How justly would our neighbours smile 
 At these mad quarrels of our isle 
 Swell'd with proud hopes to snatch the whole away, 
 Whilst we bet all, and yet for nothing play ? \_i st. 
 
 No blood so loud as that of civil war ; 
 It calls for dangers from afar. 
 
 Let's rather go and seek out them and fame ; 
 
 Thus our forefathers got, thus left a name. 
 
 All their rich blood was spent with gains, 
 But that which swells their children's veins. 
 
 Why sit we still, our spirits wrapt up in lead ? 
 
 Not like them whilst they lived, but now they're dead. 
 
 This noise at home was but Fate's policy 
 To raise our spirits more high. 
 
62 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 So a bold lion, ere he seeks his prey, 
 Lashes his sides, and roars, and then away. 
 How would the German eagle fear 
 To see a new Gustavus there ? 
 How would it shake, though, as 'twas wont to do 
 For Jove of old, it now bore thunder too ! 
 
 Sure there are actions of this height and praise 
 Destined to Charles his days. 
 
 What will the triumphs of his battles be, 
 
 Whose very peace itself is victory ? 
 
 When heaven bestows the best of kings, 
 It bids us think of mighty things. 
 
 His valour, wisdom, offspring, speak no less ; 
 
 And we, the prophets' sons, write not by guess. 
 
 Abraham Cowley. 
 
 THE PERFECT LOVER. 
 
 ' ONEST lover whatsoever, 
 If in all thy love there ever 
 Was one wav'ring thought, if thy flame 
 Were not still even, still the same ; 
 
 Know this, 
 Thou lov'st amiss, 
 And to love true, 
 Thou must begin again, and love anew. 
 
 If when she appears i' th' room, 
 Thou dost not quake, and art struck dumb, 
 And in striving this to cover 
 Dost not speak thy words twice over, 
 Know this, 
 
 Thou lov'st amiss, 
 
 And to love true, 
 Thou must begin again, and love anew. 
 
WITH THE KING. 63 
 
 If fondly them dost not mistake, 
 And all defects for graces take, 
 Persuad'st thyself that jests are broken, 
 When she hath little or nothing spoken, 
 Know this, 
 
 Thou lov'st amiss, 
 
 And to love true, 
 Thou must begin again, and love anew. 
 
 If when thou appearest to be within, 
 Thou lett'st not men ask and ask again ; 
 And when thou answerest, if it be 
 To what was ask'd thee properly, 
 Know this, 
 
 Thou lov'st amiss, 
 
 And to love true, 
 Thou must begin again, and love anew. 
 
 f when thy stomach calls to eat, 
 Thou cutt'st not fingers 'stead of meat, 
 And with much gazing on her face, 
 Dost not rise hungry from the place, 
 
 Know this, 
 Thou lov'st amiss, 
 And to love true, 
 Thou must begin again, and love anew. 
 
 If by this thou dost discover 
 That thou art no perfect lover, 
 And desiring to love true, 
 Thou dost begin to love anew, 
 
 Know this, 
 Thou lov'st amiss, 
 And to love true, 
 Thou must begin again, and love anew. 
 
 Sir John Suckling. 
 
64 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 THE CARELESS LOVER. 
 
 3EVER believe me if I love, 
 Or know what 'tis or mean to prove ; 
 And yet in faith I lie, I do, 
 And she's extremely handsome too : 
 She's fair, she's wondrous fair, 
 But I care not who knows it, 
 Ere I'll die for love, I'll fairly forego it. 
 
 This heat of hope, or cold of fear, 
 My foolish heart could never bear : 
 One sigh imprison'd ruins more 
 Than earthquakes have done heretofore : 
 She's fair, &c. 
 
 When 1 am hungry I do eat, 
 And cut no fingers 'stead of meat ; 
 Nor with much gazing on her face 
 Do e'er rise hungry from the place : 
 She's fair, &c. 
 
 A gentle round fill'd to the brink 
 To this and t'other friend I drink ; 
 And when 'tis named another's health, 
 I never make it hers by stealth : 
 She's fair, &c. 
 
 Blackfriars to me, and old Whitehall, 
 Is even as much as is the fall 
 Of fountains on a pathless grove, 
 And nourishes as much my love : 
 She's fair, &c. 
 
WITH THE KING. 65 
 
 I visit, talk, do business, play, 
 And for a need laugh out a day : 
 Who does not thus in Cupid's school, 
 He makes not love, but plays the fool : 
 She's fair, &c. 
 
 Sir John Suckling. 
 
 SONG OF THE FAIRIES. 
 
 AT NIGHT IN AN APPLE ORCHARD. 
 
 30 S beata fauni proles, 
 Quibus non est magna moles, 
 Quamvis lunam incolamus, 
 Hortos saepe frequentamus. 
 
 Furto cuncta magis bella, 
 Furto dulcior puella, 
 Furto omnia decora, 
 Furto poma dulciora. 
 
 Cum mor tales lecto jacent 
 Nobis poma noctu placent. 
 Ilia tamen sunt ingrata 
 Nisi furto sint parata. 
 
 Thomas Randolph. 
 
 TOBACCO. 
 
 JJOBACCO's a Musician, 
 And in a pipe delighteth ; 
 It descends in a close, 
 Through the organ of the nose, 
 With a relish that inviteth. 
 
66 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 This makes me sing So ho, ho ; So ho, ho, boys, 
 Ho boys, sound I loudly ; 
 
 Earth ne'er did breed 
 
 Such a jovial weed, 
 Whereof to boast so proudly. 
 
 Tobacco is a Lawyer, 
 
 His pipes do love long cases, 
 When our brains it enters 
 Our feet do make indentures, 
 WTiich we seal with stamping paces. 
 
 This makes me sing, &c. 
 
 Tobacco 's a Physician, 
 
 Good both for sound and sickly ; 
 'Tis a hot perfume 
 That expels cold rheum, 
 And makes it flow down quickly. 
 
 This makes me sing, &c. 
 
 Tobacco is a Traveller, 
 
 Come from the Indies hither ; 
 It passed sea and land 
 Ere it came to my hand, 
 And 'scaped the wind and weather. 
 
 This makes me sing, &c. 
 
 Tobacco is a Critic, 
 
 That still old paper turneth, 
 Whose labour and care 
 Is as smoke in the air, 
 That ascends from a rag when it burneth. 
 This makes me sing, &c. 
 
WITH THE KING. 67 
 
 Tobacco 's an ignis fatuus 
 A fat and fiery vapour, 
 That leads men about 
 Till the fire be out, 
 Consuming like a taper. 
 
 This makes me sing, &c. 
 
 Tobacco is a Whiffler, 
 
 And cries Huff Snuff with fury ; 
 His pipe's his club and link ; 
 He 's the visor that does drink ; 
 Thus arm'd I fear not a Jury. 
 
 This makes me sing, &c. 
 
 Barten Holiday. 
 
 SADNESS. 
 
 5JHILES I this standing lake, 
 
 Swathed up with yew and cypress boughs, 
 Do move by sighs and vows, 
 Let Sadness only wake ; 
 That whiles thick darkness blots the light 
 My thoughts may cast another night ; 
 In which double shade, 
 By Heaven and me made, 
 O let me weep 
 And fall asleep 
 And forgotten fade. 
 
 Hark ! from yond' hollow tree 
 Sadly sing two anchoret owls 
 Whiles the hermit wolf howls ; 
 
 And all bewailing me, 
 
68 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 The raven hovers o'er my bier, 
 The bittern on a reed I hear 
 Pipes my elegy, 
 And warns me to die. 
 
 Whiles from yond' graves 
 My wrong'd love craves 
 My sad company. 
 
 Cease Hylas, cease thy call ! 
 Such, O such, was thy parting groan, 
 Breathed out to me alone 
 
 When thou, disdain'd, didst fall. 
 Lo thus unto thy silent tomb, 
 In my sad winding-sheet, I come, 
 Creeping o'er dead bones 
 And cold marble stones, 
 That I may mourn 
 Over thy urn 
 And appease thy groans. 
 
 William Cartwright. 
 
 SORROW. 
 
 , Sorrow, Sorrow, say where dost thou dwell ? 
 
 In the lowest room of hell. 
 Art thou born of human race ? 
 No, no, I have a furier face. 
 Art thou in city, town, or court ? 
 
 I to every place resort. 
 Oh, why into the world is Sorrow sent ? 
 
 Men afflicted best repent. 
 What dost thou feed on ? 
 Broken sleep. 
 
WITH THE KING. 69 
 
 What takest thou pleasure in ? 
 To weep, 
 
 To sigh, to sob, to pine, to groan, 
 To wring my hands, to sit alone. 
 Oh when ? oh when shall Sorrow quiet have ? 
 Never, never, never, never. 
 Never till she finds a grave. 
 
 Samuel Rowley. 
 
 STKAFFORD'S TKTAL AND DEATH. 
 
 j|RE AT Straffbrd ! worthy of that name, though all 
 Of thee could be forgotten, but thy fall, 
 Crush'd by imaginary treason's weight, 
 
 Which too much merit did accumulate : 
 
 As chemists gold from brass by fire would draw, 
 
 Pretexts are into treason forged by law. 
 
 His wisdom such, at once it did appear 
 
 Three kingdoms' wonder, and three kingdoms' fear ; 
 
 Whilst single he stood forth, and seem'd, although 
 
 Each had an army, as an equal foe. 
 
 Such was his force of eloquence, to make 
 
 The hearers more concern'd than he that spake ; 
 
 Each seem'd to act that part he came to see, 
 
 And none was more a looker-on than he ; 
 
 So did he move our passions, some were known 
 
 To wish, for the defence, the crime their own. 
 
 Now private pity strove with public hate, 
 
 Reason with rage, and eloquence with fate : 
 
 Now they could him, if he could them forgive ; 
 
 He 's not too guilty, but too wise to live ; 
 
 Less seem those facts which treason's nick-name bore, 
 
 Than such a fear'd ability for more. 
 
7 o CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 They after death their fears of him express, 
 
 His innocence, and their own guilt confess. 
 
 Their legislative frenzy they repent : 
 
 Enacting it should make no precedent. 
 
 This fate he could have 'scaped, but would not lose 
 
 Honour for life, but rather nobly chose 
 
 Death from their fears, than safety from his own, 
 
 That his last action all the rest might crown. 
 
 Sir John Denham. 
 
 EPITAPH UPON THE EARL OF STRAFFORD. 
 (BEHEADED MAY 12TH, 1641.) 
 
 JJERE lies wise and valiant dust, 
 Huddled up 'twixt fit and just : 
 Strafford, who was hurried hence 
 
 'Twixt treason and convenience. 
 
 He spent his time here in a mist, 
 
 A papist yet a calvinist. 
 
 His prince's nearest joy and grief, 
 
 He had, yet wanted, all relief: 
 
 The prop and ruin of the state, 
 
 The people's violent love and hate. 
 
 One in extremes loved and abhorr'd. 
 
 Riddles lie here, and in a word 
 
 Here lies blood, and let it lie 
 
 Speechless still, and never cry. 
 
 John Cleveland. 
 
 THE FALL. 
 
 [ HE bloody trunk of him who did possess 
 
 Above the rest a hapless happy state 
 This little stone doth seal, but not depress, 
 And scarce can ston the rolling of his fate. 
 
WITH THE KING. 71 
 
 Brass tombs which justice hath denied to his fault 
 
 The common pity to his virtues pays, 
 Adorning on imaginary vault 
 
 Which from our minds Time strives in vain to raze. 
 
 Ten years the world upon him falsely smiled, 
 Sheathing in fawning looks the deadly knife 
 
 Long aimed at his head ; that so beguiled 
 It more securely might bereave his life ; 
 
 Then threw him to a scaffold from a throne. 
 Much doctrine lies under this little stone. 
 
 Sir Hichard Fanshawe. 
 
 THE VINTAGE TO THE DUNGEON. 
 
 jjING out, pent souls, sing cheerfully ! 
 Care shackles you in liberty : 
 Mirth frees you in captivity. 
 
 Would you double fetters add ? 
 
 Else why so sad ? 
 
 Chorus, 
 
 Besides your pinion'd arms you '11 find 
 Grief too can manacle the mind. 
 
 Live then, prisoners, uncontroled ; 
 Drink o' the strong, the rich, the old, 
 Till wine too hath your wits in hold ; 
 
 Then if still your jollity 
 
 And throats are free 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Triumph in your bonds and pains, 
 And dance to the music of your chains. 
 
 Richard Lovelace. 
 
72 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 COURANTE MONSIEUR. 
 
 frown, Aminta, now hath drown'd 
 Thy bright front's power, and crown'd 
 
 Me that was bound. 
 No, no, deceived cruel, no ! 
 
 Love's fiery darts, 
 Till tipt with kisses, never kindle hearts. 
 
 Adieu, weak beauteous tyrant, see ! 
 Thy angry flames, meant me, 
 
 Retort on thee : 
 
 For know, it is decreed, proud fair, 
 I ne'er must die 
 By any scorching, but a melting eye, 
 
 Richard Lovelace. 
 
 DISDAIN RETURNED. 
 
 that loves a rosy cheek, 
 Or a coral lip admires, 
 Or from star-like eyes doth seek 
 Fuel to maintain his fires ; 
 As old time makes these decay, 
 So his flames must waste away. 
 
 But a smooth and steadfast mind, 
 Gentle thoughts, and calm desires, 
 
 Hearts with equal love combined, 
 Kindle never-dying fires. 
 
 Where these are not, I despise 
 
 Lovely cheeks, or lips, or eyes. [i st. 
 
 Thomas Carew. 
 
WITH THE KING. 73 
 
 LOVE'S GOOD MORROW. 
 
 \ ACK clouds away, and welcome day, 
 
 With night we banish sorrow ; 
 Sweet air blow soft, larks mount aloft, 
 To give my love good-morrow. 
 Wings from the wind to please her mind, 
 
 Notes from the lark I'll borrow ; 
 Bird prune thy wing, nightingale sing, 
 To give my love good-morrow, 
 Notes from them both I'll borrow. 
 
 Wake from thy nest, robin -red-breast, 
 
 Sing birds in every furrow ; 
 And from each hill let music shrill 
 
 Give my fair love good-morrow. 
 Blackbird, and thrush, in every bush, 
 
 Stare, linnet, and cock-sparrow ! 
 You pretty elves, among yourselves, 
 
 Sing my fair love good-morrow. 
 
 To give my love good-morrow, 
 . Sing birds in every furrow. 
 
 Thomas Heywood. 
 
 A KING AND NO KING. 
 
 HAT prince who may do nothing but what 's just, 
 Rules but by leave, and takes his crown on 
 trust. 
 
 Robert Herrick 
 
74 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 MAN'S MEDLEY. 
 
 J ARK, how the birds do sing, 
 
 And woods do ring. 
 
 All creatures have their joy, and man hath his. 
 Yet if we rightly measure, 
 
 Man's joy and pleasure 
 Rather hereafter, than in present, is. 
 
 To this life things of sense 
 
 Make their pretence : 
 In the other angels have a right by birth : 
 Man ties them both alone, 
 
 And makes them one, 
 With the one hand touching heaven, with the other earth. 
 
 Not, that he may not here [i st. 
 
 Taste of the cheer : 
 
 But as birds drink, and straight lift up their head ; 
 So must he sip, and think 
 
 Of better drink 
 He may attain to, after he is dead. 
 
 But as his joys are double, 
 
 So is his trouble. 
 
 He hath two winters, other things but one : 
 Both frosts and thoughts do nip, 
 
 And bite his lip ; 
 And he of all things fears two deaths alone. 
 
 Yet even the greatest griefs 
 
 May be reliefs, 
 
 Could he but take them right, and in their ways. 
 Happy is he, whose heart 
 
 Hath found the art 
 To turn his double pains to double praise. 
 
 George Herbert. 
 
WITH THE KING. 75 
 
 CAKE'S CUEE. 
 
 JAPPY is that state of his 
 Takes the world as it is, 
 Lose he honours, friendship, wealth, 
 
 Lose he liberty or health, 
 
 Lose he all that earth can give, 
 
 Having nought whereon to live ; 
 
 So prepared a mind 's in him, 
 
 He 's resolved to sink or swim. [2 st. 
 
 Should I ought dejected be, 
 
 'Cause blind Fortune frowns on me ? 
 
 Or put finger in the eye 
 
 When I see my Damon die ? 
 
 Or repine such should inherit 
 
 More of honours than of merit ? 
 
 Or put on a sourer face, 
 
 To see virtue in disgrace? [i st. 
 
 Should I weep when I do try 
 
 Fickle friends' inconstancy, 
 
 Quite discarding mine and me, 
 
 When they should the firmest be, 
 
 Or think much when barren brains 
 
 Are possess'd of rich domains, 
 
 When in reason it were fit 
 
 They had wealth unto their wit ? [3 st. 
 
 Should I sigh, because I see 
 Laws like spider-webs to be, 
 Lesser flies are quickly ta'en, 
 While the great break out again ; 
 
7 6 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 Or so many schisms and sects, 
 
 Which foul heresy detects, 
 
 To suppress the fire of zeal 
 
 Both in Church and Common-weal ? [ 7 st. 
 
 No, there's nought on earth I fear 
 
 That may force from me one tear. 
 
 Loss of honour, freedom, health, 
 
 Or that mortal idol, wealth : 
 
 With these, babes may grieved be, 
 
 But they have no power on me. 
 
 Less my substance, less my share 
 
 In my fear and in my care. [ 3 fit. 
 
 Thus to love, and thus to live, 
 Thus to take, and thus to give ; 
 Thus to laugh, and thus to sing, 
 Thus to mount on pleasure's wing ; 
 Thus to sport, and thus to speed, 
 Thus to flourish, nourish, feed ; 
 Thus to spend, and thus to spare 
 Is to bid, a Jig for Care. 
 
 Richard Brathwaite. 
 
 TO AMORET. 
 
 j AIR, that you may truly know 
 What you unto Thirsis owe, 
 I will tell you how I do 
 Sacharissa love and you. 
 Joy salutes me, when I set 
 My bless' d eyes on Amoret : 
 But with wonder I am strook, 
 While I on the other look. 
 If sweet Amoret complains, 
 I have sense of all her pains ; 
 
WITH THE KING. 77 
 
 But for Sacharissa I 
 
 Do not only grieve, but die. 
 
 All that of myself is mine, 
 
 Lovely Amoret, is thine ; 
 
 Sacharissa's captive fain 
 
 Would untie his iron chain : 
 
 And those scorching beams to shun, 
 
 To thy gentle shadow run. 
 
 If the soul had free election 
 
 To dispose of her affection, 
 
 I would not thus long have borne 
 
 Haughty Sacharissa's scorn : 
 
 But 'tis sure some power above, 
 
 Which controls our wills in love, 
 
 If not love, a strong desire 
 
 To create and spread that fire, 
 
 In my breast solicits me, 
 
 Beauteous Amoret, for thee. 
 
 'Tis amazement more than love, 
 
 Which her radiant eyes do move ; 
 
 If less splendour wait on thine, 
 
 Yet they so benignly shine, 
 
 I would turn my dazzled sight 
 
 To behold their milder light. 
 
 But as hard 'tis to destroy 
 
 That high flame, as to enjoy : 
 
 Which, how easily I may do 
 
 Heav'n (as easily scaled) does know. 
 
 Amoret's as sweet and good 
 
 As the most delicious food, 
 
 Which but tasted, does impart 
 
 Life and gladness to the heart : 
 
 Sacharissa's beauty 's wine, 
 
 Which to madness doth incline ; 
 
7 8 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 Such a liquor as no brain 
 That is mortal, can sustain. 
 Scarce can I to heaven excuse 
 The devotion which I use 
 Unto that adored dame ; 
 For 'tis not unlike the same, 
 Which I thither ought to send ; 
 So that if it could take end, 
 'T would to heaven itself be due 
 To succeed her, and not you, 
 Who already have of me 
 All that 's not idolatry ; 
 Which, though not so fierce a flame, 
 Is longer like to be the same. 
 Then smile on me, and I will prove 
 Wonder is shorter lived than love. 
 
 Edmund Waller. 
 
 WISHES, TO HIS SUPPOSED MISTRESS. 
 
 gHOE'ER she be, 
 That not impossible she, 
 That shall command my heart and me : 
 
 Where'er she lie, 
 
 Lock'd up from mortal eye r 
 
 In shady leaves of destiny : 
 
 Till that ripe birth 
 
 Of studied fate stand forth 
 
 And teach her fair steps to our earth : 
 
 Till that divine 
 
 Idea take a shrine 
 
 Of crystal flesh, through which to shine : 
 
WITH THE KING. 79 
 
 Meet you her, my wishes, 
 
 Bespeak her to my blisses, 
 
 And be ye call'd my absent kisses. 
 
 I wish her beauty, 
 
 That owes not all its duty 
 
 To gaudy tire, or glist'ring shoe-tie. [ 2 st. 
 
 A face, that 's best 
 
 By its own beauty dress'd, 
 
 And can alone command the rest. [2 st. 
 
 A cheek, where grows 
 More than a morning rose, 
 Which to no box his being owes. 
 
 Lips, where all day 
 
 A lover's kiss may play, 
 
 Yet carry nothing thence away. [i at. 
 
 Eyes, that displace 
 
 The neighbour diamond, and out -face 
 
 That sunshine by their own sweet grace. 
 
 Tresses that wear 
 
 Jewels, but to declare 
 
 How much themselves more precious are. [2 st. 
 
 A well -tamed heart, 
 
 For whose more noble smart 
 
 Love may be long choosing a dart. [6 st. 
 
 Days, that need borrow 
 
 No part of their good morrow, 
 
 From a forespent night of sorrow. 
 
8o CAVALIEE AND PURITAN. 
 
 Days, that in spite 
 
 Of darkness, by the light 
 
 Of a clear mind, are day all night. [ i st. 
 
 Life, that dares send 
 
 A challenge to his end, 
 
 And when it comes, say, Welcome, friend ! 
 
 Sydneian showers 
 
 Of sweet discourse, whose powers 
 
 Can crown old winter's head with flowers. 
 
 Soft silken hours, 
 
 Open suns, shady bowers, 
 
 'Bove all nothing within that lowers. [ 3 st. 
 
 I wish her store 
 
 Of worth may leave her poor 
 
 Of wishes ; and I wish no more. 
 
 Now, if Time knows 
 
 That her, whose radiant brows 
 
 Weave them a garland of my vows ; [i st. 
 
 Her, that dares be 
 
 What these lines wish to see : 
 
 I seek no further, it is she. [ 2 st. 
 
 Such worth as this is 
 Shall fix my flying wishes, 
 And determine them to kisses. 
 
 Let her full glory, 
 
 My fancies, fly before ye, 
 
 Be ye my fictions but her story. 
 
 Richard Crashaw. 
 
WITH THE KING. 81 
 
 MONTROSE'S LOVE. 
 
 dear and only love, I pray 
 That little world, of THEE,- 
 Be govern'd by no other sway 
 Than purest Monarchy. 
 For if confusion have a part, 
 
 Which virtuous souls abhor, 
 Til call a Synod in mine heart, 
 And never love thee more. 
 
 As Alexander I will reign, 
 
 And I will reign alone ; 
 My soul did evermore disdain 
 
 A rival on my throne. 
 He either fears his fate too much, 
 
 Or his deserts are small, 
 That dares not put it to the touch 
 
 To gain or lose it all. [ i sL 
 
 And in the Empire of thy heart, 
 
 Where I should solely be, 
 If others do pretend a part, 
 
 Or dare to vie with me, 
 Or Committees if thou erect, 
 
 And go on such a score, 
 I'll laugh and sing at thy neglect, 
 
 And never love thee more. 
 
 But if thou wilt prove faithful then, 
 
 And constant of thy word, 
 I'll make thee glorious by my pen, 
 
 And famous by my sword. 
 
CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 I'll serve thee in such noble ways 
 
 Was never heard before ; 
 I'll crown and deck thee all with bays, 
 
 And love thee more and more. 
 
 Marquis of Montr ose. 
 
 A LOVER'S ABSENCE. 
 
 carve our loves in myrtle rinds 
 
 And tell our secrets to the woods, 
 To send our sighs by faithful winds, 
 And trust our tears unto the floods ; 
 To call where no man hears, 
 And think that rocks have ears ; 
 To walk and rest, to live and die, 
 And yet not know whence, how or why ; 
 To have our hopes with fears still check'd, 
 To credit doubts, and truth suspect ; 
 This, this is that we may 
 A lover's absence say. 
 Follies without, are cares within ; 
 Where eyes do fail, there souls begin. 
 
 William Cartwright. 
 
 THE MESSAGE OF THE ROSE. 
 
 , lovely rose, 
 Tell her that wastes her time and me, 
 
 That now she knows 
 When I resemble her to thee 
 How sweet and fair she seems to be. 
 
WITH THE KING. 83 
 
 Tell her that 's young, 
 And shuns to have her grace spy'd, 
 
 That hadst thou sprung 
 In deserts, where no men abide, 
 Thou must have uncommended died. 
 
 Small is the worth 
 Of beauty from the light retired ; 
 
 Bid her come forth, 
 Suffer her self to be desired, 
 And not blush so to be admired. 
 
 Then die, that she 
 The common fate of all things rare 
 
 May read in thee : 
 How small a part of time they share, 
 That are so wond'rous sweet and fair. 
 
 Edmund Waller. 
 
 TO DAFFODILS. 
 
 JAIR Daffodils, we weep to see 
 
 You haste away so soon ; 
 As yet the early-rising sun 
 Has not attained his noon. 
 
 Stay, stay, 
 Until the hasting day 
 
 Has run 
 
 But to the even-song ; 
 
 And, having pray'd together, we 
 
 Will go with you along. 
 
84 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 We have short time to stay, as you, 
 
 AVe have as short a spring ; 
 As quick a growth to meet decay, 
 As you, or any thing. 
 We die, 
 As your hours do, and dry 
 
 Away, 
 
 Like to the summer's rain ; 
 Or as the pearls of morning's dew, 
 Ne'er to be found again. 
 
 Robert Herrick. 
 
 THE NIGHTINGALE. 
 
 SWEET bird, that sing'st away the early hours 
 Of winters past, or coming void of care, 
 Well pleased with delights which present are, 
 Fair seasons, budding sprays, sweet-smelling flowers : 
 To rocks, to springs, to rills, from leafy bowers 
 Thou thy Creator's goodness dost declare 
 And what dear gifts on thee he did not spare, 
 A stain to human sense in sin that lowers. 
 What soul can be so sick, which by thy songs 
 (Attired in sweetness) sweetly is not driven 
 Quite to forget earth's turmoils, spites, and wrongs, 
 And lift a reverent eye and thought to heaven ? 
 Sweet, artless songster, thou my mind dost raise 
 To airs of spheres, yes, and to angels' lays. 
 
 William Drummond. 
 
WITH THE KING. 85 
 
 TO HENRY LA WES. 
 
 OUCH but thy lyre, my Harry, and I hear 
 From thee some raptures of the rare Gotire ; 
 Then if thy voice commingle with the string, 
 I hear in thee the rare Laniere to sing ; 
 Or curious Wilson : Tell me, canst thou be 
 Less than Apollo, that usurp'st such three ? 
 Three, unto whom the whole world give applause ; 
 Yet their three praises, praise but one ; that's Lawes. 
 
 Robert Herrick. 
 
 LITANY TO THE HOLY SPIRIT. 
 
 [ N the hour of my distress, 
 When temptations me oppress, 
 And when I my sins confess, 
 Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 
 
 When I lie within my bed, 
 Sick in heart, and sick in head, 
 And with doubts discomforted, 
 
 Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 
 
 When the house doth sigh and weep, 
 And the world is drown'd in sleep, 
 Yet mine eyes the watch do keep ; 
 
 Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 
 
 When the artless doctor sees 
 No one hope, but of his fees, 
 And his skill runs on the lees, 
 
 Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! [i st. 
 
86 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 When the passing bell doth toll, 
 And the furies in a shoal 
 Conie to fright a parting soul, 
 
 Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 
 
 When the tapers now burn blue, 
 And the comforters are few, 
 And that number more than true, 
 
 Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 
 
 When the priest his last hath pray'd, 
 And I nod to what is said, 
 'Cause my speech is now decay'd, 
 
 Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 
 
 When, God knows, I'm tost about, 
 Either with despair or doubt ; 
 Yet, before the glass be out, 
 
 Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 
 
 When the tempter me pursu'th 
 With the sins of all my youth, 
 And half damns me with untruth ; 
 
 Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 
 
 When the flames and hellish cries 
 Fright mine ears, and fright mine eyes, 
 And all terrors me surprise ; 
 
 Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 
 
 When the Judgment is reveal'd, 
 And that opened which was seal'd, 
 When to Thee I have appeal'd ; 
 
 Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 
 
 Robert Herrick. 
 
WITH THE KING. 87 
 
 THE ARREST OF THE FIVE MEMBERS. 
 (January, 1641-2.) 
 
 To the Five Members of the Honourable House of 
 Commons. 
 
 The Humble Petition of the Poets. 
 
 FTER so many concurring petitions 
 From all ages and sexes, and all conditions, 
 We come in the rear to present our follies 
 To Pym, Stroude, Haslerig, Hampden, and Hollis ; 
 Though set form of prayer be an abomination, 
 Set forms of petitions find great approbation : 
 Therefore, as others from the bottom of their souls, 
 So we from the depth and bottom of our bowls, 
 According unto the bless'd form you have taught us, 
 We thank you first for the ills you have brought us : 
 For the good we receive we thank him that gave it, 
 And you for the confidence only to crave it. 
 Next in course, we complain of the great violation 
 Of privilege (like the rest of our nation) 
 But 'tis none of yours of which we have spoken, 
 Which never had being, until they were broken ; 
 But ours is a privilege ancient and native, 
 Hangs not on an ordinance, or power legislative. 
 And first, 'tis to speak whatever we please 
 Without fear of a prison or pursuivants' fees. 
 Next, that we only may lie by authority, 
 But in that also you have got the priority. 
 Next, an old custom, our fathers did name it 
 Poetical licence, and always did claim it. 
 
88 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 By this we have power to change age into youth, 
 
 Turn nonsense to sense, and falsehood to truth ; 
 
 In brief, to make good whatsoever is faulty, 
 
 This art some poet, or the devil has taught ye : 
 
 And this our property you have invaded, 
 
 And a privilege of both Houses have made it. 
 
 But that trust above all in poets reposed, 
 
 That kings by them only are made and deposed, 
 
 This though you cannot do, yet you are willing ; 
 
 But when we undertake deposing or killing, 
 
 They 're tyrants and monsters, and yet then the poet 
 
 Takes full revenge on the villains that do it : 
 
 And when we resume a sceptre or a crown, 
 
 We are modest, and seek not to make it our own. 
 
 But is 't not presumption to write verses to you, 
 
 Who make the better poems of the two ? 
 
 For all those pretty knacks you compose, 
 
 Alas, what are they but poems in prose ? 
 
 And between those and ours there 's no difference, 
 
 But that yours want the rhyme, the wit and the sense : 
 
 But for lying (the most noble part of a poet) 
 
 You have it abundantly, and yourselves know it, 
 
 And though you are modest, and seem to abhor it, 
 
 'T has done you good service, and thank hell for it : 
 
 Although the old maxim remains still in force, 
 
 That a sanctified cause must have a sanctified course. 
 
 If poverty be a part of our trade, 
 
 So far the whole kingdom poets you have made, 
 
 Nay even so far as undoing will do it, 
 
 You have made king Charles himself a poet : 
 
 But provoke not his muse, for all the world knows, 
 
 Already you have had too much of his prose. 
 
 Sir John Denham. 
 
WITH THE KING. 89 
 
 THE SAINT'S ENCOUKAGEMENT. 
 (Written in 1643.) 
 
 |IGHT on, brave soldiers, for the cause ! 
 
 Fear not the Cavaliers ! 
 Their threatenings are as senseless, as 
 Our jealousies and fears. 
 'Tis you must perfect this great work 
 
 And all malignants slay, 
 You must bring back the King again 
 The clean contrary way. 
 
 'Tis for religion that you fight, 
 
 And for the kingdom's good ; 
 By robbing churches, plundering men, 
 
 And shedding guiltless blood. 
 Down with the orthodoxal train, 
 
 All loyal subjects slay ; 
 When these are gone we shall be blest 
 
 The clean contrary way. [i tit. 
 
 'Tis to preserve his Majesty, 
 
 That we against him fight, 
 Nor are we ever beaten back, 
 
 Because our cause is right. 
 If any make a scruple on 't, 
 
 Our declarations say, 
 Who fight for us, fight for the King, 
 
 The clean contrary way. 
 
 At Keinton, Brentford, Plymouth, York, 
 
 And divers places more, 
 What victories we saints obtained ! 
 
 The like ne'er seen before* 
 
9 o CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 How often we Prince Rupert kill'd, 
 
 And bravely won the day, 
 The wicked cavaliers did run 
 
 The clean contrary way. [i si. 
 
 We subjects' liberties preserve 
 
 By prisonment and plunder, 
 And do enrich ourselves and state 
 
 By keeping the wicked under. 
 We must preserve mechanics now, 
 
 To lecturize and pray ; 
 By them the gospel is advanced, 
 
 The clean contrary way. 
 
 And though the King be much misled 
 
 By that malignant crew ; 
 He '11 find us honest, and at last, 
 
 Give all of us our due. [8 II. 
 
 But when our faith and works fall down, 
 
 And all our hopes decay, 
 Our acts will bear us up to heaven, 
 
 The clean contrary way. 
 
 Alexander Brome. 
 
 A BILL OF FARE. 
 
 XPECT no strange or puzzling meat, nor pie 
 Built by confusion or adultery 
 Of forced nature ; no mysterious dish 
 
 i 
 
 Requiring an interpreter, no fish 
 Found out by modern luxury : Our coarse board 
 Press' d with no spoils of elements, doth afford 
 Meat, like our hunger, without art, each mess 
 Thus differing from it only, that 'tis less. 
 
 Imprimis, some rice porridge, sweet, and hot, 
 Three knobs of sugar season the whole pot. 
 
WITH THE KING. 91 
 
 Item, one pair of eggs in a great dish, 
 So order'd that they cover all the fish. 
 
 Item, one gaping haddock's head, which will 
 At least affright the stomach, if not fill. 
 
 Item, one thing in circles, which we take 
 Some for an eel, but th' wiser for a snake. 
 
 We have not still the same, sometimes we may 
 Eat muddy plaice, or wheat ; perhaps next day 
 Red or white herrings, or an apple pie : 
 There's some variety in misery. 
 
 To this come twenty men, and, though apace 
 We bless these gifts, the meal's as short as grace. 
 Nor eat we yet in tumult ; but the meat 
 Is broke in order. Hunger here is neat ; 
 Division, subdivision, yet two more 
 Members, and they divided, as before. 
 O what a fury would your stomach feel 
 To see us vent our logic on an eel, 
 And in one herring to revive the art 
 Of Keckerman and show the eleventh part ? 
 Hunger in arms is no great wonder, we 
 Suffer a siege without an enemy. 
 On Midlent Sunday, when the preacher told 
 The prodigal's return, and did unfold 
 His tender welcome, how the good old man 
 Sent for new raiment, how the servant ran 
 To kill the fatling calf, O how each ear 
 Listen'd unto him, greedy ev'n to hear 
 The bare relation ; how was every eye 
 Fix'd on the pulpit ; how did each inan pry 
 And watch, if, whiles he did this word dispense, 
 A capon or a hen would fly out thence ! 
 
92 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 Happy the Jews, cry we, when quails came down 
 In dry and wholesome showers, though from the frown 
 Of Heaven sent, though bought at such a rate ; 
 To perish full is not the worst of fate. 
 We fear we shall die empty, and enforce 
 The grave to take a shadow for a corse : 
 For, if this fasting hold, we do despair 
 Of life ; all needs must vanish into air 
 Air which now only feeds us and so be 
 Exhaled like vapours to eternity. 
 W are much refined already, that dull house 
 Of clay (our body) is diaphanous ; 
 And if the doctor would but take the pains 
 To read upon us, sinews, bones, guts, veins, 
 All would appear, and he might show each one, 
 Without the help of a dissection. 
 
 In the abundance of this want, you will 
 Wonder, perhaps, how I can use my quill ? 
 Troth I am like small birds, which, now in spring, 
 When they have nought to Eat do sit and Sing. 
 
 William Cartwright. 
 
 PEKSUASIONS TO LOVE. 
 
 HESE curious locks, so aptly twined, [36 II. 
 Whose every hair a soul doth bind, 
 Will change their auburn hue, and grow 
 
 White, and cold as winter's snow. 
 
 That eye which now is Cupid's nest 
 
 Will prove his grave, and all the rest 
 
 Will follow ; in the cheek, chin, nose, 
 
 Nor lily shall be found, nor rose. 
 
 And what will then become of all 
 
WITH THE KING. 93 
 
 Those, whom you now servants call ? 
 Like swallows, when your summer's done, 
 They'll fly and seek some warmer sun. 
 Then wisely choose one to your friend, 
 Whose love may (when your beauties end) 
 Remain still firm : be provident 
 And think before the summer's spent 
 Of following winter ; like the ant 
 In plenty hoard for time of scant. 
 Cull out amongst the multitude 
 Of lovers, that seek to intrude 
 Into your favour, one that may 
 Love for an age, not for a day. 
 For when the storms of time have moved 
 Waves on that cheek which was beloved, 
 When a fair lady's face is pined, 
 And yellow spread where red once shined, 
 When beauty, youth, and all sweets leave her, 
 Love may return, but lover never! [i8#. 
 
 Thomas Carew. 
 
 TO HIS FELLOW POET. 
 
 JJHEN we are dead, and now, no more 
 Our harmless mirth, our wit, and score 
 Distracts the Town ; when all is spent 
 
 That the base niggard world hath lent 
 
 Thy purse, or mine ; when the loath' d noise 
 
 Of drawers, prentices and boys 
 
 Hath left us, and the clam'rous bar 
 
 Items no pints i' th' Moon, or Star ; 
 
 When no calm whisperers wait the doors, 
 
 To fright us with forgotten scores ; 
 
 And such aged, long bills carry, 
 
94 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 As might start an antiquary ; 
 When the sad tumults of the maze, 
 Arrests, suits, and the dreadful face 
 Of Serjeants are not seen, and we 
 No lawyer's ruffs or gowtis must fee : 
 When all these mulcts are paid, and I 
 From thee, dear wit, must part, and die ; 
 We'll beg the world would be so kind 
 To give's one grave, as we'd one mind ; 
 There (as the wiser few suspect, 
 That spirits after death affect) 
 Our souls shall meet, and thence will they 
 (Freed from the tyranny of clay) 
 With equal wings and ancient love 
 Into the Elysian fields remove, 
 Where in those blessed walks they'll find, 
 More of thy genius, and my mind. [30 //. 
 
 Henry Vaughan. 
 
 SPRING SUN. 
 
 doth the sun appear, 
 The mountains' snows decay, 
 Crown'd with frail flowers forth comes the 
 
 infant year ; 
 
 My soul, Time posts away, 
 And thou yet in that frost 
 Which flower and fruit hath lost, 
 As if all here immortal were, dost stay ; 
 For shame ! thy powers awake, 
 Look to that Heaven which never night makes black, 
 And there, at that immortal sun's bright rays, 
 Deck thee with flowers which fear not rage of days. 
 
 William Drummond. 
 
WITH THE KIKG. 9 
 
 A WESTERN WONDER. 
 
 you not know, not a fortnight ago, 
 
 How they bragg'd of a western wonder ? 
 When a hundred and ten slew five thousand men, 
 With the help of lightning and thunder ? 
 
 There Hopton was slain, again and again, 
 
 Or else my author did lie ; 
 With a new thanksgiving, for the dead who are living, 
 
 To God, and his servant Chidleigh. 
 
 But now on which side was this miracle try'd, 
 
 I hope we at last are even ; 
 For Sir Ralph and his knaves are risen from their graves, 
 
 To cudgel the clowns of Devon. 
 
 And there Stamford came, for his honour was lame 
 
 Of the gout three months together ; 
 But it proved, when they fought, but a running gout, 
 
 For his heels were lighter than ever. 
 
 For now he out-runs his arms and his guns, 
 
 And leaves all his money behind him. 
 But they follow after, unless he take water, 
 
 At Plymouth again, they will find him. 
 
 What Reading hath cost, and Stamford hath lost, 
 
 Goes deep in the sequestrations ; 
 These wounds will not heal, with your new great seal, 
 
 Nor Jephson's declarations. 
 Now Peters, and Case, in your prayer and grace 
 
 Remember the new thanksgiving ; 
 Isaac and his wife, now dig for your life, 
 
 Or shortly, you'll dig for your living. 
 
 Sir John Dcuham. 
 
96 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 THE SOLDIER GOING TO THE FIELD. 
 
 ^RESERVE thy sighs, unthrifty girl, 
 
 To purify the air ; 
 
 Thy tears to thread, instead of pearls, 
 On bracelets of thy hair. 
 
 The trumpet makes the echo hoarse, 
 And wakes the louder drum ; 
 
 Expense of grief gains no remorse 
 When sorrow should be dumb. 
 
 For I must go where lazy Peace 
 Will hide her drowsy head ; 
 
 And, for the sport of kings, increase 
 The number of the dead. 
 
 But first I'll chide thy cruel theft : 
 
 Can I in war delight, 
 Who, being of my heart bereft, 
 
 Can have no heart to fight ? 
 
 Thou know'st the sacred laws of old 
 Ordain'd a thief should pay, 
 
 To quit him of his theft, sevenfold 
 What he had stolen away. 
 
 Thy payment shall but double be ; 
 
 O then with speed resign 
 My own seduced heart to me, 
 
 Accompanied with thine. 
 
 Sir W. Davenant. 
 
WITH THE KING. 97 
 
 TWO HEARTS. 
 
 PRITHEE send me back my heart, 
 Since I cannot have thine : 
 For if from yours you will not part^ 
 Why then shouldst thou have mine ? 
 
 Yet now I think on't, let it lie, 
 To find it were in vain, 
 For th' hast a thief in either eye 
 Would steal it back again. 
 
 Why should two hearts in one breast lie, 
 
 And yet not lodge together ? 
 
 Oh, Love, where is thy sympathy, 
 
 If thus our breasts thou sever ! 
 
 But love is such a mystery, 
 
 I cannot find it out : 
 
 For when I think I'm best resolved, 
 
 I then am in most doubt. 
 
 Then farewell care, and farewell woe, 
 I will no longer pine, 
 For I'll believe I have her heart 
 As much as she hath mine. 
 
 Sir John Suckling. 
 
 UPON KINGS. 
 
 j INGS must be dauntless ; subjects will contemn 
 Those who want hearts, and wear a diadem. 
 
 Robert Herrick. 
 
 H 
 
98 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 TO LIVE MERRILY, AND TO TRUST TO 
 GOOD VERSES. 
 
 OW is the time for mirth, 
 
 Nor cheek or tongue be dumb ; 
 For with flowery earth, 
 The golden pomp is come. 
 
 The golden pomp is come ; 
 
 For now each tree does wear 
 (Made of her pap and gum) 
 
 Rich beads of Amber here. 
 
 Now reigns the Rose, and now 
 Th* Arabian dew besmears 
 
 My uncontrolled brow, 
 And my retorted hairs. 
 
 Homer, this health to thee, 
 
 In sack of such a kind, 
 That it would make thee see, 
 
 Though thou wert ne'er so blind. 
 
 Next, Virgil, I'll call forth, 
 To pledge this second health 
 
 In wine, whose each cup 's worth 
 An Indian commonwealth. 
 
 A goblet next I '11 drink 
 
 To Ovid ; and suppose 
 Made he the pledge, he 'd think 
 
 The world had all one Nose . 
 
WITH THE KING. 99 
 
 Then this immensive cup 
 
 Of Aromatic wine, 
 Catullus, I quaff up 
 
 To that terse muse of thine. 
 
 Wild I am now with heat ; 
 
 O Bacchus ! cool thy rays, 
 Or frantic I shall eat 
 
 Thy Thyrse, and bite the bays. 
 
 Round, round, the roof does run ; 
 
 And being ravish' d thus, 
 Come, I will drink a tun 
 
 To my Propertius. 
 
 Now, to Tibullus, next, 
 
 This flood I drink to thee : 
 But stay ; I see a Text, 
 
 That this presents to me. 
 
 Behold, Tibullus lies 
 
 Here burnt, whose small return 
 Of ashes, scarce suffice 
 
 To fill a little urn. 
 
 Trust to good Verses then ; 
 
 They only will aspire, 
 When pyramids, as men, 
 
 Are lost i' th' funeral fire. 
 
 And when all bodies meet 
 
 In Lethe, to be drown' d ; 
 Then only Numbers sweet 
 
 With endless life are crown'd. 
 
 Robert Herrick. 
 
CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 OBEDIENCE. 
 
 HE power of princes rests in the consent 
 Of only those who are obedient ; 
 Which if away, proud sceptres then will lie 
 Low, and of thrones the ancient majesty. 
 
 Robert Herrick. 
 
 TO THE KING ON HIS COMING WITH AN ARMY 
 INTO THE WEST. 
 
 gELCOME, most welcome to our vows and us, 
 Most great and universal Genius ! 
 The drooping West, which hitherto has stood 
 As one in long-lamented widowhood, 
 Looks like a bride now, or a bed of flowers, 
 Newly refresh' d both by the sun and showers ; 
 War, which before was horrid, now appears 
 Lovely in you, brave Prince of Cavaliers ! 
 A deal of courage in each bosom springs 
 By your access, O you the best of kings ! 
 Hide on with all white omens, so that where 
 Your standard 's up, we fix a conquest there. 
 
 Robert Herrick. 
 
 KINGS AND TYRANTS. 
 
 3 WIXT kings and tyrants there 's this difference 
 
 known, 
 
 Kings seek their subjects' good, tyrants their 
 own. liobert Herrick. 
 
WITH THE Kt&G. 
 
 TO THE KING, UPON IIIS TAKING OF 
 LEICESTER. 
 
 (May 31, 1645.) 
 
 ijHIS day is yours, great Charles ! and in this war 
 Your fate and ours alike victorious are. 
 In her white stole now Victory does rest, 
 Ensphered with palm on your triumphant crest ; 
 Fortune is now your captive ; other kings 
 Hold but her hands ; you hold both hands and wings. 
 
 Robert Herrick. 
 
 THE DOWNFALL OF CHARING CROSS. 
 
 jjNDONE, undone, the lawyers are ; 
 
 They wander about the town ; 
 Nor can find the way to Westminster, 
 Now Charing Cross is down : 
 At the end of the Strand they make a stand, 
 
 Swearing they are at a loss, 
 And chaffing say, that 's not the way, 
 They must go by Charing Cross. 
 
 The Parliament to vote it down 
 
 Conceived it very fitting, 
 For fear it should fall, and kill them all 
 
 In the house, as they were sitting. 
 They were told, god-wot, it had a plot, 
 
 Which made them so hard-hearted, 
 To give command it should not stand, 
 
 But be taken down and carted. 
 
' C4 V4LJ.-fjR AND PURITAN. 
 
 ,Meu talk of plots : this might have been worse 
 
 ! Fur aii^t'iin^ 7 know, 
 
 Than that Tomkins and Chaloner 
 
 Were hang'd for long ago. 
 Our Parliament did that prevent, 
 
 And wisely them defended, 
 For plots they will discover still, 
 
 Before they were intended. 
 But neither man, woman, nor child, 
 
 Will say, I'm confident, 
 They ever heard it speak one word 
 
 Against the Parliament. 
 An informer swore, it letters bore, 
 
 Or else it had been freed ; 
 I'll take, in troth, my Bible oath 
 
 It could neither write nor read. 
 
 The Committee said, that verily 
 
 To Popery it was bent ; 
 For aught I know, it might be so, 
 
 For to church it never went. 
 What with excise, and such device, 
 
 The kingdom doth begin 
 To think you '11 leave them ne'er a cross, 
 
 Without doors nor within. 
 
 Methinks the Common-council should 
 
 Of it have taken pity, 
 'Cause, good old cross, it always stood 
 
 So firmly to the city. 
 Since crosses you so much disdain, 
 
 Faith, if I were as you, 
 For fear the king should rule again, 
 
 I 'd pull down Tyburn too. 
 
 Percy Eeliques. 
 
WITH THE KING. 103 
 
 ON THE LOSS OF A GARRISON, MEDITATION. 
 
 ANOTHER city lost ! alas poor King ! 
 
 Still future griefs from former griefs do spring. 
 The world's a seat of change ; kingdoms and Kings 
 Though glorious, are but sublunary things. 
 Crosses and blessings kiss ; there 's none that be 
 So happy, but they meet with misery. 
 He that erewhile sat centered to his throne, 
 And all did homage unto him alone ; 
 Who did the sceptre of his power display 
 From pole to pole, while all this rule obey, 
 From stair to stair now tumbles, tumbles down, 
 And scarce one pillar doth support his crown. 
 Town after town, field after field, 
 This turns, and that perfidiously doth yield : 
 He's banded on the traitorous thought of those 
 That, Janus like, look to him and his foes. 
 In vain are bulwarks, and the strongest hold, 
 If the besieger's bullets are of gold. 
 My soul, be not dejected ; would'st thou be 
 From present trouble or from danger free ? 
 Trust not in rampires, nor the strength of walls, 
 The town that stands to-day to-morrow falls. 
 Trust not in soldiers, though they seem so stout ; 
 When sin's within, vain is defence without. 
 Trust not in wealth, for in this lawless time 
 AVhere prey is penalty, there wealth is crime. 
 Trust not in strength or courage ; we all see 
 The weakest ofttimes do gain the victory. 
 Trust not in honour, honour's but a blast 
 Quickly begun, and but a while doth last. 
 
104 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 They that to-day to thee Hosanna cry, 
 
 To-morrow change their note for Crucify ! 
 
 Trust not in friends, for friends will soon deceive thee, 
 
 They are in nothing sure, but sure to leave thee, 
 
 Trust not in wits, who run from place to place 
 
 Changing religion as chance does her face ; 
 
 In spite of cunning, and their strength of brain, 
 
 They 're often catch, and all their plots are vain. 
 
 Trust not in council ; potentates or kings 
 
 All are but frail and transitory things. 
 
 Since neither soldiers, castles, wealth or wit, 
 
 Can keep off harm from thee, or thee from it : 
 
 Since neither strength nor honour, friends nor lords, 
 
 Nor princes, peace or happiness affords, 
 
 Trust thou in God, ply liim with prayers still, 
 Be sure of help ; for He both can and will. 
 
 Alexander Hrome* 
 
 THE COMMONERS. 
 (Written in 1645.) 
 
 7tJ5$ OME your ways, 
 Bonny boys 
 
 Of the town, 
 
 For now is your time or never. 
 
 Shall your fears 
 
 Or your cares 
 
 Cast you down ? 
 
 Hang your wealth 
 
 And your health 
 Get renown, 
 
 We are all undone for ever. 
 Now the King and the Crown 
 Are tumbling down, 
 
WITH THE KING. 105 
 
 And the realm doth groan with disasters, 
 
 And the scum of the land 
 
 Are the men that command, 
 And our slaves are become our masters. 
 
 Now our lives, 
 Children, wives, 
 And estate, 
 
 Are a prey to the lust and plunder, 
 To the rage 
 Of our age. 
 
 And the fate 
 Of our land 
 Is at hand, 
 
 ? Tis too late 
 
 To tread these usurpers under. 
 First down goes the crown, 
 Then follows the gown ; 
 Thus levelled are we by the Roundhead, 
 While Church and State must 
 Feed their pride and their lust, 
 And the Kingdom and King be confounded. 
 
 Shall we still 
 Suffer ill, 
 
 And be dumb ? 
 
 And let every varlet undo us ? 
 Shall we doubt 
 Of each lout, 
 
 That doth come, 
 With a voice 
 Like the noise 
 
 Of a drum, 
 And a sword or a buff-coat to us ? 
 
io6 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 Shall we lose our estates 
 
 By plunder and rates 
 To bedeck those proud upstarts that swagger ? 
 
 Rather fight for your meat, 
 
 Which these locusts do eat, 
 Now every man's a beggar. 
 
 Alexander Brome. 
 
 THE ROYALIST. 
 (Written in 1646.) 
 
 flOME pass about the bowl to me, 
 
 A health to our distressed King ; 
 Though we ? re in hold, let cups go free, 
 Birds in a cage may freely sing. 
 The ground does tipple healths apace 
 
 When storms do fall, and shall not we ? 
 A sorrow dares not shew its face, 
 
 When we are ships and sack 's the sea. [ i st. 
 
 We do not suffer here alone ; 
 
 Though we are beggar'd, so 's the King ; 
 'Tis sin t' have wealth when he has none; 
 
 Tush ! poverty 's a Eoyal thing ! 
 When we are larded well with drink 
 
 Our heads shall turn as Round as theirs, 
 Our feet shall rise, our bodies sink 
 
 Clean down the wind, like Cavaliers. [isf. 
 
 Alexander Brome. 
 
 TO KEEP A TRUE LENT. 
 
 f S this a Fast, to keep 
 The larder lean ? 
 
 And clean 
 From fat of veals, and sheep ? 
 
WITH THE KING. 107 
 
 Is it to quit the dish 
 Of flesh, yet still 
 
 To fill 
 The platter high with fish ? 
 
 Is it to fast an hour, 
 Or ragg'd to go, 
 
 Or show 
 A downcast look, and sour? 
 
 No : 'tis a Fast, to dole 
 Thy sheaf of wheat, 
 
 And meat, 
 Unto the hungry soul. 
 
 It is to fast from strife, 
 From old debate, 
 
 And hate ; 
 To circumcise thy life. 
 
 To show a heart grief-rent ; 
 To starve thy sin, 
 
 Not bin ; 
 And that's to keep thy Lent. 
 
 Robert Herrick. 
 
 WHEN THE KING ENJOYS HIS OWN AGAIN. 
 
 jjHAT Booker doth prognosticate, 
 Concerning kings' or kingdoms' fate ? 
 I think myself to be as wise 
 As he that gazeth on the skies : 
 
 My skill goes beyond 
 
 The depth of a Pond, 
 
io8 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 Or Elvers in the greatest rain ; 
 
 Thereby I can tell 
 
 All things will be well 
 When the King enjoys his own again. 
 
 There's neither Swallow, Dove, nor Dade, 
 Can soar more high, nor deeper wade ; 
 Nor show a reason from the s"tars 
 What causeth peace or civil wars : 
 
 The Man in the Moon 
 
 May wear out his shoon, 
 By running after Charles his wain ; 
 
 But all 's to no end, 
 
 For the times will not mend 
 Till the King enjoys his own again. 
 
 Though for a time we see Whitehall 
 With cobwebs hanging on the wall 
 Instead of silk and silver brave, 
 Which formerly it used to have, 
 
 With rich perfume 
 
 In every room, 
 Delightful to that princely train, 
 
 Which again you shall see 
 
 When the time it shall be 
 That the King enjoys his own again. 
 
 Full forty years the royal crown 
 Hath been his father's and his own ; 
 And is there any one but he 
 That in the same should sharer be ? 
 
 For who better may 
 
 The sceptre sway 
 
 Than he that hath such right to reign ? 
 Then let's hope for a peace, 
 
 For the wars will not cease 
 Till the King enjoys his own again. [i st. 
 
WITH THE KING. 109 
 
 Till then upon Ararat's hill 
 My hope shall cast her anchor still, 
 Until I see some peaceful dove 
 Bring home the branch I dearly love ; 
 
 Then will I wait 
 
 Till the waters abate, 
 Which now disturb my troubled brain, 
 
 Else never rejoice 
 
 Till I hear the voice 
 That the King enjoys his own again. 
 
 Martin Parker. 
 
 FROM AN ODE UPON AN HYPOCRITICAL 
 NONCONFORMIST. 
 
 does not pray, but prosecute, 
 As if he went to law, his suit ; 
 Summons his Maker to appear 
 And answer what he shall prefer ; 
 Returns him back his Gift of Prayer, 
 Not to petition, but declare ; 
 Exhibits cross complaints 
 Against him for the Breach of Covenants, 
 
 And all the Charters of the Saints ; 
 Pleads guilty to the Action, and yet stands 
 Upon high terms and bold demands ; 
 Excepts against him and his laws, 
 And will be judge himself in his own cause ; 
 
 And grows more saucy and severe 
 Than th' heathen emperor was to Jupiter, 
 That used to wrangle with him, and dispute ; 
 And sometimes would speak softly in his ear 
 And sometimes loud, and rant, and tear, 
 And threaten, if he did not grant his suit. 
 
CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 But when his painful Gifts he employs 
 In holding-forth, the virtue lies 
 Not in the letter of the sense, 
 But in the spiritual vehemence, 
 
 The power and dispensation of the voice, 
 The zealous pangs and agonies, 
 And heavenly turnings of the eyes ; 
 
 The groans with which he piously destroys, 
 And draws the nonsense in the noise : 
 
 And grows so loud, as if he meant to force 
 And take in Heaven by violence ; 
 To fright the Saints into Salvation, 
 Or scare the Devil from Temptation ; 
 Until he falls so low and hoarse, 
 
 No kind of carnal sense 
 Can be made out of what he means : 
 But as the ancient Pagans were precise 
 To use no short-tail'd beast in sacrifice, 
 He still conforms to them, and has a care, 
 
 To allow the largest measure to his paltry ware. 
 
 Samuel Butler. 
 
 THE STORY OF PHCEBUS AND DAPHNE 
 APPLIED. 
 
 HIRSIS, a youth of the inspired train, 
 Fair Sacharissa loved, but loved in vain : 
 Like Phoebus sung the no less am'rous boy, 
 Like Daphne she as lovely and as coy : 
 With numbers he the flying nymph pursues, 
 With numbers such as Phoebus self might use. 
 Such is the chase, when Love and Fancy leads, 
 O'er craggy mountains, and through flowery meads, 
 Invoked to testify the lover's care, 
 Or form some image of his cruel fair : 
 
WITH THE KING. in 
 
 Urged with his fury like a wounded deer, 
 O'er these he fled, and now approaching near, 
 Had reach'd the nymph with his harmonious lay, 
 Whom all his charms could not incline to stay ; 
 Yet what he sung in his immortal strain, 
 Though unsuccessful, was not sung in vain : 
 All but the nymph, that should redress his wrong, 
 Attend his passion, and approve his song. 
 Like Phoebus thus, acquiring unsought praise, 
 He catch'd at love, and fill'd his arm with bays. 
 
 Edmund Waller. 
 
 TO GOD, IN TIME OF PLUNDERING. 
 
 j[APINE has yet took nought from me : 
 But if it please my God I be 
 Brought at the last to th' utmost bit, 
 God make me thankful still for it. 
 I have been grateful for my store ; 
 Let me say grace when there's no more. 
 
 Robert Herrick. 
 
 REST. 
 
 with thy work, though thou beest hardly 
 
 prest ; 
 Labour is held up by the hope of rest. 
 
 Robert Herrick. 
 
 THE CHARACTER OF AN ANTI-COVENANTER, 
 OR MALIGNANT. 
 
 2OULD you know these royal knaves, 
 Of free men would turn us slaves ; 
 Who our union do defame 
 With rebellion's wicked name ? 
 
CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 Read these verses, and ye '11 spring 'em, 
 Then on gibbets straight cause hing 'ern. 
 
 They complain of sin and folly ; 
 In these times so passing holy, 
 They their substance will not give, 
 Libertines that we may live. 
 Hold those subjects too, too wanton, 
 Under an old king dare canton. 
 
 Neglect they do our circular tables, 
 Scorn our acts and laws as fables ; 
 Of our battles talk but meekly, 
 With four sermons pleased are weekly ; 
 Swear king Charles is neither papist, 
 Arminian, Lutheran, or atheist. 
 
 But that in his chamber-prayers, 
 Which are pour'd 'midst sighs and tears, 
 To avert God's fearful wrath, 
 Threat'ning us with blood and death ; 
 Persuade they would the multitude, 
 This king too holy is and good. 
 
 They avouch we '11 weep and groan 
 When hundred kings we serve for one ; 
 That each shire but blood affords, 
 To serve th' ambition of young lords ; 
 Whose debts ere now had been redoubled, 
 If the state had not been troubled. 
 
 Slow they are our oath to swear, 
 Slower for it arms to bear : 
 They do concord love, and peace, 
 Would our enemies embrace, 
 
WITH THE KING. 113 
 
 Turn men proselytes by the word, 
 Not by musket, pike, and sword. 
 
 They swear that for religion's sake 
 We may not massacre, burn, sack : 
 That the beginning of these pleas, 
 Sprang from the ill -sped A B C's. 
 For servants that it is not well 
 Against their masters to rebel. 
 
 That that devotion is but slight, 
 
 Doth force men first to swear, then fight. 
 
 That our confession is indeed 
 
 Not the Apostolic Creed ; 
 
 Which of negations we contrive, 
 
 Which Turk and Jew may both subscrive. 
 
 That monies should men's daughters marry, 
 They on frantic war miscarry. 
 Whilst dear the soldiers they pay, 
 At last who will snatch all away, 
 And, as times turn worse and worse, 
 Catechise us by the purse. 
 
 That debts are paid with bold stern looks ; 
 That merchants pray on their 'compt books ; 
 That Justice dumb and sullen frowns, 
 To see in croslets hang'd her gowns ; 
 That preachers' ordinary theme 
 Is 'gainst monarc.hy to declaim. 
 
 That, since leagues we 'gan to swear, 
 Vice did ne'er so black appear ; 
 Oppression, bloodshed, ne'er more rife, 
 Foul jars between the man and wife: 
 
 i 
 
n 4 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 Religion so contemn'd was never, 
 Whilst all are raging in a fever. 
 
 They tell by devils, and some sad chance, 
 That that detested league of France, 
 Which cost so many thousand lives, 
 And two kings, by religious knives, 
 Is amongst us, though few descry ; 
 Though they speak truth, yet say they lie. 
 
 He who says that night is night, 
 That cripple folk walk not upright, 
 That the owls into the spring 
 Do not nightingales out-sing, 
 That the seas we may not plough, 
 Ropes make of the rainy bow, 
 That the foxes keep not sheep, 
 That men waking do not sleep, 
 That all 's not gold doth gold appear 
 Believe him not, although he swear. 
 
 To such syrens stop your ear, 
 
 Their societies forbear. 
 
 Ye may be tossed like a wave, 
 
 Verity may you deceive ; 
 
 Just fools they may make of you ; 
 
 Then hate them worse than Turk or Jew. 
 
 Were it not a dangerous thing, 
 Should we again obey the king ; 
 Lords lose should sovereignty, 
 Soldiers haste back to Germany ; 
 Justice should in our towns remain, 
 Poor men possess their own again ; 
 Brought out of hell that word of plunder, 
 More terrible 'than devil, or thunder, 
 
WITH THE KING. 115 
 
 Should with the covenant fly away, 
 And charity amongst us stay ; 
 Peace and plenty should us nourish, 
 True religion 'mongst us flourish ? 
 
 When you find these lying fellows, 
 Take and flower with them the gallows. 
 On others you may too lay hold, 
 In purse or chest, if they have gold. 
 Who wise or rich are in this nation, 
 Malignants are by protestation. 
 
 William Drummond. 
 
 A LYRIC TO MIRTH. 
 
 the milder fates consent, 
 Let 's enjoy our merriment ; 
 Drink, and dance, and pipe, and play ; 
 
 Kiss our dollies night and day ; 
 
 Crown'd with clusters of the vine, 
 
 Let us sit and quaff our wine ; 
 
 Call on Bacchus, chaunt his praise ; 
 
 Shake the thyrse, and bite the bays ; 
 
 Rouse Anacreon from the dead, 
 
 And return him drunk to bed ; 
 
 Sing o'er Horace ; for ere long 
 
 Death will come and mar the song ; 
 
 Then shall \Vilson and Gotiere 
 
 Never sing or play more here. 
 
 Robert Her rick. 
 
n6 
 
 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 TO THE VIRGINS, TO MAKE MUCH 6F TIME. 
 
 jjATHER ye rose-buds while ye may, 
 
 Old Time is still a flying ; 
 And this same flower that smiles to-day 
 To-morrow will be dying. 
 
 The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun, 
 
 The higher he 's a getting, 
 The sooner will his race be run, 
 
 And nearer he 's to setting. 
 
 That age is best, which is the first, 
 When youth and blood are warmer ; 
 
 But being spent, the worse and worst 
 Times still succeed the former. 
 
 Then be not coy, but use your time, 
 
 And while ye may, go marry ; 
 For having lost but once your prime, 
 
 You may for ever tarry. 
 
 Robert Herrick. 
 
 TO A LADY SINGING A SONG OF HIS 
 COMPOSING. 
 
 , yourself you so excel 
 When you vouchsafe to breathe my 
 thought, 
 
 That like a spirit with this spell 
 Of my own teaching I am caught. 
 
WITH THE KING. 117 
 
 The eagle's fate and mine are one, 
 
 Which on the shaft that made him die 
 
 Espied a feather of his own, 
 
 Wherewith he wont to soar so high. 
 
 Had Echo, with so sweet a grace, 
 Narcissus' loud complaints return'd, 
 
 Not for reflection of his face, 
 
 But of his voice, the boy had burn'd. 
 
 Edmund Waller. 
 
 ON A GIRDLE. 
 
 her slender waist confined, 
 Shall now my joyful temples bind ; 
 No monarch but would give his crown, 
 
 His arms might do what this has done. 
 
 It was my heaven's extremest sphere, 
 The pale which held that lovely deer ; 
 My joy, my grief, my hope, my love, 
 Did all within this circle move. 
 
 A narrow compass, and yet there 
 Dwelt all that 's good, and all that 's fair : 
 Give me but what this riband bound, 
 Take all the rest the sun goes round. 
 
 Edmund Waller. 
 
 TO LUCASTA. FROM PRISON. 
 
 j ONG in thy shackles, Liberty 
 
 I ask not from these walls, but thee ; 
 Left for awhile another's bride, 
 To fancy all the world beside. 
 
u8 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 Yet ere I do begin to love, 
 See, how I all my objects prove ; 
 Then my free soul to that confine, 
 'Twere possible I might call mine. 
 
 First I would be in love with Peace, 
 And her rich swelling breasts increase; 
 But how, alas ! how may that be, 
 Despising Earth, she will love me ? 
 
 Fain would I be in love with War, 
 As my dear just avenging star ; 
 But War is loved so everywhere 
 Even he disdains a lodging here. 
 
 Thee and thy wounds I would bemoan, 
 Fair thorough- shot Religion ; 
 But he lives only that kills thee, 
 And who so binds thy hands, is free. 
 
 I would love a Parliament 
 
 As a main-prop from Heaven sent ; 
 
 But ah ! who's he, that would be wedded 
 
 To th' fairest body that 's beheaded ? 
 
 Next would I court my Liberty, 
 And then my birth -right, Property ; 
 But can that be, when it is known, 
 There 's nothing you can call your own ? 
 
 A Reformation I would have, 
 As for our griefs a Sovereign salve; 
 That is, a cleansing of each wheel 
 Of state, that yet some rust doth feel. 
 
 But not a Reformation so, 
 As to reform were to overthrow ; 
 Like watches by unskilful men 
 Disjointed, and set ill again. 
 
WITH THE KING. 119 
 
 The Public Faith I would adore, 
 But she is bankrupt of her store; 
 Nor how to trust her can I see, 
 For she that cozens all, must me. 
 
 Since then none of these can be 
 Fit objects for my Love and me ; 
 What then remains, but th' only spring 
 Of all our loves and joys ? The KING. 
 
 He who, being the whole ball 
 Of day on earth, lends it to all ; 
 When seeking to eclipse his right, 
 Blinded, we stand in our own light. 
 
 And now an universal mist 
 
 Of error is spread o'er each breast, 
 
 With such a fury edged, as is 
 
 Not found in th' inwards of th' abyss. 
 
 Oh, from thy glorious starry wain 
 Dispense on me one sacred beam 
 To light me where I soon may see 
 How to serve you, and you trust me ! 
 
 Richard Lovelace. 
 
 THE POOR CAVALIER, IN MEMORY OF 
 HIS OLD SUIT. 
 
 HOUGH thou hast lasted 'bove a thousand days, 
 Till thou art aged and grey through adverse ways : 
 Yet malice in its highest dare pronounce 
 
 No other, but that thou wert scarlet once ; 
 
 As in fair beauties innocently dead, 
 
 Their very paleness hath a tinct of red. 
 
120 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 Under thy grey discernibly thin stream 
 
 Lies, like to shipwrack strawberries in cream. 
 
 I know 'tis vain to boast what thou hast been, 
 
 Yet thou wert red, when bloody votes were green ; 
 
 Ere ripe rebellion had a full-age power 
 
 To commit Laud and Gourney to the Tower ; 
 
 Ere middle -sighted judgment understood 
 
 That 'twas 'gainst sense o' th' Houses to be good. 
 
 It is no humble honour of thy fate 
 
 To follow in thy sufferings those of state. 
 
 I have observed since Leslie's coming in 
 
 Thou hast been still declining with the king, 
 
 Spite Fairfax and the Scots did all agree 
 
 To take our sleep from us, thy nap from thee. 
 
 But to declare thee in the State concerned, 
 
 When Pornfret was relieved, then thou wert turn'd. 
 
 Prove thou didst wear new buttons on thy breast 
 
 When baffled Waller did retreat from th' West. 
 
 When taken Leicester raised our thoughts and speech, 
 
 Then thou wert reinforced in the breech. 
 
 Thanks to my tops and care which thought it meet 
 
 To rob my legs to keep thee on thy feet. 
 
 Nay, may I want belief if, when the report 
 
 Of lost Bridgewater first arrived at court, 
 
 Each whisper did not rend thee : I could tell 
 
 Still by new holes how our disasters fell. 
 
 At Langport, when the west was well ago 
 
 (A sad mischance) thy rear miscarried too, 
 
 And by a strong intelligence, the same time, 
 
 Thy hooks and buttons sprung with Sherburn's mine. 
 
 Now peace be with thy dust, whilst I do mourn 
 
 And, loyally industrious, close thy urn ; 
 
 For the next motion to a calm in th' air 
 
 Will thy poor extants into pieces tear : 
 
WITH THE KING. 1 
 
 And, as the wind when the wing'd nation pays 
 Their feather'd tribute, send it several ways; 
 One fragment would into Bridgewater fall, 
 In Sherburn one, in several garrisons all, 
 And th' insolent rebels at that sight be won 
 To think our thread of life like thine be done. 
 No, quondam suit, I'll keep thee from their claws, 
 Rotten as th' art, thou shaft be sound for th' cause. 
 Rather than to our prejudice be dispersed, 
 Thou shalt make Jack-o'-lents and Babies first, 
 Bait fishes' hooks to cozen mack'rels' lips, 
 Because they keep the seas with rebels' ships : 
 Make good a field of peas against jackdaw, 
 Reduce revolting turkeys into awe ; 
 And every part of thee shall be employ'd 
 To serve against rebellion and pride. 
 And as the pious ancients used to rear 
 Tombs to the bodies which they know not where 
 To find, to thee, pure Shade of Shades (for in 
 This mortal life no ghost could be more thin) 
 This monumental paper I do vow, 
 And thank God I've another habit now. 
 
 John Cleveland. 
 
 MAJESTY IN MISERY. 
 
 An Imploration to the King of Kings. 
 
 (Carislrooh, 1648.) 
 
 ^REAT monarch of the world, from whose power 
 
 springs 
 
 The potency and power of kings, 
 Record the royal woe my suffering sings ; 
 
CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 And teach my tongue, that ever did confine 
 
 Its faculties in truth's seraphic line, 
 
 To track the treasons of thy foes and mine. 
 
 Nature and law, by thy divine decree, 
 (The only root of righteous royalty,) 
 With this dim diadem invested me : 
 
 With it, the sacred sceptre, purple robe, 
 The holy unction, and the royal globe : 
 Yet am I levell'd with the life of Job. 
 
 The fiercest furies, that do daily tread 
 Upon my grief, my grey discrowned head, 
 Are those that owe iny bounty for their bread. 
 
 They raise a war, and christen it the cause, 
 Whilst sacrilegious hands have best applause, 
 Plunder and murder are the kingdom's laws ; 
 
 Tyranny bears the title of taxation, 
 Revenge and robbery are reformation, 
 Oppression gains the name of sequestration. 
 
 My loyal subjects who in this bad season 
 Attend me (by the law of God and reason) 
 They dare impeach, and punish for high treason. 
 
 Next at the clergy do their furies frown, 
 
 Pious episcopacy must go down, 
 
 They will destroy the crozier and the crown. 
 
 Churchmen are chain'd, and schismatics are freed, 
 Mechanics preach, and holy fathers bleed, 
 The crown is crucified with the creed. 
 
WITH THE KING. 123 
 
 The church of England doth all faction foster, 
 The pulpit is usurp'd by each impostor, 
 Ex tempore excludes the pater noster. 
 
 The presbyter and independent seed 
 
 Springs with broad blades; to make religion bleed, 
 
 Herod and Pontius Pilate are agreed. 
 
 The corner stones misplaced by every pavier ; 
 With such a bloody method and behaviour, 
 Their ancestors did crucify our Saviour. 
 
 My royal consort, from whose fruitful womb 
 So many princes legally have come, 
 Is forced in pilgrimage to seek a tomb. 
 
 Great Britain's heir is forced into France, 
 Whilst on his father's head his foes advance : 
 Poor child ! he weeps out his inheritance. 
 
 With my own power my majesty they wound, 
 In the King's name the King himself 's uncrown'd: 
 So doth the dust destroy the diamond. 
 
 With propositions daily they enchant 
 
 My people's ears, such as do reason daunt, 
 
 And the Almighty will not let me grant. 
 
 They promise to erect my royal stem, 
 To make me great, t' advance my diadem, 
 If I will first fall down and worship them ! 
 
 But for refusal they devour my thrones, 
 Distress my children, and destroy my bones, 
 I fear they'll force me to make bread of stones. 
 
124 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 My life they prize at such a slender rate, 
 That in my absence they draw bills of hate, 
 To prove the King a traitor to the State. 
 
 Felons obtain more privilege than I, 
 They are allow'd to answer ere they die ; 
 'Tis death for me to ask the reason why. 
 
 But sacred Saviour, with thy words I woo 
 
 Thee to forgive, and not be bitter to 
 
 Such as thou know'st do not know what they do. 
 
 For since they from their Lord are so disjointed, 
 As to contemn those edicts he appointed, 
 How can they prize the power of his anointed ? 
 
 Augment my patience, nullify my hate, 
 
 Preserve my issue, and inspire my mate ; 
 
 Yet though we perish, bless this Church and State. 
 
 Charles the First. 
 
 A LENTEN LITANY. 
 
 Composed for a confiding Brother, for the benefit and 
 edification of the faithful ones. 
 
 JROM villany dress'd in the doublet of zeal, 
 From three kingdoms baked in one common- weal, 
 From a gleek of Lord Keepers of one poor seal, 
 Libera nos, &c. 
 
 From a preacher in buff, and a quarter-staff steeple, \_^st. 
 From th' unlimited sovereign power of the people, 
 From a kingdom that crawls on its knees like a cripple, 
 
 Libera nos, &c. 
 
WITH THE KING. 125 
 
 From a vinegar priest on a crab-tree stock, 
 
 From a foddering of prayer four hours by the clock, 
 
 From a holy sister with a pitiful smock, 
 
 Libera nos, &c. 
 
 From a hunger-starved sequestrator's maw, 
 From revelations and visions that never man saw, 
 From religion without either gospel or law, 
 
 Libera nos, &c. 
 
 From all that is said, and a thousand times more, [6 st. 
 From a Saint and his Charity to the poor, 
 From the Plagues that are kept for a Rebel in store, 
 
 Libera nos, &c. 
 
 THE SECOND PART. 
 
 THAT if it please thee to assist 
 
 Our agitators and their list, 
 
 And hemp them with a gentle twist, 
 
 Qucesumite fc, &c. 
 
 That it may please thee to suppose 
 Our actions are as good as those 
 That gull the people through the nose, 
 
 Quasumus te, &c. 
 
 That it may please thee here to enter, 
 And fix the rumbling of our centre, 
 For we live all at Peradventure, 
 
 Quasumus te, &c. 
 
 That it may please thee to unite 
 The flesh and bones unto the sprite, 
 Else, Faith and Literature, good-night, [9 st. 
 
 Qucesumus te, &c. 
 
 John Cleveland. 
 
126 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 THE KING BEHEADED. 
 
 1 
 
 HARLES ah, forbear, forbear! lest mortals 
 
 prize 
 
 His name too dearly, and idolatrize. 
 His name ! our loss ! Thrice cursed and forlorn 
 Be that black night which usher'd in this morn. 
 
 Charles, our dread sovereign! hold ! lest outlawed sense 
 Bribe and seduce tame reason to dispense 
 With those celestial powers ; and distrust 
 Heaven can behold such treason, and prove just. 
 
 Charles our dread sovereign's murther'd ! tremble ! and 
 View what convulsions shoulder-shake this land, 
 Court, city, country, nay, three kingdoms run 
 To their last stage, and set with him their sun. 
 
 Charles our dread sovereign's murther'd at his gate ! 
 Fell fiends ! dire hydras of a stiff-neck' d state ! 
 Strange body-politic ! whose members spread, 
 And, monster-like, swell bigger than their Head. 
 
 Charles of Great Britain ! He ! who was the known 
 King of three realms, lies murther'd in his own. 
 He ! he ! who lived, and Faith's defender stood, 
 Died here to re-baptize it in his blood. 
 
 No more, no more. Fame's trump shall echo all 
 The rest in dreadful thunder. Such a fall 
 Great Christendom ne'er pattern'd ; and 'twas strange 
 Earth's centre reel'd not at this dismal change. 
 
 The blow struck Britain blind, each well-set limb 
 By dislocation was lopt off in Him. 
 And though she yet lives, she lives but to condole 
 Three bleeding bodies left without a soul. 
 
WITH THE KING. 127 
 
 Religion puts on black, sad loyalty 
 Blushes, and mourns to see bright majesty 
 Butcher'd by such assassinates ; nay, both 
 'Gainst God, 'gainst law, allegiance, and their oath. 
 
 Farewell, sad isle, farewell ! Thy fatal glory 
 Is summ'd, cast up, and cancell'd in this story. 
 
 John Cleveland. 
 
 PSALM LXXXII. 
 
 30D sits upon the Throne of Kings, 
 And judges unto judgment brings : 
 
 Why then so long 
 Maintain you wrong 
 And favour lawless things ? 
 
 Defend the poor, the fatherless ; 
 Their crying injuries redress : 
 
 And vindicate 
 
 The desolate, 
 Whom wicked men oppress. 
 
 For they of knowledge have no light, 
 Nor will to know ; but walk in night. 
 
 Earth's bases fail ; 
 
 No laws prevail ; 
 Scarce one in heart upright. 
 
 Though gods, and sons of the Most High, 
 Yet you, like common men, shall die ; 
 
 Like princes fall. 
 
 Great God, judge all 
 The Earth, thy Monarchy. 
 
 George Sandys. 
 
128 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 A MOCK SONG. 
 
 |]OW Whitehall's in the grave, 
 
 And our head is our slave, 
 s The bright pearl in his close shell of oyster ; 
 Now the mitre is lost, 
 The proud prelates, too, cross'd, 
 And all Rome's confined to a cloister. 
 He, that Tarquin was styled, 
 Our white land's exiled, 
 
 Yea, undefiled; 
 
 Not a court ape 's left to confute us ; 
 Then let your voices rise high, 
 As your colours did fly, 
 And flourishing cry : 
 Long live the brave Oliver Brutus. 
 
 Now the sun is unarm'd, 
 And the moon by us charm'd, 
 All the stars dissolved to a jelly ; 
 Now the thighs of the Crown 
 And the arms are lopp'd down, 
 And the body is all but a belly. 
 Let the Commons go on, 
 The town is our own, 
 
 We'll rule alone : 
 
 For the knights have yielded their spent-gorge ; 
 And an order is ta'en 
 With Honi Soit profane, 
 
 Shout forth amain : 
 
 For our Dragon hath vanquish'd the St. George. 
 
 Richard Lovelace. 
 
CAVALIER AND PUKITAN SONG. 
 
 PAET II. 
 WITH THE COMMONS. 
 
A crown, 
 
 Golden in show, is but a icreath of thorns, 
 Brings dangers, troubles, cares, and sleepless nights, 
 To him ic/io wears the regal diadem, 
 When on his shoulders each man's burden lies ; 
 For therein stands the office of a King, 
 His honour, virtue, merit, and chief praise. 
 That for the Publick all this weight he bears. 
 Yet he, who reigns within himself, and rules 
 Passions, desires, and fears, is more a king ; 
 Which every wise and virtuous man attains ; 
 And who attains not, ill aspires to rule 
 Cities of men, or headstrong multitudes. 
 
 JOHN MILTON. 
 
A DIALOGUE BETWEEN THE RESOLVED SOUL, 
 AND CREATED PLEASURE. 
 
 I OUR AGE, my soul ! now learn to wield 
 The weight of thine immortal shield. 
 Close on thy head thy helmet bright; 
 Balance thy sword against the fight ; 
 
 See where an army, strong as fair, 
 
 With silken banners spread the air. 
 
 Now, if thou be'st that thing divine, 
 
 In this day's combat let it shine, 
 
 And show that nature wants an art 
 
 To conquer one resolved heart. 
 
 PLEASURE. 
 
 Welcome, the creation's guest, 
 Lord of earth, and heaven's heir ; 
 Lay aside that warlike crest, 
 And of nature's banquet share : 
 Where the souls of fruits and flowers, 
 Stand prepared to heighten yours. 
 
 SOUJL. 
 
 I sup above, and cannot stay, 
 To bait so long upon the way. 
 
132 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 PLEASURE. 
 
 On these downy pillows lie, 
 Whose soft plumes will thither fly : 
 On these roses, strewed so plain 
 Lest one leaf thy side should strain. 
 
 My gentler rest is on a thought, 
 Conscious of doing what I ought. 
 
 PLEASURE. 
 
 If thou be'st with perfumes pleased, 
 Such as oft the gods appeased, 
 Thou in fragrant clouds shalt show, 
 Like another god below. 
 
 SOUL. 
 
 A soul that knows not to presume, 
 Is heaven's, and its own, perfume. 
 
 PLEASURE, 
 
 Every thing doth seem to vie 
 Which should first attract thine eye : 
 But since none deserves that grace, 
 In this crystal view thy face. 
 
 SOUL. 
 
 When the Creator's skill is prized, 
 The rest is all but earth disguised. 
 
 PLEASURE. 
 
 Hark, how music then prepares 
 For thy stay these charming airs ; 
 Which the posting winds recall, 
 And suspend the river's fall. 
 
WITH THE COMMONS. 133 
 
 SOUL. 
 
 Had I but any time to lose, 
 
 On this I would it all dispose. 
 
 Cease tempter ! None can chain a mind, 
 
 Whom this sweet cordage cannot bind. 
 
 Earth cannot show so brave a sight, 
 
 As when a single soul does fence 
 
 The battery of alluring sense, 
 
 And Heaven views it with delight. 
 
 Then persevere ; for still new charges sound : 
 And if thou overcom'st, thou shalt be crown'd. 
 
 PLEASURE. 
 
 All that's costly, fair, and sweet, 
 
 Which scatteringly doth shine, 
 Shall within one beauty meet, 
 
 And she be only thine. 
 
 If things of sight such heavens be, 
 What heavens are those we cannot see? 
 
 PLEASURE. 
 
 Wheresoe'er thy foot shall go 
 
 The minted gold shall lie ; 
 Till thou purchase all below, 
 
 And want new worlds to buy. 
 
 Wer't not for price who'd value gold ? 
 And that's worth nought that can be sold. 
 
134 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 PLEASURE. 
 
 Wilt thou all the glory have 
 That war or peace commend ? 
 
 Half the world shall be thy slave, 
 The other half thy friend. 
 
 SOUL. 
 
 What friends, if to myself untrue ? 
 What slaves, unless I captive you ? 
 
 PLEASURE. 
 
 Thou shalt know each hidden cause, 
 And see the future time : 
 
 Try what depth the centre draws ; 
 And then to heaven climb. 
 
 None thither mounts by the degree 
 Of knowledge, but humility. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Triumph, triumph, victorious soul ; 
 
 The world has not one pleasure more : 
 The rest does lie beyond the pole, 
 
 And is thine everlasting store. 
 
 Andrew MarvelL 
 
 FROM EURIPIDES. 
 
 f HIS is true liberty, when freeborn men, 
 Having to advise the public may speak free ; 
 Which he who can and will, deserves high praise ; 
 Who neither can nor will, may hold his peace : 
 What can be juster in a state than this ? John Milton. 
 
WITH THE COMMONS. 135 
 
 LABOUR IN VAIN. 
 
 ENCE away, you syrens, leave me, 
 And unclasp your wanton arms, 
 Sugar'd words shall ne'er deceive me, 
 Though you prove a thousand charms. 
 Fie, fie, forbear ! no common snare 
 
 Can ever my affection chain, 
 Your painted baits and poor deceits 
 Are all bestow'd on me in vain. 
 
 I'm no slave to such as you be, 
 
 Neither shall a snowy breast, 
 Wanton eye, or lip of ruby 
 
 Ever rob me of my rest. 
 Go, go, display your beauty's ray, 
 
 To some o'er soon enamour'd swain, 
 Those common wiles of sighs and smiles 
 
 Are all bestow'd on me in vain. 
 
 I have elsewhere vow'd a duty ; 
 
 Turn away thy tempting eyes, 
 Show not me a naked beauty, 
 
 Those impostures I despise. 
 My spirit loathes where gaudy clothes, 
 
 And feigned oaths may love obtain ; 
 I love Her so whose look swears No, 
 
 That all your labours will be vain. 
 
 Can he prize the tainted posies 
 
 Which on every breast are worn, 
 
 That may pluck the spotless roses 
 From their never-touched thorn ? 
 
136 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 I can go rest on her sweet breast, 
 That is the pride of Cynthia's train ; 
 
 Then hold your tongues ; your mermaid's songs 
 Are all bestow'd on me in vain. 
 
 He's a fool that basely dallies, 
 
 Where each peasant mates with him ; 
 Shall I haunt the thronged vallies, 
 
 Whilst there's noble hills to climb ? 
 No, no ; though clowns are scared with frowns, 
 
 I know the best can but disdain, 
 Then those I'll prove ; so shall your love, 
 
 Be all bestowed on me in vain. [2 st. 
 
 Proud she seem'd in the beginning, 
 
 And disdain'd my looking on : 
 But that coy one in the winning, 
 
 Proves a true one, being won. 
 Whate'er betide, she'll ne'er divide 
 
 The favour she to me shall deign ; 
 But your fond love will fickle prove, 
 
 And all that trust in you are vain. [i st. 
 
 Leave me, then, you syrens, leave me, 
 
 Seek no more to work my harms ; 
 Crafty wiles cannot deceive me, 
 
 Who am proof against your charms. 
 You labour may to lead astray 
 
 The heart that constant shall remain : 
 And I the while will sit and smile, 
 
 To see you spend your love in vain. 
 
 George Wither. 
 
WITH THE COMMONS. 137 
 
 AT A SOLEMN MUSIC. 
 
 jjLEST pair of Syrens, pledges of Heaven's joy, 
 Sphere-born harmonious sisters, Voice and 
 
 Verse, 
 
 Wed your divine sounds, and mixed power employ 
 Dead things with inbreathed sense able to pierce, 
 And to our high-raised fantasy present 
 That undisturbed song of pure consent, 
 Aye sung before the sapphire- colour' d throne 
 To Him that sits thereon, 
 With saintly shout and solemn jubilee ; 
 Where the bright Seraphim in burning row 
 Their loud uplifted angel-trumpets blow, 
 And the cherubic host in thousand quires 
 Touch their immortal harps of golden wires, 
 With those just spirits that wear victorious palms, 
 Hymns devout and holy psalms 
 Singing everlastingly : 
 That we on Earth with undiscording voice 
 May rightly answer that melodious noise ; 
 As once we did, till disproportion' d sin 
 Jarr'd against nature's chime, and with harsh din 
 Broke the fair music that all creatures made 
 To their great Lord, whose love their motion sway'd 
 In perfect diapason, whilst they stood 
 In first obedience, and their state of good. 
 Oh! may we soon again renew that Song, 
 And keep in tune with Heaven, till God ere long 
 To his celestial consort us unite, 
 To live with Him, and sing in endless morn of light ! 
 
 John Milton. 
 
1 58 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 THE POET. 
 
 Y art a poet is not made, 
 For though by art some better'd be, 
 Immediately his gift he had 
 From Thee, O God ! from none but Thee : 
 And fitted in the womb he was 
 To be, by what Thou didst inspire, 
 In extraordinary place, 
 A chaplain of this lower choir ; 
 Most poets future things declare, 
 And prophets, true or false, they are. [ 2 st. 
 
 But where this gift puffs up with pride, 
 
 The devil enters in thereby ; 
 
 And through the same doth means provide 
 
 To raise his own inventions high : 
 
 Blasphemous fancies are infused, 
 
 All holy new things are expell'd ; 
 
 He that hath most profanely mused, 
 
 Is famed as having most excelFd ; 
 
 And those are priests and prophets made 
 To Him from whom their strains they had. 
 
 Such were those poets who of old 
 To heathen gods their hymns did frame, 
 Or have blasphemous fables told, 
 To truth's abuse and virtue's blame : 
 Such are these poets in these days, 
 Who vent the fumes of lust and wine, 
 Then crown each other's heads with bays, 
 As if their poems were divine ; 
 
WITH THE COMMONS. 139 
 
 And such, though they some truths foresee, 
 False-hearted and false prophets be. 
 
 Therefore since I reputed am 
 
 Among these few on whom the times 
 
 Imposed have a poet's name, 
 
 Lord, give ine grace to shun their crimes. 
 
 My precious gift let me employ, 
 
 Not as imprudent poets use, 
 
 That grace and virtue to destroy 
 
 Which I should strengthen by my muse ; 
 But help to free them of the wrongs 
 Sustained by drunkards' rhymes and songs, [i st. 
 
 George Wither. 
 
 BERMUDAS. 
 
 \ HE RE the remote Bermudas ride, 
 In the ocean's bosom unespied ; 
 From a small boat, that row'd along, 
 The listening winds received this song. 
 
 "What should we do but sing His praise, 
 That led us through the watery maze, 
 Unto an isle so long unknown, 
 And yet far kinder than our own ? 
 Where he the huge sea-monsters wracks, 
 That lift the deep upon their backs, 
 He lands us on a grassy stage, 
 Safe from the storms, and prelate's rage. 
 He gave us this eternal spring, 
 Which here enamels every thing ; 
 And sends the fowls to us in care, 
 On daily visits through the air. 
 
J4Q CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 He hangs in shades the orange bright, 
 Like golden lamps in a green night, 
 And does in the pomegranates close, 
 Jewels more rich than Ormus shows ; 
 He makes the figs our mouths to meet, 
 And throws the melons at our feet, 
 But apples plants of such a price, 
 No tree could ever bear them twice ; 
 With cedars chosen by his hand, 
 From Lebanon, he stores the land, 
 And makes the hollow seas, that roar, 
 Proclaim the ambergris on shore. 
 He cast (of which we rather boast) 
 The gospel's pearl upon our coast; 
 And in these rocks for us did frame 
 A temple where to sound his name. 
 Oh ! let our voice his praise exalt, 
 Till it arrive at heaven's vault, 
 Which then, perhaps, rebounding, may 
 Echo beyond the Mexique Bay." 
 
 Thus sung they, in the English boat, 
 A holy and a cheerful note ; 
 And all the way, to guide their chime, 
 With falling oars they kept the time. 
 
 Andrew MarvelL 
 
 FROM SENECA. 
 
 There can be slain 
 No sacrifice to God more acceptable 
 Than an unjust and wicked King. 
 
 John Milton. 
 
WITH THE COMMONS. 141 
 
 FROM WITHER'S MOTTO. 
 
 (Nee fiabeo, nee careo, nee euro.) 
 
 HAVE no pleasure in acquaintance where 
 The rules of state and ceremony are 
 Observed so seriously, that I must dance 
 And act o'er all the compliments of France 
 And Spain and Italy before I can 
 Be taken for a well-bred Englishman ; 
 And every time we meet, be forced again 
 To put in action that most idle scene. 
 'Mong these, much precious time (unto my cost) 
 And much true, hearty meaning have I lost. 
 Which having found, I do resolve therefore 
 To lose my Time and Friendship so no more. 
 I have no Muses that will serve the turn 
 At every triumph, and rejoice or mourn 
 Upon a minute's warning for their hire, 
 If with old sherry they themselves inspire. 
 I am not of a temper like to those 
 That can provide an hour's sad talk in prose 
 For any funeral, and then go dine, 
 And choke my grief with sugar-plums and wine. 
 I cannot at the claret sit and laugh, 
 And then, half tipsy, write an epitaph. 
 I cannot (for my life) my pen compel 
 Upon the praise of any man to dwell, 
 Unless I know, or think, at least, his worth 
 To be the same which I have blazed forth. 
 Had I some honest suit, the gain of which 
 Would make me noble, eminent, and rich, 
 And that to compass it no means there were, 
 Unless I basely flatter'd some great peer ; 
 
142 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 Would with that suit my ruin I might get, 
 
 If on those terms I would endeavour it. 
 
 I have no friends, that once affected were, 
 
 But to my heart this day they sit as near 
 
 As when I most endeared them, though they seem 
 
 To fall from my opinion or esteem ; 
 
 For precious time in idle would be spent, 
 
 If I with all should always compliment ; 
 
 And till my love I may to purpose show, 
 
 I care not whe'r they think I love or no : 
 
 For sure I am, if any find me changed, 
 
 Their greatness, not their meanness, me estranged. 
 
 I have not been ashamed to confess 
 
 My lowest fortunes, or the kindnesses 
 
 Of poorest men ; nor have I proud been made 
 
 By any favour from a great man had. 
 
 I have not fear'd who my religion knows ; 
 
 Nor ever for preferment made I shows 
 
 Of what I was not. For, although I may 
 
 Through want be forced to put on worse array 
 
 Upon my body, I will ever find 
 
 Means to maintain a habit for my mind 
 
 Of truth in grain : and wear it in the sight 
 
 Of all the world, in all the world's despite. 
 
 What man is there among us doth not know 
 
 A thousand men this night to bed will go 
 
 Of many a hundred goodly things possest, 
 
 That shall have nought to-morrow but a chest, 
 
 And one poor sheet to lie in ? What I may 
 
 Next morning have, I know not ; but to-day 
 
 A friend, meat, drink, and fitting clothes to wear, 
 
 Some books and papers which my jewels are, 
 
 A servant and a horse, all this I have, 
 
 And, when I die, one promised me a grave. 
 
WITH THE COMMONS. 143 
 
 A grave, that quiet closet of content ; 
 And I have built myself a monument. 
 But, as I live, excepting only this, 
 Which of my wealth the inventory is, 
 I have so little, I my oath might save, 
 If I should take it, that I nothing have. 
 
 And yet what Want I ? or who knoweth how 
 I may be richer made than I am now ? 
 For as we see the smallest vials may 
 As full as greatest glasses be, though they 
 Much less contain, so my small portion gives 
 That full content to me in which he lives 
 Who most possesseth ; and with larger store 
 I might fill others, but myself no more. 
 To what contents do men most wealthy mount 
 Which I enjoy not ? If their cares we count, 
 My clothing keeps me full as warm as their, 
 My meats unto my taste as pleasing are ; 
 I feed enough my hunger to suffice ; 
 I sleep till I myself am pleased to rise ; 
 My dreams are sweet, and full of quiet be ; 
 My waking cares as seldom trouble me. 
 I .have as often times a sunny day, 
 And sport and laugh and sing as well as they ; 
 I breathe as wholesome and as sweet an air, 
 As loving is my mistress, and as fair. 
 My body is as healthy, and I find 
 As little cause of sickness in my mind. 
 I am as wise, I think, as some of those ; 
 And oft myself as foolishly dispose. 
 Yet I confess, in this my pilgrimage, 
 I like some infant am of tender age. 
 For as the child who from his father hath 
 Strayed in some grove, through many a crooked path, 
 
144 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 Is sometime hopeful that he finds the way, 
 And sometime doubtful he runs more astray ; 
 Sometime with fair and easy paths doth meet, 
 Sometime with rougher tracts that stay his feet ; 
 Here runs, there goes, and yon amazed stays, 
 Now cries, and straight forgets his care and plays ; 
 Then, hearing where his loving Father calls, 
 Makes haste, but, through a zeal ill-guided, falls ; 
 Or runs some other way, until that He 
 (Whose love is more than his endeavours be) 
 To seek the wanderer forth, Himself doth come, 
 And take him in His arms, and bear him home. 
 So in this life, this grove of ignorance, 
 As to my homeward I myself advance, 
 Sometime aright, and sometime wrong I go, 
 Sometime my pace is speedy, sometime slow ; 
 Sometime I stagger, and sometime I fall ; 
 Sometime I sing, sometime for help I call. 
 One while my ways are pleasant unto me, 
 Another while, as full of cares they be : 
 Now I have courage, and do nothing fear ; 
 Anon, my spirits half- dejected are. 
 I doubt, and hope, and doubt, and hope again, 9 
 And many a change of passions I sustain, 
 In this my journey : so that now and then, 
 I lost may seem perhaps to other men. 
 But, whatsoe'er betide, I know full well, 
 My Father who above the clouds doth dwell, 
 An eye upon his wandering child doth cast, 
 And He will fetch me to my home at last. 
 
 Then to vouchsafe me yet more favours here, 
 He that supplies my want hath took my Care. 
 A rush I care not who condemneth me, 
 That sees not what my soul's intentions be. 
 
WITH THE COMMONS. 145 
 
 I care not though to all men known it were, 
 Both whom I love, or hate ; for none I fear. 
 I care for no more time than will amount 
 To do my work and make up my account. 
 I care for no more money than will pay 
 The reckoning and the charges of the day ; 
 And if I need not now, I will not borrow, 
 For fear of wants that I may have to-morrow. 
 My mind's my kingdom, and I will permit 
 No other's will to have the rule of it. 
 For I am free ; and no man's power, I know, 
 Did make me thus, nor shall unmake me now. 
 But, through a spirit none can quench in me, 
 This Mind I got, and this my Mind shall be. 
 
 George Wither. 
 
 THE MANLY HEART. 
 
 SHALL I, wasting in despair, 
 
 Die because a woman's fair ? 
 
 Or make pale my cheeks with care, 
 'Cause another's rosy are ? 
 Be she fairer than the day, 
 Or the flowery meads in May, 
 If she be not so to me, 
 What care I how fair she be ! 
 
 Should my heart be grieved or pined 
 'Cause I see a woman kind ? 
 Or a well-disposed nature 
 Join'd with a lovely feature ? 
 Be she meeker, kinder than 
 Turtle-dove or pelican ; 
 If she be not so to me, 
 What care I how kind she be! 
 
146 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 Shall a woman's virtues move 
 Me to perish for her love ? 
 Or her well-deserving known 
 Make me quite forget mine own ? 
 Be she with that goodness blest, 
 That may gain her name of Best, 
 If she be not such to me, 
 What care I how good she be ! 
 
 'Cause her fortune seems too high, 
 Shall I play the fool and die ? 
 Those that bear a noble mind, 
 Where they want of riches find, 
 Think what with them they would do 
 That without them dare to woo : 
 And unless that mind I see, 
 What care I, though great she be ! 
 
 Great or good, or kind, or fair, 
 I will ne'er the more despair. 
 If she love me, this believe, 
 I will die ere she shall grieve. 
 If she slight me when I woo, 
 I can scorn and bid her go : 
 For if she be not for me, 
 What care I for whom she be ! 
 
 George Wither. 
 
 MAN'S DAY AND NIGHT. 
 (From Comus.) 
 
 |E that has light within his own clear breast 
 May sit i' th' centre, and enjoy bright day, 
 But he that hides a dark soul, and foul thoughts, 
 
 Benighted walks under the mid-day sun ; 
 
 Himself is his own dungeon. John Milton. 
 
WITH THE COMMONS. 147 
 
 TO THE NIGHTINGALE. 
 
 NIGHTINGALE, that on yon bloomy spray 
 Warblest at eve, when all the woods are still, 
 Thou with fresh hopes the Lover's heart dost 
 
 en, 
 
 While the jolly Hours lead on propitious May, 
 Thy liquid notes, that close the eye of Day, 
 
 First heard before the shallow Cuckoo's bill, 
 
 Portend success in love : Oh ! if Jove's will 
 Have link'd that amorous power to thy soft lay, 
 Now timely sing, ere the rude Bird of Hate 
 
 Foretell my hopeless doom, in some grove nigh : 
 As thou from year to year has sung too late 
 
 For my relief; yet hadst no reason why, 
 Whether the Muse or Love call thee his mate, 
 
 Both them I serve, and of their train am I. 
 
 John Milton. 
 
 FROM COMUS. 
 
 jjACCHUS, that first from out the purple grape 
 Crush' d the sweet poison of misused wine, 
 After the Tuscan mariners transform'd, 
 Coasting the Tyrrhene shore, as the winds listed, 
 On Circe's island fell who knows not Circe, 
 The daughter of the Sun ? whose charmed cup 
 Whoever tasted lost his upright shape, 
 And downward fell into a grovelling swine 
 This Nymph that gazed upon his clustering locks, 
 With ivy-berries wreathed, and his blithe youth, 
 Had by him, ere he parted thence, a Son 
 
148 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 Much like his Father, but his Mother more, 
 
 Whom therefore she brought up, and Comus named. 
 
 Who ripe, and frolic of his full-grown age, 
 
 Roving the Celtic and Iberian fields, 
 
 At last betakes him to this ominous wood, 
 
 And, in thick shelter of black shades embower'd, 
 
 Excels his mother at her mighty art ; 
 
 Offering to every weary traveller 
 
 His orient liquor in a crystal glass, 
 
 To quench the drought of Phoebus ; which as they taste 
 
 (For most do taste through fond intemperate thirst) 
 
 Soon as the Potion works, their human countenance, 
 
 The express resemblance of the gods, is changed 
 
 Into some brutish form of wolf, or bear, 
 
 Or ounce, or tiger, hog, or bearded goat, 
 
 All other parts remaining as they were, 
 
 And they, so perfect is their misery, 
 
 Not once perceive their foul disfigurement, 
 
 But boast themselves more comely than before ; 
 
 And all their friends and native home forget, 
 
 To roll with pleasure in a sensual sty. 
 
 COMUS enters with a Charming-Rod in one hand, his Glass 
 in the other ; with him a rout of monsters, headed like 
 sundry sorts of wild beasts, but otherwise like men and 
 women, their apparel glistering ; they come in making a 
 riotous and unruly noise, with torches in their hands. 
 
 Com. The star that bids the shepherd fold 
 Now the top of heaven doth hold, 
 And the gilded car of day 
 His glowing axle doth allay 
 In the steep Atlantic stream, 
 And the slope sun his upward beam 
 
WITH THE COMMONS. 149 
 
 Shoots against the dusky pole, 
 
 Pacing toward the other goal 
 
 Of his chamber in the east. 
 
 Meanwhile welcome joy and feast, 
 
 Midnight shout and revelry, 
 
 Tipsy dance and jollity. 
 
 Braid your locks with rosy twine, 
 
 Dropping odours, dropping wine. 
 
 Rigour now is gone to bed, 
 
 And Advice, with scrupulous head, 
 
 Strict Age, and sour Severity, 
 
 With their grave saws, in slumber lie. 
 
 We, that are of purer fire, 
 
 Imitate the starry quire, 
 
 Who, in their nightly watchful spheres, 
 
 Lead in swift round the months and years. 
 
 The sounds and seas, with all their finny drove, 
 
 Now to the moon in wavering morrice move ; 
 
 And, on the tawny sands and shelves, 
 
 Trip the pert fairies and the dapper elves. 
 
 By dimpled brook and fountain-brim, 
 
 The Wood-nymphs, deck'd with daisies trim, 
 
 Their merry wakes and pastimes keep : 
 
 What hath night to do with sleep ? 
 
 Night hath better sweets to prove, 
 
 Venus now wakes, and wakens Love. 
 
 Come, let us our rites begin, 
 
 'Tis only daylight that makes sin, 
 
 Which these dun shades will ne'er report. 
 
 Hail goddess of nocturnal sport, 
 Dark-veil'd Cotytto, t' whom the secret flame 
 Of mid-night torches burns; mysterious dame, 
 That ne'er art call'd but when the dragon-womb 
 Of Stygian darkness spets her thickest gloom, 
 
150 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 And makes one blot of all the air, 
 
 Stay thy cloudy ebon chair, 
 
 Wherein thou ridest with Hecat', and befriend 
 
 Us thy vow'd priests, till utmost end 
 
 Of all thy dues be done, and none left out ; 
 
 Ere the blabbing eastern scout, 
 
 The nice Morn on the Indian steep 
 
 From her cabin'd loophole peep, 
 
 And to the tell-tale Sun descry 
 
 Our conceal'd solemnity. 
 
 Come, knit hands, and beat the ground 
 
 In a light fantastic round. 
 
 John Milton. 
 
 FROM BRITAIN'S REMEMBRANCER. 
 To the King. (1628.) 
 
 KNOW there be occasions, times, and causes, 
 Which do require soft words and lowly phrases : 
 And then, like other men, I teach my Muse 
 To speak such language as my neighbours use. 
 
 But there are also times which will require 
 That we should with our numbers mingle fire : 
 And then I vent bold words that you and they 
 Who come to hear them, take occasion may 
 To ask or to examine, what's the matter, 
 My verse speaks tartly when most writers flatter. 
 For, by that means, you may experienced grow 
 In many things which else you should not know. 
 
 My lines are loyal, though they bold appear ; 
 And though at first they make some readers fear 
 
WITH THE COMMONS. 151 
 
 I want good manners, yet, when they are weigh'd, 
 
 It will be found that I have nothing said, 
 
 In manner or in matter, worthy blame, 
 
 If they alone shall judge me for the same 
 
 Who know true virtue's language ; and how free 
 
 From glozing terms her servants use to be. 
 
 I count not each man valiant who dares die, 
 
 Or venture on a mischief desperately, 
 
 When either heat of youth, or wine, or passion, 
 
 Shall whet him on before consideration ; 
 
 Nor will I any man a coward call, 
 
 Although I see him tremble and look pale 
 
 In dangerous attempts, unless he slack 
 
 His just resolves by basely stepping back. 
 
 Give me the man that with a quaking arm 
 
 Walks with a steadfast mind through greatest harm ; 
 
 And, though his flesh doth tremble, makes it stand 
 
 To execute what reason doth command. 
 
 Give me the soul that knowingly descries 
 
 All dangers, and all possibilities 
 
 Of outward perils, and yet doth persevere 
 
 In every lawful action howsoever. 
 
 Give me that heart which in itself doth war 
 
 With many frailties (who like traitors are 
 
 In some besieged fort), and hath to do 
 
 With outward foes and inward terrors too ; 
 
 Yet of himself and them a conquest makes, 
 
 And still proceeds in what he undertakes. 
 
 My prince and country, though perhaps I be 
 Not much to them, are both most dear to me. 
 And may I perish if, to save my life, 
 I would betwixt that couple nourish strife. 
 
152 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 I may, perchance, in what I best intend, 
 Have neither king nor people to my friend ; 
 Yet will I speak my mind to profit them, 
 Though both should, for my labour, me condemn. 
 Although we heed not, or else will not see 
 Those maladies which daily growing be, 
 I find (and I do much compassionate 
 What I behold) a rupture in the State 
 Of this great body. 
 
 Thou art this body, England, and thy head 
 
 Is our dread Sovereign. The distemper bred 
 
 Betwixt you two, from one of you doth flow, 
 
 And which it is I purpose here to show. 
 
 If in thy King, O Britain, aught amiss 
 
 Appears to be, 'twixt God and him it is. 
 
 Of Him he shall be judged. What to thee 
 
 Pertaineth it his censurer to be ? 
 
 Thy general voice but newly did confess 
 
 In him much virtue and much hopefulness ; 
 
 And he so late assumed his diadem, 
 
 That there hath scarce been time enough for him 
 
 Those evils to perform that may infer 
 
 A general mischief. Neither do I hear 
 
 Of ought, as yet, which thou to him canst lay 
 
 But that he doth to thee thy will deny, 
 
 Or, with a gentle stoutness, claim and strive 
 
 For what he thinks his just prerogative. 
 
 And why, I prithee, may not all this flow 
 
 From some corruptions which in thee do grow 
 
 Without his fault ? Why may not, for thy crimes, 
 
 Some instrument of Satan, in these times, 
 
 Be suffer'd to obscure from him a while 
 
 The truth of things, and his belief beguile 
 
WITH THE COMMONS. 153 
 
 With virtuous shows, discreet and good pretences, 
 
 To plague and punish thee for thy offences ? 
 
 Why may not God (and justly too) permit 
 
 Some sycophant, or cunning hypocrite, 
 
 For thy hypocrisies, to steal away 
 
 His heart from thee ? And goodly colours lay 
 
 On projects which may cause him to undo thee, 
 
 And think that he no wrong hath done unto thee ? 
 
 Nay, wherefore may not some thy king advise, 
 
 To that which seems to wrong thy liberties, 
 
 Yet in themselves be honest men and just, 
 
 Who have abused been by those they trust ? 
 
 Thy wickedness deserves it ; and that he, 
 
 Who in himself is good, should bring to thee 
 
 No profit by his goodness, but augment 
 
 Thy sorrows till thy follies thou repent ? 
 
 For what is in itself from evil free, 
 
 Is evil made to those that evil be. 
 
 Go cast yourselves before him with submission ; 
 
 Present him with petition on petition. 
 
 With one accord, and with a fearless face, 
 
 Inform him how much hindrance or disgrace, 
 
 Or danger to the land there may accrue, 
 
 If he your loyal counsel shall eschew. 
 
 For God, because his laws we disobey, 
 
 Us at our sovereign's feet doth mean to lay, 
 
 To humble us awhile. If we repent, 
 
 To all our loyal suits he will assent. 
 
 If otherwise, God will give up this land, 
 
 Our lives and freedoms all into his hand. 
 
 George Wither. 
 
i 5 4 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 THE FAIR SINGER. 
 
 make a final conquest of all me, 
 
 Love did compose so sweet an enemy, 
 In whom both beauties to my death agree, 
 Joining themselves in fatal harmony, 
 That, while she with her eyes my heart does bind, 
 She with her voice might captivate my mind. 
 
 I could have fled from one but singly fair ; 
 
 My disentangled soul itself might save, 
 Breaking the curled trammels of her hair ; 
 
 But how should I avoid to be her slave, 
 Whose subtle art invisibly can wreath 
 
 My fetters of the very air I breathe ? 
 
 It had been easy fighting in some plain, 
 
 Where victory might hang in equal choice ; 
 
 But all resistance against her is vain, 
 
 Who has the advantage both of eyes and voice ; 
 
 And all my forces needs must be undone, 
 
 She having gained both the wind and sun. 
 
 Andrew Marvell. 
 
 SONG ON MAY MORNING. 
 
 SOW the bright Morning-Star, Day's harbinger, 
 Comes dancing from the east, and leads with her 
 The flowery May, who from her green lap throws 
 The yellow cowslip and the pale primrose. 
 Hail, bounteous May, that dost inspire 
 Mirth, and youth, and warm desire ! 
 
WITH THE COMMONS. 155 
 
 Woods and groves are of thy dressing, 
 Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing. 
 Thus we salute thee with our early song, 
 And welcome thee, and wish thee long. 
 
 John Milton. 
 
 MUSIC'S EMPIKE. 
 
 IRST was the world as one great cymbal made, 
 Where jarring winds to infant nature play'd; 
 All music was a solitary sound, 
 
 To hollow rocks and murmuring fountains bound. 
 
 Jubal first made the wilder notes agree, 
 
 And Jubal tuned Music's jubilee ; 
 
 He call'd the echoes from their sullen cell, 
 
 And built the Organ's City, where they dwell ; 
 
 Each sought a consort in that lovely place, 
 
 And virgin trebles wed the manly bass ; 
 
 From whence the progeny of numbers new 
 
 Into harmonious colonies withdrew ; 
 
 Some to the lute, some to the viol went, 
 
 And others chose the cornet eloquent ; 
 
 These practising the wind, and those the wire, 
 
 To sing man's triumphs, or in heaven's choir. 
 
 Then Music, the mosaic of the air, 
 
 Did of all these a solemn noise prepare, 
 
 With which she gain'd the Empire of the ear, 
 
 Including all between the earth and sphere. 
 
 Victorious sounds ! yet here your homage do 
 
 Unto a gentler conqueror than you ; 
 
 Who, though he flies the music of his praise, 
 
 Would with you Heaven's Hallelujahs raise. 
 
 Andrew MarvelL 
 
156 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 TO MR. H. LAWES, ON HIS AIRS. 
 
 JARRY, whose tuneful and well-measured song 
 First taught our English music how to span 
 
 Words with just note and accent, not to scan 
 With Midas' ears, committing short and long, 
 Thy worth and skill exempts thee from the throng, 
 With praise enough for envy to look wan ; 
 To after-age thou shalt be writ the man, 
 That with smooth air could humour best our tongue. 
 Thou honourest verse, and verse must lend her wing 
 To honour thee, the priest of Phrebus' quire, 
 That tunest their happiest lines in hymn or story. 
 Dante shall give Fame leave to set thee higher 
 Than his Casella, whom he woo'd to sing, 
 Met in the milder shades of Purgatory. 
 
 John Milton. 
 
 LIBERTY. 
 (From a Sonnet.) 
 
 j]H[EY] bawl for freedom in their senseless 
 
 mood, 
 And still revolt when truth would set them 
 
 free. 
 
 Licence they mean when they cry liberty ; 
 For who loves that must first be wise and good ; 
 But from that mark how far they rove we see 
 For all this waste of wealth and loss of blood. 
 
 John Milton. 
 
WITH THE COMMONS. 157 
 
 WHEN THE ASSAULT WAS INTENDED TO 
 BRENTFORD. 
 
 5g^l APTAIN, or colonel, or knight in arms, 
 
 Whose chance on these defenceless doors may 
 seize, 
 
 If deed of honour did thee ever please, 
 
 Guard them, and him within protect from harms. 
 
 He can requite thee, for he knows the charms 
 That call fame on such gentle acts as these ; 
 And he can spread thy name o'er lands and seas, 
 Whatever clime the sun's bright circle warms. 
 
 Lift not thy spear against the Muses' bower. 
 The great Emathian conqueror bid spare 
 The house of Pindarus, when temple and tower 
 
 Went to the ground ; and the repeated air 
 Of sad Electra's poet had the power 
 To save the Athenian walls from ruin bare. 
 
 John Milton. 
 
 THE SOLDIER. 
 
 i OW in myself I notice take, 
 
 What life we soldiers lead, 
 My hair stands up, my heart doth ache, 
 My soul is full of dread ; 
 And to declare 
 This horrid fear, 
 Throughout my bones I feel 
 A shiv'ring cold 
 On me lay hold, 
 And run from head to heel. 
 
158 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 It is not loss of limbs or breath 
 Which hath me so dismayed, 
 Nor mortal wounds, nor groans of death 
 Have made me thus array'd : 
 When cannons roar, 
 I start no more 
 
 Than mountains from their place, 
 Nor feel I fears, 
 Though swords and spears 
 Are darted at my face. 
 
 A soldier it would ill become 
 
 Such common things to fear, 
 The shouts of war, the thundering drum, 
 His courage up doth cheer : 
 Though dust and smoke 
 His passage choke, 
 He boldly marcheth on, 
 And thinketh scorn 
 His back to turn, 
 Till all be lost or won. 
 
 The flashing fires, the whizzing shot, 
 
 Distemper not his wits ; 
 The barbed steed he dreadeth not, 
 Nor him who thereon sits ; 
 But through the field, 
 With sword and shield, 
 He cutteth forth his way, 
 And through a flood 
 Of reeking blood, 
 Wades on without dismay. 
 
 That whereupon the dread begins 
 Which thus apalleth me, 
 
WITH THE COMMONS. 159 
 
 Is that huge troop of crying sins 
 Which rife in soldiers be; 
 The wicked mind, 
 Wherewith I find 
 Into the field they go, 
 More terror hath, 
 Than all the wrath 
 And engines of the foe. [ i st. 
 
 Defend me. Lord ! from those misdeeds 
 
 W^hich my profession shame, 
 And from the vengeance that succeeds 
 When we are so to blame : 
 Preserve me far 
 From acts of war, 
 Where Thou dost peace command ; 
 And in my breast 
 Let mercy rest, 
 Though justice use my hand. [2 st. 
 
 Be Thou my leader to the field, 
 
 My head in battle arm ; 
 Be Thou a breastplate and a shield, 
 To keep my soul from harm ; 
 For live or die, 
 I will rely 
 
 On Thee, O Lord ! alone ; 
 And in this trust, 
 Though fall I must, 
 I cannot be undone. 
 
 George Wither. 
 
160 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 THE COLOURS TAKEN AT NASEBY. 
 (June I4th, 1645. From Vox Pacifica.) 
 
 [ HE scornful adversaries rushed on, 
 
 To policy and strength themselves commending, 
 The Lord of Hosts our friends relied upon, 
 
 With prayers fighting, and with faith defending : 
 And lo, God gave their foes into their hand : 
 For when He fighteth, who can then withstand ? 
 The victory was great, and every one 
 
 Observed what circumstances pleased him best ; 
 But that my thoughts did most insist upon, 
 
 (Which others peradventure minded least,) 
 These loyal ensigns from the field were brought, 
 
 The lion rampant and the dragon flying, 
 The roses and portcullis ; which methought 
 
 Were pledges future mercy signifying. 
 And so, no doubt, they shall be, if that race 
 
 To which God calleth us we now shall run ; 
 And better heed the tokens of this grace 
 
 And earnests of His love than we have done ; 
 For valiant Fairfax now hath sent us home 
 
 In hieroglyphic, signs of things to come. 
 
 The ramping lion (which doth signify 
 
 A raging tyrant) may an earnest be 
 That God will from oppressing tyranny 
 
 Upon our good abearing set us free. 
 A dragon is that most prodigious beast . 
 
 Whereby the Holy Ghost hath typified 
 That foe by whom the saints are most opprest, 
 
 And by whom daily they are crucified. 
 
WITH THE COMMONS. 161 
 
 The taking of that ensign may foreshew 
 
 That, if we faithfully the work endeavour, 
 The power of antichrist we shall subdue, 
 
 And from these islands cast his throne for ever. 
 Vouchsafe us power, O God, vouchsafe us grace 
 
 To drive him and his angels from this place. 
 The joining of the roses doth declare 
 
 That God will to these honours us restore, 
 Wherewith he crown'd us when, in peace and war, 
 
 We on our crest those lovely flowers wore. 
 Their blushing beauties are, to me, a sign 
 
 Of that delightful and soul- pleasing grace 
 Which will make lovely our church discipline 
 
 When God hath changed our discords into peace. 
 The sweetness and the virtues of the rose 
 Do seem to promise to us those effects, 
 And fruit which from internal graces flows, 
 
 Yea, and their prickles are, in some respects, 
 Significant, for I by them foresee 
 
 That his corrections always needful be. 
 By taking their portcullis from the foe 
 
 It may portend (and, if with penitence 
 We prosecute the work, it shall be so) 
 
 That we have taken from them their defence. 
 It may betoken also that God's hand 
 
 Will bar our gates and make our city strong, 
 And, by his mercy, fortify the land, 
 
 Against all them who seek to do us wrong. 
 But, for a surer token of this grace, 
 
 God sends us home, among the spoils of war, 
 That cabinet of mischief wherein was 
 
 The proof of what our foes' intentions are : 
 And that their projects God will still disclose, 
 And fool their policies, this prize foreshows. 
 
 M George Wither. 
 
i6z CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 ON THE NEW FORCERS OF CONSCIENCE 
 UNDER THE LONG PARLIAMENT. 
 
 BECAUSE you have thrown off your prelate-lord, 
 And with stiff vows renounced his liturgy, 
 To seize the widow'd whore Plurality 
 From them whose sin ye envied, not abhorr'd ; 
 Dare ye for this adjure the civil sword 
 
 To force our consciences that Christ set free, 
 And ride us with a classic hierarchy, 
 Taught ye by mere A. S. and Rotherfcrd ? 
 Men, whose life, learning, faith, and pure intent 
 Would have been held in high esteem with Paul, 
 Must now be named and printed heretics 
 By shallow Edwards and Scotch What-d'ye-call. 
 But we do hope to find out all your tricks, 
 Your plots and packing worse than those of Trent, 
 
 That so the Parliament 
 
 May, with their wholesome and preventive shears, 
 Clip your phylacteries, though bauk your ears, 
 
 And succour our just fears, 
 
 When they shall read this clearly in your charge, 
 New presbyter is but old priest writ large. 
 
 John Milton. 
 
 LABOUR AND CHEERFULNESS. 
 {From a Sonnet.) 
 
 \ O measure life learn thou betimes, and know 
 Toward solid good what leads the nearest way ; 
 For other things mild heaven a time ordains, 
 And disapproves that care, though wise in show, 
 That with superfluous burdens loads the day, 
 And when God sends a cheerful hour, refrains. 
 
 John Milton. 
 
WITH THE COMMONS. 163 
 
 TO THE LORD GENERAL FAIRFAX. 
 
 JAIRFAX, whose name in arms through Europe 
 
 rings, 
 
 Filling each mouth with envy or with praise, 
 And all her jealous monarchs with amaze 
 And rumours loud, that daunt remotest kings, 
 Thy firm unshaken virtue ever brings 
 
 Victory home, though new rebellions raise 
 Their hydra- heads, and the false North displays 
 Her broken league to imp their serpent-wings. 
 Oh ! yet a nobler task awaits thy hand . . . 
 For what can war but endless war still breed 
 Till truth and right from violence be freed, 
 And public faith clear'd from the shameful brand 
 Of public fraud ? In vain doth valour bleed, 
 While avarice and rapine share the land. 
 
 John Milton. 
 
 THE CONQUERED KING. 
 {From Prosopopoeia Britannica. 1648.) 
 
 REALM that fears to call her trustee to 
 Account for aught misdone, or left to do, 
 Is like those children who do fear the shows 
 Which they themselves set up to scare the crows ; 
 And they, who think you have no rightful power 
 To curb his fury who might you devour, 
 May think as well they should not put a clog, 
 Or hang a chain, upon a shepherd's dog, 
 
1 64 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 Although he daily bites and kills the sheep, 
 
 Which he was only bred and fed to keep. 
 
 Men do not use to hunt a beast of prey, 
 
 To take him and then let him go away. 
 
 Kings who without control the sceptre sway'd 
 
 As tameless are as lions that have prey'd, 
 
 Which, howsoever you shall use or feed them, 
 
 Will soon grow dangerous unless you heed them. 
 
 When he whose ancient birthright was quite lost 
 
 Hath by expense of labour, time and cost, 
 
 A lawful repossession of it sought, 
 
 And at the law his suit to trial brought ; 
 
 Obtain'd a verdict, judgment, execution, 
 
 And full possession without diminution, 
 
 What, for a friend ! I pray, were such a one 
 
 Who should persuade this man when all were done, 
 
 To waive his lawful right so dearly bought, 
 
 To treat with him who his undoing sought, 
 
 And, uncompell'd, refer unto debate 
 
 What he should take or leave of that estate ? 
 
 George Wither. 
 
 A HOKATIAN ODE 
 Upon Cromwell's return from Ireland. 
 
 3 HE forward youth that would appear, 
 Must now forsake his Muses dear, 
 
 Nor in the shadows sing 
 His numbers languishing : 
 'Tis time to leave the books in dust, 
 And oil the unused armour's rust, 
 Removing from the wall 
 The corselet of the hall. 
 
WITH THE COMMONS. 165 
 
 So restless Cromwell could not cease 
 In the inglorious arts of peace, 
 
 But through adventurous war 
 
 Urged his active star ; 
 And, like the three-forked lightning, first 
 Breaking the clouds where it was nurst, 
 
 Did thorough his own side 
 
 His fiery way divide ; 
 (For 'tis all one to courage high, 
 The emulous, or enemy, 
 
 And with such to inclose, 
 
 Is more than to oppose ;) 
 Then burning through the air he went, 
 And palaces and temples rent ; 
 
 And Caesar's head at last 
 
 Did through his laurels blast. 
 *Tis madness to resist or blame 
 The force of angry heaven's flame ; 
 
 And if we would speak true, 
 
 Much to the man is due, 
 Who from his private gardens, where 
 He lived reserved and austere, 
 
 As if his highest plot 
 
 To plant the bergamot, 
 Could by industrious valour climb 
 To ruin the great work of Time, 
 
 And cast the kingdoms old, 
 
 Into another mould. 
 Though Justice against Fate complain^ 
 And plead the ancient rights in vain, 
 
 (But those do hold or break, 
 
 As men are strong or weak,) 
 Nature, that hateth emptiness, 
 Allows of penetration less, 
 
1 66 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 And therefore must make room 
 
 Where greater spirits come. 
 What field of all the civil war, 
 Where his were not the deepest scar ? 
 
 And Hampton shows what part 
 
 He had of wiser art ; 
 Where, twining subtle fears with hope, 
 He wove a net of such a scope 
 
 That Charles himself might chase 
 
 To Carisbrook's narrow case, 
 That thence the royal actor borne, 
 The tragic scaffold might adorn, 
 
 While round the armed bands, 
 
 Did clap their bloody hands. 
 He nothing common did, or mean, 
 Upon that memorable scene, 
 
 But with his keener eye 
 
 The axe's edge did try ; 
 Nor called the gods with vulgar spite 
 To vindicate his helpless right, 
 
 But bow'd his comely head 
 
 Down, as upon a bed. 
 This was that memorable hour, 
 Which first assured the forced power ; 
 
 So, when they did design 
 
 The capitol's first line, 
 A bleeding head, where they begun, 
 Did fright the architects to run ; 
 
 And yet in that the state 
 
 Foresaw its happy fate. 
 And now the Irish are ashamed 
 To see themselves in one year tamed ; 
 
 So much one man can do, 
 
 That does both act and know. 
 
WITH THE COMMONS. 167 
 
 They can affirm his praises best, 
 And have, though overcome, confess'd 
 
 How good he is, how just, 
 
 And fit for highest trust. 
 Nor yet grown stifFer with command, 
 But still in the republic's hand, 
 
 (How fit he is to sway, 
 
 That can so well obey !) 
 He to the Commons' feet presents 
 A kingdom for his first year's rents ; 
 
 And, what he may, forbears 
 
 His fame, to make it theirs ; 
 And has his sword and spoils ungirt. 
 To lay them at the public's skirt : 
 
 So when the falcon high 
 
 Falls heavy from the sky, 
 She, having kill'd, no more doth search 
 But on the next green bough to perch ; 
 
 Where, when he first does lure, 
 
 The falconer has her sure. 
 What may not then our isle presume, 
 While victory his crest does plume ? 
 
 What may not others fear, 
 
 If thus he crowns each year' ? 
 As Caesar, he, ere long, to Gaul, 
 To Italy a Hannibal, 
 
 And to all states not free, 
 
 Shall climacteric be. 
 The Pict no shelter now shall find 
 Within his parti-colour'd mind, 
 
 But, from this valour sad, 
 
 Shrink underneath the plaid ; 
 Happy, if in the tufted brake, 
 The English hunter him mistake, 
 
168 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 Nor lay his hounds in near 
 
 The Caledonian deer. 
 But thou, the war's and fortune's son, 
 March indefatigably on, 
 
 And for the last effect, 
 
 Still keep the sword erect ; 
 Beside the force it has to fright 
 The spirits of the shady night, 
 
 The same arts that did gain 
 
 A power, must it maintain. 
 
 Andrew MarvelL 
 
 TO THE LORD GENERAL CROMWELL. 
 MAY 16, 1652. 
 
 On the Proposals of certain Ministers of the Committee 
 for the Propagation of the Gospel. 
 
 fijtt$ ROMWELL, our chief of men, who through a 
 
 L K^*^J 1 .. 
 
 cloud 
 
 Not of war only, but detractions rude, 
 
 Guided by faith and matchless fortitude, 
 
 To peace and truth thy glorious way hast plough'd, 
 
 And on the neck of crowned Fortune proud 
 
 Hast rear'd God's trophies, and his work pursued, 
 While Darwen stream with blood of Scots imbrued, 
 And Dunbar field resounds thy praises loud, 
 
 And Worcester's laureate wreath. Yet much remains ' 
 To conquer still ; peace hath her victories 
 No less renown'd than war : new foes arise 
 
 Threatening to bind our souls with secular chains. 
 Help us to save free conscience from the paw 
 Of hireling wolves, whose Gospel is their maw. 
 
 John Milton. 
 
WITH THE COMMONS. 169 
 
 TO SIR HENRY VANE THE YOUNGER. 
 (1652?) 
 
 jjANE, young in years, but in sage counsel old, 
 Than whom a better senator ne'er held 
 The helm of Rome, when gowns not arms repell'd 
 The fierce Epirot and the African bold ; 
 Whether to settle peace, or to unfold 
 
 The drift of hollow states hard to be spell'd ; 
 Then to advise how war may, best upheld, 
 Move by her two main nerves, iron and gold, 
 In all her equipage ; besides to know- 
 Both spiritual power and civil, what each means, 
 What severs each, thou hast learn'd, which few have 
 
 done. 
 
 Tiie bounds of either sword to thee we owe : 
 Therefore on thy firm hand Religion leans 
 In peace, and reckons thee her eldest, son. 
 
 FROM " THE PROTECTOR." 
 (1655.) 
 
 1HIS glorious title hath in it exprest, 
 No stamp of self-selection like the rest, 
 But marks forth one (as if from heaven sent 
 
 down), 
 
 Who seeks his people's weal more than his own. 
 It is the chiefest of God's attributes, 
 Which he to these men whom he here deputes, 
 Communicates ; and ought therefore by none 
 To be assumed but God-like men alone, 
 
I7o CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 Who in their hearts have purposed to be, 
 At least by imitation, such as He : 
 And ready to contribute, in His stead, 
 Due succours to all suppliants in their need. 
 It is a name of mercy and affection, 
 Which not alone engageth to protection, 
 But likewise to a strenuous opposition 
 Of tyrant's tyrannies and all oppression. 
 For to be called a Nation to protect 
 Implies (at least in some degree) the effect 
 Of every means which may be helpful to 
 Those works which God provided him to do ; 
 And nobler is, in that respect, than those 
 Loud-sounding titles which our fathers chose. 
 
 George Wither. 
 
 THE FIRST ANNIVERSARY OF THE GOVERNMENT 
 
 UNDER HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS THE 
 
 LORD PROTECTOR. 
 
 the vain curlings of the watery maze, 
 Which in smooth streams a sinking weight doth 
 
 raise, 
 
 So man, declining, always disappears 
 In the weak circles of increasing years ; 
 And his short tumults of themselves compose, 
 While flowing time above his head doth close. 
 
 Cromwell alone, with greater vigour runs, 
 (Sun-like) the stages of succeeding suns, 
 
WITH THE COMMONS. 171 
 
 And slill the day which he doth next restore, 
 
 Is the just wonder of the day before ; 
 
 Cromwell alone doth with new lustre spring, 
 
 And shines the jewel of the yearly ring. 
 
 'Tis he the force of scatter'd time contracts, 
 
 And in one year the work of ages acts : 
 
 While heavy monarchs make a wide return, 
 
 Longer and more malignant than Saturn, 
 
 And they, though all Platonic years should reign, 
 
 In the same posture would be found again ; 
 
 Their earthly projects under ground they lay, 
 
 More slow and brittle than the China clay ; 
 
 Well may they strive to leave them on their son, 
 
 For one thing never was by one king done. 
 
 Yet some, more active, for a frontier town 
 
 Took in by proxy, begs a false renown ; 
 
 Another triumphs at the public cost, 
 
 And will have won, if he no more have lost ; 
 
 They fight by others, but in person wrong, 
 
 And only are against their subjects strong. [4-S U. 
 
 All other matters yield, and may be ruled, 
 But who the minds of stubborn men can build ? 
 No quarry bears a stone so hardly wrought, 
 Nor with such labour from its centre brought : 
 None to be sunk in the foundation bends, 
 Each in the house the highest place contends ; 
 And each the hand that lays him will direct, 
 And some fall back upon the architect ; 
 Yet all, composed by his attractive song, 
 Into the animated city throng. \_iill. 
 
 When for his foot he thus a place had found, 
 He hurls e'er since the world about him round ; 
 
172 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 And in his several aspects, like a star, 
 Here shines in peace, and thither shoots a war, 
 While by his beams observing princes steer, 
 And wisely court the influence they fear. [ 
 
 Unhappy princes, ignorantly bred, 
 By malice some, by error more misled, 
 If gracious Heaven to my life give length, 
 Leisure to time, and to my weakness strength, 
 Then shall I once with graver accents shake 
 Your regal sloth and your long slumbers wake, 
 Like the shrill huntsman that prevents the east, 
 Winding his horn to kings that chase the beast ! 
 
 Till then my muse shall halloo far behind 
 Angelic Cromwell, who outwings the wind, 
 And in dark nights, and in cold days, alone 
 Pursues the monster thorough every throne, 
 Which shrinking to her Roman den impure, 
 Gnashes her gory teeth ; nor there secure. 
 
 Hence oft I think, if in some happy hour 
 High grace should meet in one with highest power, 
 And then a seasonable people still 
 Should bend to his, as he to Heaven's will, 
 What we might hope, what wonderful effect 
 From such a wish'd conjuncture might reflect ! 
 Sure, the mysterious work, where none withstand, 
 Would forthwith finish under such a hand ; 
 Foreshortened time its useless course would stay, 
 And soon precipitate the latest day ; 
 But a thick cloud about that morning lies, 
 And intercepts the beam to mortal eyes, 
 That 'tis the most which we determine can, 
 If these the times, then this must be the man ; 
 
WITH THE COMMONS. 173 
 
 And well he therefore does, and well has guess'd, 
 Who in his age has always forward press'd 
 And knowing not where Heaven's choice may light, 
 Girds yet his sword, and ready stands to fight. [io//. 
 
 And thou, great Cromwell, for whose happy birth 
 A mould was chosen out of better earth, 
 Whose saint-like mother we did lately see 
 Live out an age, long as a pedigree, 
 That she might seem, could we the fall dispute, 
 To have smelt the blossom, and not eat the fruit, 
 Though none does of more lasting parents grow, 
 Yet never any did them honour so. 
 Though thou thine heart from evil still sustained, 
 And always hast thy tongue from fraud refrained, 
 Thou, who so oft through storms of thundering lead 
 Hast borne securely thine undaunted head ; 
 Thy breast through poniarding conspiracies, 
 Drawn from the sheath of lying prophecies, 
 The proof beyond all other force or skill, 
 Our sins endanger, and shall one day kill. 
 How near they fail'd, and in thy sudden fall, 
 At once assay'd to overturn us all ! 
 Our British fury, struggling to be free, 
 Hurried thy horses, while they hurried thee ; 
 When thou hadst almost quit thy mortal cares, 
 And soil'd in dust thy crown of silver hairs. [i//. 
 
 But the poor beasts, wanting their noble guide, 
 (What could they more ?) shrunk guiltily aside : 
 First winged fear transports them far away, 
 And leaden sorrow then their flight did stay. 
 See how they both their towering crests abate, 
 And the green grass and their known mangers hate, 
 Nor through wide nostrils snuff the wanton air, 
 
i 7 4 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 Nor their round hoofs or curled manes compare ; 
 With wandering eyes and restless ears they stood, 
 And with shrill neighings ask'd him of the wood. [i4#. 
 
 But thee triumphant, hence, the fiery car 
 And fiery steeds had borne out of the war. [4 II. 
 
 For all delight of life thou then didst lose, 
 When to command thou didst thyself depose, 
 Resigning up thy privacy so dear, 
 To turn the headstrong people's charioteer ; 
 For to be Cromwell was a greater thing, 
 Than aught below, or yet above, a king : 
 Therefore thou rather didst thyself depress, 
 Yielding to rule, because it made thee less. 
 
 For neither didst thou from the first apply 
 Thy sober spirit unto things too high ; 
 But in thine own fields exercisedst long 
 A healthful mind within a body strong, 
 Till at the seventh time, thou in the skies, 
 As a small cloud, like a man's hand didst rise. [4 II. 
 
 What since thou didst, a higher force thee push'd 
 Still from behind, and it before thee rush'd. 
 Though undiscern'd among the tumult blind, 
 Who think those high decrees by man designed, 
 'Twas Heaven would not that e'er thy power should 
 
 cease, 
 
 But walk still middle betwixt war and peace ; 
 Choosing each stone, and poising every weight, 
 Trying the measures of the breadth and height, 
 Here pulling down, and there erecting new, 
 Founding a firm state by proportions true. 
 
 When Gideon so did from the war retreat, 
 Yet by the conquest of two kings grown great, 
 He on the peace extends a warlike power, 
 
WITH THE COMMONS. 175 
 
 And Israel, silent, saw him rase the tower, 
 And how he Succoth's elders durst suppress 
 With thorns and briers of the wilderness ; 
 No king might ever such a force have done, 
 Yet would not he be lord, nor yet his son. 
 
 Thou with the same strength, and a heart so plain, 
 Didst like thine olive still refuse to reign ; 
 Though why should others all thy labour spoil, 
 And brambles be anointed with thine oil, 
 Whose climbing flame, without a timely stop, 
 Had quickly levelPd every cedar's top ? 
 Therefore, first growing to thyself a law, 
 The ambitious shrubs thou in just time didst awe. 
 
 So have I seen at sea, when whirling winds 
 Hurry the bark, but more the seamen's minds, 
 Who with mistaken course salute the sand, 
 And threatening rocks misapprehend for land, 
 While baleful tritons to the shipwreck guide, 
 And corposants x along the tucklings slide,- 
 The passengers all wearied out before, 
 Giddy, and wishing for the fatal shore, 
 Some lusty mate, who with more careful eye, 
 Counted the hours, and every star did spy, 
 The helm does from the artless steersman strain, 
 And doubles back unto the safer main : 
 What though awhile they grumble, discontent? 
 Saving himself, he does their loss prevent. 
 
 'Tis not a freedom that, where all command, 
 ' Nor tyranny, where one does them withstand ; 
 But who of both the bounders knows to lay, 
 Him, as their father, must the state obey. 
 
 1 Meteoric lights; from Spanish, "cuerpo santo." 
 
176 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 Thou and thy house, like Noah's eight did rest, 
 Left by the war's flood, on the mountain's crest ; 
 And the large vale lay subject to thy will, 
 Which thou but as an husbandman, wouldst till ; 
 And only didst for others plant the vine 
 Of liberty, not drunken with its wine. [54 //. 
 
 So while our star that gives us light and heat, 
 Seem'd now a long and gloomy night to threat, 
 Up from the other world his flame doth dart, 
 And princes, shining through their windows, start ; 
 Who their suspected counsellors refuse, 
 And credulous ambassadors accuse : 
 " Is this," saith one, " the nation that we read, 
 " Spent with both wars, under a captain dead ! 
 " Yet rig a navy, while we dress us late, 
 44 And ere we dine, rase and rebuild a state ? 
 " What oaken forests, and what golden mines ! 
 44 What mints of men, what union of designs ! [i//. 
 44 What refuge to escape them can be found, 
 " Whose watery leaguers all the world surround ? 
 u Needs must we all their tributaries be, 
 " Whose navies hold the sluices of the sea ! 
 44 The ocean is the fountain of command, 
 " But that once took, we captives are on land ; 
 " And those that have the waters for their share, 
 " Can quickly leave us neither earth nor air ; 
 " Yet if through these our fears could find a pass 
 41 Through double oak, and lined with treble brass ; 
 " That one man still, although but named, alarms 
 * 4 More than all men, all navies, and all arms ; 
 u Him all the day, him in late nights I dread, 
 41 And still his sword seems hanging o'er my head. 
 
WITH THE COMMONS. 177 
 
 " The nation had been ours, but his one soul 
 
 " Moves the great bulk, and animates the whole, 
 
 *' He secrecy with number hath inchased, 
 
 u Courage with age, maturity with haste ; 
 
 " The valiant's terror, riddle of the wise, 
 
 " And still his falchion all our knots unties. 
 
 " Where did he learn those arts that cost us dear ? 
 
 " Where below earth, or where above the sphere ? 
 
 " He seems a king by long succession born, 
 
 " And yet the same to be a king doth scorn. 
 
 u Abroad a king he seems, and something more, 
 
 " At home a subject on the equal floor ; 
 
 u Or could I once him with our title see, 
 
 " So should I hope yet he might die as we. 
 
 44 But let them write his praise that love him best, 
 
 " It grieves me sore to have thus much confest." 
 
 Pardon, great Prince, if thus their fear or spite, 
 More than our love and duty do thee right ; 
 I yield, nor further will the prize contend, 
 So that we both alike may miss our end ; 
 While thou thy venerable head dost raise 
 As far above their malice as my praise ; 
 And, as the angel of our commonweal, 
 Troubling the waters, yearly mak'st them heal. 
 
 Andrew Marvell. 
 
 UNCAGED. 
 
 From " The Mistresse of Philarete" 
 
 I OR I will for no man's pleasure 
 Change a syllable or measure : [4 IL 
 Pedants shall not tie my strains 
 
 To their antique poets' veins. [2- U. 
 
 Being born as free as these, 
 
 I will sing as I shall please. George Wither. 
 
 N 
 
i 7 8 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 TO CYRIAC SKINNER. 
 (1655.) 
 
 3, this three-years-day these eyes, though 
 clear, 
 
 To outward view, of blemish or of spot, 
 Bereft of light, their seeing have forgot, 
 
 Nor to their idle orbs doth sight appear 
 Of sun, or moon, or star, throughout the year, 
 Or man, or woman. Yet I argue not 
 Against Heaven's hand or will, nor bate a jot 
 Of heart or hope ; but still bear up and steer 
 Right onward. What supports me, dost thou ask ? 
 The conscience, Friend, to have lost them overplied 
 In Liberty's defence, my noble task, 
 Of which all Europe rings from side to side. 
 
 This thought might lead me through the world's vain 
 
 mask, 
 Content though blind, had I no better guide. 
 
 John Milton. 
 
 ON THE LATE MASSACRE IN PIEMONT. 
 (1655.) 
 
 VENGE, O Lord, thy slaughter'd saints, whose 
 
 bones 
 
 Lie scatter'd on the Alpine mountains cold ; 
 Even them who kept thy truth so pure of old, 
 When all our fathers worshipp'd stocks and stones, 
 
WITH THE COMMONS. 179 
 
 Forget not : in thy book record their groans 
 Who were thy sheep, and in their ancient fold 
 Slain by the bloody Pieraontese, that roll'd 
 Mother with infant down the rocks. Their moans 
 
 The vales redoubled to the hills, and they 
 
 To heaven. Their martyr' d blood and ashes sow 
 O'er all the Italian fields, where still doth sway 
 
 The triple tyrant ; that from these may grow 
 A hundredfold, who, having learn' d thy way, 
 Early may fly the Babylonian woe. 
 
 John Milton. 
 
 ON THE VICTORY OBTAINED BY BLAKE, 
 
 Over the Spaniards, in the Bay of Santa Cruz^ in the 
 Island of Teneriffe, 1657. 
 
 OW does Spam's fleet her spacious wings unfold, 
 Leaves the new world, and hastens for the old ; 
 But though the wind was fair, they slowly swum, 
 Freighted with acted guilt, and guilt to come : 
 For this rich load, of which so proud they are, 
 Was raised by tyranny, and raised for war. 
 Every capacious galleon's womb was fill'd 
 With what the womb of wealthy kingdoms yield ; 
 The new world's wounded entrails they had tore, 
 For wealth wherewith to wound the old once more, 
 Wealth which all other's avarice might cloy, 
 But yet in them caused as much fear as joy. 
 For now upon the main themselves they saw 
 That boundless empire, where you give the law ; 
 Of wind's and water's rage they fearful be, 
 But much more fearful are your flags to see. 
 
igo CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 Day, that to those who sail upon the deep 
 More wish'd for and more welcome is than sleep, 
 They dreaded to behold, lest the sun's light 
 With English streamers should salute their sight : 
 In thickest darkness they would choose to steer, 
 So that such darkness might suppress their fear. 
 At length it vanishes, and fortune smiles, 
 For they behold the sweet Canary isles, 
 One of which doubtless is by nature bless'd 
 Above both worlds, since 'tis above the rest. 
 For lest some gloominess might stain her sky, 
 Trees there the duty of the clouds supply : 
 O noble trust which heaven on this isle pours, 
 Fertile to be, yet never need her showers ! 
 A happy people, which at once do gain 
 The benefits, without the ills, of rain ! 
 Both health and profit fate cannot deny, 
 Where still the earth is moist, the air still dry. 
 The jarring elements no discord know, 
 Fuel and rain together kindly grow ; 
 And coolness there with heat does never fight, 
 This only rules by day, and that by night. 
 Your worth to all these isles a just right brings, 
 The best of lands should have the best of kings ; 
 And these want nothing heaven can afford, 
 Unless it be, the having you their lord. 
 But this great want will not a long one prove, 
 Your conquering sword will soon that want remove ; 
 For Spain had better, she'll ere long confess, 
 Have broken all her swords, than this one peace. 
 Casting that league off, which she held so long, 
 She cast off that which only made her strong, 
 Forces and art, she soon will feel, are vain, 
 Peace, against you, was the sole strength of Spain ; 
 
WITH THE COMMONS. 181 
 
 By that alone those islands she secures, 
 
 Peace makes them hers, but war will make them yours. 
 
 There the rich grape the soil indulgent breeds, 
 
 Which of the gods the fancied drink exceeds ; 
 
 They still do yield, such is their precious mould, 
 
 All that is good, and are not cursed with gold ; 
 
 With fatal gold, for still where that does grow 
 
 Neither the soil, nor people, quiet know ; 
 
 Which troubles men to raise it when 'tis ore, 
 
 And when 'tis raised does trouble them much more. 
 
 Ah, why was thither brought that cause of war, 
 
 Kind nature had from thence removed so far ! 
 
 In vain doth she those islands free from ill, 
 
 If fortune can make guilty what she will. 
 
 But whilst I draw that scene, where you, ere long, 
 
 Shall conquests act, you present are unsung. 
 
 For Santa Cruz the glad fleet takes her way, 
 And safely there casts anchor in the bay ; 
 Never so many, with one joyful cry, 
 That place saluted, where they all must die. 
 Deluded men ! Fate with you did but sport, 
 You 'scaped the sea, to perish in your port ; 
 'Twas more for England's fame you should die there, 
 Where you had most of strength and least of fear. 
 The Peak's proud height the Spaniards all admire, 
 Yet in their breasts carry a pride much higher. 
 Only to this vast hill a power is given, 
 At once both to inhabit earth and heaven ; 
 But this stupendous prospect did not near 
 Make them admire, so much as they did fear. 
 
 For here they met with news, which did produce 
 A grief, above the cure of grape's best juice. 
 
1 82, CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 They learn'd with terror, that nor summer's heat, 
 Nor winter's storms, had made your fleet retreat. 
 To fight against such foes was vain, they knew, 
 Which did the rage of elements subdue, 
 Who on the ocean, that does horror give 
 To all beside, triumphantly do live. 
 
 With haste they therefore all their galleons moor, 
 And flank with cannon from the neighbouring shore ; 
 Forts, lines, and sconces, all the bay along, 
 They build, and act all that can make them strong. 
 
 Fond men ! who know not whilst such works they 
 
 raise, 
 
 They only labour to exalt your praise. 
 Yet they by restless toil became at length 
 So proud and confident of their made strength, 
 That they with joy their boasting general heard 
 Wish then for that assault he lately fear'd. 
 His wish he had, for now undaunted Blake, 
 With winged speed, for Santa Cruz does make. 
 For your renown, the conquering fleet does ride 
 O'er seas as vast as is the Spaniard's pride ; 
 Whose fleet and trenches view'd, you soon did say, 
 We to their strength are more obliged than they ; 
 Wer't not for that, they from their fate would run, 
 And a third world seek out, our arms to shun. 
 Those forts, which there so high and strong appear, 
 Do not so much suppress, as show their fear ; 
 Of speedy victory let no man doubt, 
 Our worst work pass'd, now we have found them out : 
 Behold their navy does at anchor lie, 
 And they are ours, for now they cannot fly. 
 
 This said, the whole fleet gave it their applause, 
 
WITH THE COMMONS. 183 
 
 And all assume your courage, in your cause. 
 That bay they enter, which unto them owes 
 The noblest wreaths which victory bestows ; 
 Bold Stanier leads ; this fleet's design'd by fate 
 To give him laurel, as the last did plate. 
 
 The thundering cannon now begins the fight, 
 And, though it be at noon, creates a night ; 
 The air was soon, after the fight begun, 
 Far more enflamed by it, than by the sun. 
 Never so burning was that climate known ; 
 War turn'd the temperate to the torrid zone. 
 
 Fate these two fleets, between both worlds, had 
 
 brought, 
 
 Who fight, as if for both those worlds they sought. 
 Thousands of ways, thousands of men there die, 
 Some ships are sunk, some blown up in the sky. 
 Nature ne'er made cedars so high aspire 
 As oaks did then, urged by the active fire 
 Which, by quick powder's force, so high was sent 
 That it return'd to its own element. 
 Torn limbs some leagues into the island fly, 
 Whilst others lower, in the sea, do lie ; 
 Scarce souls from bodies sever'd are so far 
 By death, as bodies there were by the war. 
 The all-seeing sun ne'er gazed on such a sight. 
 Two dreadful navies there at anchor fio-ht, 
 
 O " 
 
 And neither have, or power, or will, to fly ; 
 There one must conquer, or there both must die. 
 Far different motives yet engaged them thus, 
 Necessity did them, but choice did us, 
 A choice which did the highest worth express, 
 And was attended by as high success. 
 
184 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 For your resistless genius there did reign, 
 By which we laurels reap'd e'en on the main : 
 So prosperous stars, though absent to the sense, 
 Bless those they shine for by their influence. 
 
 Our cannon now tears every ship and sconce, 
 And o'er two elements triumphs at once ; 
 Their galleons sunk, their wealth the sea does fill, 
 The only place where it can cause no ill. 
 
 Ah ! would those treasures which both Indias have 
 Were buried in as large, and deep a grave ! 
 War's chief support with them would buried be, 
 And the land owe her peace unto the sea. 
 Ages to come your conquering arms will bless, 
 There they destroy'd what had destroy'd their peace ; 
 And in one war the present age may boast, 
 The certain seeds of many wars are lost. 
 
 All the foe's ships destroy'd by sea or fire, 
 Victorious Blake does from the bay retire. 
 His siege of Spain he then again pursues, 
 And there first brings of his success the news ; 
 The saddest news that e'er to Spain was brought, 
 Their rich fleet sunk, and ours with laurel fraught, 
 Whilst fame in every place her trumpet blows, 
 And tells the world how much to you it owes. 
 
 Andrew Mar mil. 
 
WITH THE COMMONS. 185 
 
 A POEM UPON THE DEATH OF HIS LATE 
 HIGHNESS THE LORD PROTECTOR. 
 
 HAT Providence which had so long the care 
 Of Cromwell's head, and numbered every hair, 
 Now in itself (the glass where all appears) 
 
 Had seen the period of his golden years, 
 And thenceforth only did attend to trace 
 What death might least so fair a life deface. 
 
 The people, which what most they fear esteem, 
 Death when more horrid so more noble deem, 
 And blame the last act, like spectators vain, 
 Unless the Prince whom they applaud be slain. 
 Nor fate indeed can well refuse the right 
 To those that lived in war, to die in fight. 
 
 But long his valour none had left that could 
 Endanger him, or clemency that would ; 
 And he (whom nature all for peace had made, 
 But angry heaven unto war had sway'd, 
 And so less useful where he most desired, 
 For what he least affected, was admired) 
 Deserved yet an end whose every part 
 Should speak the wondrous softness of his heart. 
 To Love and Grief the fatal writ was signed, 
 (Those nobler weaknesses of human kind, 
 From which those Powers that issued the decree, 
 Although immortal, found they were not free) 
 That they to whom his breast still open lies 
 In gentle passions, should his death disguise, 
 And leave succeeding ages cause to mourn, 
 As long as grief shall weep, or love shall burn. 
 
186 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 Straight does a slow and languishing disease, 
 Eliza, Nature's and his darling, seize ; 
 Her, when an infant, taken with her charms, 
 He oft would flourish in his mighty arms, 
 And lest their force the tender burthen wrong, 
 Slacken the vigour of his muscles strong, 
 Then to the mother's breast her softly move, 
 Which, while she drain'd of milk, she fill'd with love. 
 But as with riper years her virtue grew, 
 And every minute adds a lustre new ; 
 When with meridian height her beauty shined, 
 And thorough that sparkled her fairer mind ; 
 When she with smiles serene, in words discreet, 
 His hidden soul at every turn could meet : 
 Then might you've daily his affection spied, 
 Doubling that knot which destiny had tied, 
 While they by sense, not knowing, comprehend 
 How on each other both their fates depend. 
 With her each day the pleasing hours he shares, 
 And at her aspect calms his growing cares ; 
 Or with a grandsire's joy her children sees, 
 Hanging about her neck, or at his knees. 
 Hold fast, dear infants, hold them both, or none ; 
 This will not stay, when once the other's gone. 
 A silent fire now wastes those limbs of wax, 
 And him within his tortured image racks ; 
 So the flower withering which the garden crown'd, 
 The sad root pines in secret under ground. 
 Each groan he doubled, and each sigh she sigh'd 
 Repeated over to the restless night ; 
 No trembling string, composed to numbers new, 
 Answers the touch in notes more sad, more true. 
 She, lest he grieve, hides, what she can, her pains, 
 And he, to lessen her's, his sorrow feigns ; 
 
WITH THE COMMONS. 187 
 
 Yet both perceived, yet both conceal'd their skills, 
 
 And so, diminishing, increased their ills, 
 
 That whether by each other's grief they fell, 
 
 Or on their own redoubled, none can tell. [34#. 
 
 A secret cause does sure those signs ordain, 
 Foreboding princes' falls, and seldom vain : 
 Whether some kinder powers, that wish us well, 
 What they above cannot prevent, foretell ; 
 Or the great world do by consent presage, 
 As hollow seas with future tempests rage ; 
 Or rather Heaven, which us so long foresees, 
 Their funerals celebrate, while it decrees. 
 But never yet was any human fate 
 By nature solemnized with so much state : 
 He unconcern' d the dreadful passage crost, 
 But oh ! what pangs that death did Nature cost ! 
 
 First the great thunder was shot off, and sent 
 The signal from the starry battlement. 
 The winds receive it, and its force outdo, 
 As practising how they could thunder too. 
 Out of the binder's hand the sheaves they tore, 
 And thrash'd the harvest in the airy floor ; 
 Or of huge trees, whose growth with his did rise, 
 The deep foundations open'd to the skies ; 
 Then heavy showers the winged tempests lead, 
 And pour the deluge o'er the chaos' head. 
 The race of warlike horses at his tomb, 
 Offer themselves in many a hecatomb ; 
 With pensive head towards the ground they fall, 
 And helpless languish at the tainted stall. 
 Numbers of men decrease with pains unknown, 
 And hasten (not to see his death) their own. 
 
i S3 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 Such tortures all the elements unfix'd, 
 Troubled to part where so exactly mix'd ; 
 And as through air his wasting spirits flow'd, 
 The world with throes labour' d beneath their load. 
 
 Nature, it seem'd, with him would nature vie, 
 He with Eliza, it with him would die. 
 
 He without noise still travelled to his end, 
 As silent suns to meet the night descend. 
 The stars, that for him fought, had only power 
 Left to determine now his fatal hour, 
 Which since they might not hinder, yet they cast 
 To choose it worthy of his glories past. 
 !N"o part of time but bare his mark away 
 Of honour, all the year was Cromwell's day ; 
 But this, of all the most auspicious found, 
 Twice had in open field him victor crown'd, 
 When up the armed mountains of Dunbar 
 He march'd, and through deep Severn, ending war. 
 What day should him eternize, but the same 
 That had before immortalized his name, 
 That so whoe'er would at his death have joy'd, 
 In their own griefs might find themselves employed, 
 But those that sadly his departure grieved, 
 Yet joy'd, remembering what he once achieved ? 
 And the last minute his victorious ghost 
 Gave chase to Ligny on the Belgic coast : 
 Ere, ended all his mortal toils, he laid 
 And slept in peace under the laurel-shade. 
 
 O Cromwell ! Heaven's favourite, to none 
 Have such high honours from above been shown, 
 For whom the elements we mourners see, 
 And Heaven itself would the great herald be, 
 
WITH THE COMMONS. 189 
 
 Which with more care set forth his obsequies 
 Than those of Moses, hid from human eyes ; 
 As jealous only here, lest all be less 
 Than we could to his memory express. 
 
 Then let us too our course of mourning keep ; 
 Where Heaven leads, 'tis piety to weep. 
 Stand back ye seas, and shrunk beneath the veil 
 Of your abyss, with cover'd head bewail 
 Your monarch. We demand not your supplies 
 To compass-in our isle, our tears suffice, 
 Since him away the dismal tempest rent, 
 Who once more join'd us to the continent; 
 Who planted England on the Flanderic shore, 
 And stretch' d our frontier to the Indian ore ; 
 Whose greater truths obscure the fables old, 
 Whether of Uritish saints or worthies told, 
 And in a valour lessening Arthur's deeds, 
 For holiness the Confessor exceeds. 
 
 He first put arms into Religion's hand, 
 And timorous conscience unto courage mann'd ; 
 The soldier taught that inward mail to wear, 
 And fearing God, how they should nothing fear. 
 Those strokes, he said, will pierce through all below, 
 Where those that strike from Heaven fetch their blow. 
 Astonish'd armies did their flight prepare, 
 And cities strong were stormed by his prayer. 
 Of that for ever Preston's field shall tell 
 The story, and impregnable Clonmel, 
 And where the sandy mountain Fenwick scaled, 
 The sea between, yet hence his prayer prevailed. 
 What man was ever so in heaven obey'd 
 Since the commanded sun o'er Gibeon stay'd ? 
 
190 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 In all his wars, needs must he triumph, when 
 
 He conquer'd God still ere he fought with men : 
 
 Hence, though in battle none so brave or fierce, 
 
 Yet him the adverse steel could never pierce ; 
 
 Pity it seem'd to hurt him more, that felt 
 
 Each wound himself which he to others dealt, 
 
 Danger itself refusing to offend 
 
 So loose an enemy, so fast a friend. 
 
 Friendship, that sacred virtue, long does claim 
 
 The first foundation of his house and name : 
 
 But within one its narrow limits fall, 
 
 His tenderness extended unto all, 
 
 And that deep soul through every channel flows, 
 
 Where kindly Nature loves itself to lose. 
 
 More strong affections never reason served, 
 
 Yet still affected most what best deserved. 
 
 If he Eliza loved to that degree, 
 
 (Though who more worthy to be loved than she ?) 
 
 If so indulgent to his own, how dear 
 
 To him the children of the Highest were ! 
 
 For her he once did Nature's tribute pay ; 
 
 For these his life adventured every day : 
 
 And 'twould be found, could we his thoughts have cast, 
 
 Their griefs struck deepest, if Eliza's last. 
 
 What prudence more than human did he need 
 
 To keep so dear, so differing minds agreed ? 
 
 The worser sort, so conscious of their ill, 
 
 Lie weak and easy to the ruler's will ; 
 
 But to the good (too many or too few) 
 
 All law is useless, all reward is due. 
 
 Ah ! ill-advised, if not for love, for shame, 
 
 Spare yet your own, if you neglect his fame ; 
 
 Lest others dare to think your zeal a mask, 
 
 And you to govern only Heaven's task. 
 
WITH THE COMMONS. 191 
 
 Valour, Religion, Friendship, Prudence died 
 
 At once with him, and all that's good beside ; 
 
 And we, Death's refuge, Nature's dregs, confined 
 
 To loathsome life, alas ! are left behind. 
 
 Where we (so once we used) shall now no more, 
 
 To fetch day, press about his chamber-door. 
 
 From which he issued with that awful state, 
 
 It seem'd Mars broke through Janus' double gate, 
 
 Yet always temper'd with an air so mild, 
 
 No April suns that e'er so gently smiled ; 
 
 No more shall hear that powerful language charm, 
 
 Whose force oft spared the labour of his arm ; 
 
 No more shall follow where he spent the days 
 
 In war, in counsel, or in prayer and praise, 
 
 Whose meanest acts he would himself advance, 
 
 As ungirt David to the ark did dance. 
 
 All, all is gone of ours or his delight 
 
 In horses fierce, wild deer, or armour bright ; 
 
 Francisca fair can nothing now but weep, 
 
 Nor with soft notes shall sing his cares asleep. 
 
 I saw him dead : a leaden slumber lies, 
 And mortal sleep over those wakeful eyes ; 
 Those gentle rays under the lids were fled, 
 Which through his looks that piercing sweetness 
 
 shed; 
 
 That port, which so majestic was and strong, 
 Loose, arid deprived of vigour, stretch'd along ; 
 All wither'd, all discoloured, pale and wan, 
 How much another thing ; no more that Man ! 
 O, human glory vain, O, Death, O, wings ! 
 O, worthless world, O, transitory things ! 
 Yet dwelt that greatness in his shape decay'd, 
 That still, though dead, greater than death he laid ; 
 
192 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 And in his alter'd face you something feign 
 
 That threatens death he yet will live again. 
 
 Not much unlike the sacred oak, which shoots 
 
 To heaven its branches, and through earth its roots, 
 
 Whose spacious boughs are hung with trophies round, 
 
 And honour'd wreaths have oft the victor crownM ; 
 
 When angry Jove darts lightning through the air 
 
 At mortal sins, nor his own plant will spare, 
 
 It groans and bruises all below, that stood 
 
 So many years the shelter of the wood, 
 
 The tree, erewhile foreshortened to our view, 
 
 When fall'n shows taller yet than as it grew. 
 
 So shall his praise to after times increase, 
 
 W 7 hen truth shall be allowed, and faction cease. 
 
 And his own shadows with him fall ; the eye 
 
 Detracts from objects than itself more high ; 
 
 But when Death takes them from that envied state, 
 
 Seeing how little, we confess how great. 
 
 Thee, many ages hence, in martial verse 
 Shall the English soldier, ere he charge, rehearse ; 
 Singing of thee, inflame himself to fight, 
 And, with the name of Cromwell, armies fright. 
 As long as rivers to the seas shall run, 
 As long as Cynthia shall relieve the sun, 
 While stags shall fly unto the forests thick, 
 While sheep delight the grassy downs to pick, 
 As long as future time succeeds the past, 
 Always thy honour, praise, and name shall last ! [3 ? //. 
 
 Andrew Marvell. 
 
WITH THE COMMONS. 193 
 
 ROYAL RESOLUTIONS. 
 
 5JHEN plate was at pawn, and fob at an ebb, 
 And spider might weave in bowels its web, 
 And stomach as empty as brain ; 
 
 Then Charles without acre, 
 
 Did swear by his Maker, 
 
 If e'er I see England again, 
 
 I'll have a religion all of my own, 
 
 Whether Popish or Protestant shall not be known ; 
 
 And if it prove troublesome, I will have none. 
 
 I'll have a long parliament always to friend, 
 And furnish my treasure as fast as I spend, 
 And if they will not, they shall have an end. [ i st. 
 
 My insolent brother shall bear all the sway ; 
 
 If parliaments murmur, I'll send him away, 
 
 And call him again as soon as I may. [2 st. 
 
 VII. 
 
 The ancient nobility I will lay by> 
 
 And new ones create their rooms to supply, 
 
 And they shall raise fortunes for my own frv. 
 
 VIII* 
 
 Some one I'll advance from a common descent, 
 So high that he shall hector the parliament, 
 And all wholesome laws for the public prevent, 
 
1 94 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 And I will assert him to such a degree 
 
 That all his foul treasons, though daring and high, 
 
 Under my hand and seal shall have indemnity. [3 st. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 I'll wholly abandon all public affairs, 
 
 And pass all my time with buffoons and players, 
 
 And saunter to Nelly when I should be at prayers. 
 
 I'll have a fine pond with a pretty decoy, 
 Where many strange fowl shall feed and enjoy, 
 And still in their language quack Vive le Roy ! 
 
 Andrew Mar veil. 
 
 THE CONTENTED MAN'S MORRICE. 
 (From Speculum Speculation, 1660.) 
 
 jjHESE words in youth my motto were, [3 st. 
 
 And mine in age I'll make them, 
 I neither Have, nor Want, nor Care ; 
 When also first I spake them, 
 
 I thought things would be as they are, 
 And meekly, therefore, take them. 
 
 The riches I possess this day 
 
 Are no such goods of fortune 
 As king can give or take away, 
 
 Or tyrants make uncertain ; 
 For hid within myself they are, 
 
 Behind an unseen curtain. 
 
WITH THE COMMONS. 195 
 
 Of my degree but few or none 
 
 Were daily so frequented ; 
 But now I'm left of every one, 
 
 And therewith well contented. 
 For when I am with God alone, 
 
 Much folly is prevented. 
 
 Then why should I give way to grief? 
 
 Come, strike up pipe and tabor ; 
 He that aflfecteth God in chief, 
 
 And as himself his neighbour, 
 May still enjoy a happy life, 
 
 Although he lives by labour. [5 at. 
 
 For service done and love exprest, 
 
 Though very few regard it, 
 My country owes me bread at least ; 
 
 But, if I be debarr'd it, 
 Good conscience is a daily feast, 
 
 And sorrow never marr'd it. 
 
 There is no trust in temp'ral things, 
 
 For they are all unsteady : 
 That no assurance from them springs, 
 
 Too well I find already ; 
 And that e'en parliaments and kings, 
 
 Are frail, or false, or giddy. 
 
 All stands upon a tott'ring wheel, 
 
 Which never fix'd abideth ; 
 Both Commonweals and Kingdoms reel : 
 
 He that in them confideth 
 (Or trust their faith) shall mischief fed, 
 
 With which soe'er he sideth. [6 st. 
 
196 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 This only doth my mirth allay, 
 
 I am to some engaged 
 Who sigh and weep, and suffer may 
 
 Whilst thus I sing encaged : 
 But I've a God, and so have they, 
 
 By whom that care's assuaged. 
 
 And he that gives us in these days 
 New Lords may give us new laws ; 
 
 So that our present puppet-plays, 
 Our whimsies, brawls, and gewgaws, 
 
 May turned be to songs of praise, 
 And holy hallelujahs. 
 
 George Wither. 
 
 FROM SAMSON AGONISTES. 
 
 THE DAY or DELIVERANCE. 
 
 HOW comely it is, and how reviving, 
 To the spirits of just men long oppress'd, 
 When God into the hands of their deliverer 
 Puts invincible might, 
 
 To quell the mighty of the earth, the oppressor, 
 The brute and boisterous force of violent men, 
 Hardy and industrious to support 
 Tyrannic power, but raging to pursue 
 The righteous, and all such as honour truth. 
 
WITH THE COMMONS. 197 
 
 THE DAY OF DOUBT. 
 
 jOD of our fathers, what is man ! 
 
 That thou toward him with hand so various 
 '* Or might I say contrarious, 
 Temper'st thy providence through his short course ; 
 Not evenly, as thou rulest 
 
 The angelic orders and inferior creatures mute, 
 Irrational and brute. 
 Nor do I name of men the common rout, 
 That, wandering loose about, 
 Grow up and perish, as the summer-fly, 
 Heads without name, no more remember 1 d ; 
 But such as thou hast solemnly elected, 
 With gifts and graces eminently adorn'd, 
 To some great work, thy glory, 
 And people's safety, which in part they effect : 
 Yet toward these thus dignified, thou oft, 
 Amidst their height of noon, 
 Changest thy countenance, and thy hand, with no regard 
 
 Of highest favours past 
 
 From thee on them, or them to thee of service. 
 Nor only dost degrade them, or remit 
 
 To life obscured, which were a fair dismission ; 
 
 But throw'st them lower than thou didst exalt them 
 high, 
 
 Unseemly falls in human eye, 
 
 Too grievous for the trespass or omission ; 
 
 Oft leavest them to the hostile sword 
 
 Of heathen and profane, their carcasses 
 
 To dogs and fowls a prey, or else captiv'd ; 
 
 Or to the unjust tribunals, under change of times, 
 
 And condemnation of the ingrateful multitude. 
 
198 CAVALIER AND PURITAN. 
 
 If these they 'scape, perhaps in poverty 
 
 With sickness and disease thou bow'st them down, 
 
 Painful diseases and deformed, 
 
 In crude old age ; 
 
 Though not disordinate, yet causeless suffering 
 
 The punishment of dissolute days. In fine, 
 
 Just or unjust, alike seem miserable, 
 
 For oft alike both come to evil end. 
 
 THE CLOSE. 
 
 LL is best, though we oft doubt 
 What the unsearchable dispose 
 Of Highest Wisdom brings about, 
 
 And ever best found in the close. 
 
 Oft He seems to hide His face, 
 
 But unexpectedly returns, 
 
 And to his faithful champion hath in place 
 
 Bore witness gloriously ; whence Gaza mourns, 
 
 And all that band them to resist 
 
 His uncontrollable intent ; 
 
 His servants He, with new acquist 
 
 Of true experience from this great event, 
 
 With peace and consolation hath dismiss'd, 
 
 And calm of mind, all passion spent. 
 
 John Milton. 
 
NOTES. 
 
 5 AGE 23. On his Majesty's receiving the news of the Duke 
 of Buckingham' 's assassination. He "was at the public 
 
 prayers of the Church, when Sir John Hippesley came 
 
 into the room, with a troubled countenance, and without any 
 pause, in respect of the exercise they were performing, went di- 
 rectly to the king and whispered in his ear what had fallen out. 
 His Majesty continued unmoved, and without the least change 
 in his countenance, till prayers were ended." Clarendon. 
 
 Page 87. The Arrest of the Five Members. " Force was to 
 be met by force ; and when Charles and his armed attendants 
 passed through the lobby of the House of Commons, on the 4th 
 of January, the Civil War had substantially begun. Clarendon 
 himself admits as much when he calls it ( the most visible intro- 
 duction to all the misery that afterwards befel the king and 
 kingdom.' " Forster s "Arrest of the Five Members" 
 
 Page 89. Keinton is another name for Edgehill, the first great 
 battle of the Civil War. 
 
 Page 95. A Western Wonder. Before the battle of Edgehill 
 the Parliament, entirely possessed of Devonshire, drew its forces 
 to Launceston to catch Sir Kalph Hopton and his adherents. 
 Hopton raised 3000 men " for the dispersing of that unlawful 
 assembly at Launceston." Sir George Chadleigh, a gentleman 
 of fortune in the county, upon the news of Hopton's advance 
 came with five or six troops of horse within three miles of Laun- 
 ceston. But the Parliament force quitted Launceston that night. 
 Hopton entered next morning, and he and his men presently 
 became masters of Cornwall. Hopton and his Cornishmen having 
 presently afterwards defeated a Parliamentary force at Bradoch 
 Down, the Earl of Stamford retired into Tavistock to protect a 
 part of Devonshire, but on Hopton's approach quitted Tavistock 
 in haste, some of his force going to Plymouth, some to Exeter. 
 
 Page 107. When the king enjoys his own again. Booker, Pond, 
 Hammond, Rivers, Swallow, Dade, and the Man in the Moon, 
 were names attached to the astrological almanacs of the day. 
 
 Page 162. On the New Forces of Conscience. "A. S." an- 
 swered, in 1643, a pamphlet in which the Independents argued 
 on behalf of toleration. Samuel Rutherford was a Scotch Di- 
 vinity professor who took part in the settlement of points of 
 Presbyterian discipline, and afterwards showed his temper in a 
 " Disputation on Pretended Liberty of Conscience." 
 
 Page 173. Hurried thy horses. The wits and poets of the 
 time made much of the incident of Cromwell's being thrown from 
 his coach in the park (Sept. 1654) while driving a runaway team 
 of six Friesland horses which had been given to him bv the 
 Duke of Oldenburg. 
 
AN EPITAPH. 
 
 He whom Heaven did call away 
 Out of this Hermitage of clay, 
 Has left fome reliques in this Urne 
 As a pledge of his returne. 
 Meane while y* Mufes doe deplore 
 The loffe of this their paramour 
 W tk whom he f ported ere y e day 
 Budded forth its tender ray. 
 And now Apollo leaues his laies 
 And puts on cypres for his bayes. 
 The f acred fiflers tune their quills 
 Onely toy' blubbering rills 
 And whilft his doome they thinke upon 
 Make their owne teares their Helicon. 
 Leaving y e two-topt mount divine 
 To turne votaries to hisjhrine. 
 Thinke not (reader} mee leJJTe blefl 
 Sleeping in this narrow cifl 
 Than if my aJJies did lie hid 
 Under fome ft ate ly pyramid. 
 If a rich tombe ?nakes happy, y n 
 That Bee was happier far y n men 
 Who busie iny" thymie wood 
 Was fettered byy e golden flood, 
 Wchfrof Amber-weeping Tree 
 Diftilleth downe fo plenteoujly. 
 fforfo this little wanton Elfe 
 Moft glorioujly enjhrind itfelfe. 
 A tombe whofe beauty might compare 
 W th Cleopatrasfepulcher. 
 In this little bed my dujl 
 Incurtaind round I here entruft, 
 Whilfl my more pure and nobler part 
 Lyes entomb" d in every heart. 
 
 Then pafs on gently ye y* mourne, 
 Touch not this mine hollow 'd Urne 
 
a list of TBoofes 
 
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 The Publishers' Circular, and General Record of British and 
 
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 with lists of all the publishing houses. 
 
 Published regularly on the 1st and 15th of every Month, and forwarded 
 post free to all parts of the world on payment of 8s. per annum. 
 
 A Handbook to the Charities of London. By Sampson Low, 
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 tunate. Cloth limp, Is. 6d. 
 
 Prince Albert's Golden Precepts. Second Edition, with Photo- 
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 Our Little Ones in Heaven : Thoughts in Prose and Verse, se- 
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 Rural Essays. With Practical Hints on Farming and Agricul- 
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List of Publications. 1 1 
 
 BIOGRAPHY, TRAVEL, AND ADVENTURE. 
 
 Life of John James Audubon, the Naturalist, in- 
 cluding his Romantic Adventures in the back woods of 
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 Edited, from materials supplied by his widow, by Ixobert Bu- 
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 Christian Heroes in the Army and Navy. By Charles Rogers, 
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 Leopold the First, King of the Belgians ; from unpublished 
 documents, by Theodore Juste. Translated by Robert Black, M.A 
 
 [ In preparation. 
 
 Fredrika Bremer's Life, Letters, and Posthumous Works. 
 Edited by her sister, Charlotte Bremer; translated from the Swedish 
 by Fred. Milow. Post 8vo. cloth. 105. 6d. 
 
 The Rise and Fall of the Emperor Maximilian : an Authentic 
 
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 Correspondence. With Portrait, 8vo. price 10s. 6d. 
 
 Madame Recamier, Memoirs and Correspondence of. Trans- 
 lated from the French and edited by J. M. Luyster. With Portrait. 
 Crown 8vo. 7s. 6d. 
 
 Plutarch's Lives. An entirely new Library Edition, carefully 
 revised and corrected, with some Original Translations by the Editor. 
 Edited by A. H. Clough, Esq. sometime Fellow of Oriel College, Oxford, 
 and late Professor of English Language and Literature at University 
 College. 5 vols. 8vo. cloth. 2/. 10s. 
 
 Social Life of the Chinese : a Daguerreotype of Daily Life in 
 China. Condensed from the Work of the Rev. J. Doolittle, by the Rev. 
 Paxton Hood. With above 100 Illustrations. Post 8vo. price 8s. Qd. 
 
 The Open Polar Sea : a Narrative of a Voyage of Discovery 
 towards the North Pole. By Dr. Isaac I. Hayes. An entirely new and 
 cheaper edition. With Illustrations. Small post 8vo. 6s. 
 
 The Physical Geography of the Sea and its Meteorology ; or, the 
 Economy of the Sea and its Adaptations, its Salts, its Waters^, its Climates, 
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 mercial Uses or Industrial Pursuits. By Commander M. F. Maury, LL.D 
 Tenth Edition. With Charts. Post 8vo. cloth extra, 5s. 
 
 Captain Hall's Life with the Esquimaux. New and cheaper 
 Edition, with Coloured Engravings and upwards of 100 Woodcuts. With 
 a Map. Price 7s. Qd. cloth extra. Forming the cheapest and most popu- 
 lar Edition of a work on Arctic Life and Exploration ever published. 
 
 " This is a very remarkable book, and unless we very much misunder- 
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 nations do well to be proud." Spectator. 
 
12 Sampson Low and Co.'s 
 
 The Black Country and its Green Border Land ; or, Expedi- 
 tions and Explorations round Birmingham, Wolverhampton, &c. By 
 Elihu Burritt. 8vo. cloth, price 12s. 
 
 A Walk from London to John O'Groats, and from London to 
 the Land's End and Back. With Notes by the Way. By .Elihu Burritt. 
 Two vols. price 6.?. each, with Illustrations. 
 
 " JVo one can take up this book icithout reading it through. We had 
 thought that Elihu Burritt' s ' Walk to John O' Groat's .House ' ivas the 
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 lively, and practical were the details he had brought together ; but he has 
 beaten his former literary production out of the field by this additional 
 evidence of acuteness, impartiality, and good sound sense." Bell's Weekly 
 Messenger. 
 
 The Voyage Alone ; a Sail in the " Yawl, Rob Roy." By John 
 
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 A Thousand Miles in the Rob Roy Canoe, on Rivers and Lakes 
 
 of Europe. By John M'Gregor, M.A. Fifth edition. With a Map, 
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 The Rob Roy on the Baltic. A Canoe Voyage in Norway, 
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 NEW BOOKS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE. 
 
 TORIES of the Gorilla Country, narrated for Young 
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 tions, 6s. 
 
 " It luould be hard to find a more interesting book for boys than this." 
 Times. 
 
 " Young people will obtain from it a very considerable amount of in- 
 formation touching the manners and customs, ways and means of Africans, 
 and of course great amusement in the accounts of the Gorilla. The book 
 is really a meritorious ivork, and is elegantly got up." Athenaeum. 
 
 Life amongst the North and South American Indians. By 
 
 George Catlin. And Last Rambles amongst the Indians beyond the 
 Rocky Mountains and the Andes. With numerous Illustrations by the 
 Author. 2 vols. small post 8vo. 5s. each, cloth extra. 
 " An admirable book, full of useful information, wrapt up in stories 
 
 boys ^^^ 
 
 that it sustains such compar 
 
 Athenaeum. 
 
List of Publications. 13 
 
 The Marvels of Optics. By F. Marion. Translated and edited 
 by C. W. Quin. With 60 Illustrations. Cloth extra. 5s. 
 
 " A most instructive and entertaining volume, comprising not only a 
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 laws of light, as illustrated by the latest discoveries and experiments of our 
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 Thunder and Lightning. From the French of De Fonvielle, by D. T 
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 Alwyn Morton ; his School and his Schoolfellows. A Story of 
 
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 The Silver Skates ; a Story of Holland Life. Edited by W. H. G. 
 
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 The Voyage of the Constance ; a tale of the Polar Seas. By 
 
 Mary Gillies. New Edition, with 8 Illustrations by Charles Keene. Fcap. 
 
 3s. 6d. 
 The Boy's Own Book of Boats. A Description of every Craft 
 
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 Second edition, enlarged. Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. 
 " This well-written, well-wrought book." Athenaeum. 
 
 Also by the same Author, 
 
 Ernest Bracebridge ; or, Boy's Own Book of Sports. 3s. 6d. 
 The Fire Ships. A Story of the Days of Lord Cochrane. 5s. 
 The Cruise of the Frolic. 5s. 
 Jack Buntline : the Life of a Sailor Boy. 2s. 
 
 The True History of Dame Perkins and her Grey Mare, and 
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 Great Fun Stories. Told by Thomas Hood and Thomas Archer 
 to 48 coloured pictures of Edward Wehnert. Beautifully printed in 
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 Or in Eight separate books, Is. each, coloured. Qd. plain. 
 The Cherry-coloured Cat. The Live Rocking- Horse. Master Mis- 
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 Great Fun and More Fun for our Little Friends. By Harriet 
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 A Book of Laughter for Young and Old. 
 
 A Bushel of Merry-Thoughts, by Wilhelm Busch. Including the 
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14 Sampson Low and Co.'s 
 
 Under the Waves ; or the Hermit Crab in Society. By Annie 
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 4s. ; gilt edges, 4s. %d. 
 
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 Little Bird Red aud Little Bird Blue. Coloured, 5s. 
 Snow-Flakes, and what they told the Children. Coloured, 5s. 
 Child's Book of the Sagacity of Animals. 5s. ; or coloured, 7s. 6d. 
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 The Nursery Playmate. 200 Pictures. 5s. ; or coloured, 9s. 
 
 Golden Hour ; a Story for Young People. By Sir Lascelles 
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 Black Panther; a Boy's Adventures among the Red Skins. 
 Stanton Grange ; or, Boy Life at a Private Tutor's. By the Rev. C. J. 
 Atkinson. 
 
 Paul Duncan's Little by Little ; a Tale for Boys. Edited by 
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 cloth 2s. ; gilt edges, 2s. <od. Also, same price, 
 
 Boy Missionary ; a Tale for Young People. By Mrs. J. M. Parker. 
 Difficulties Overcome. By Miss Brightwell. 
 
 The Babes in the Basket : a Tale in the West Indian Insurrection. 
 Jack Buntline ; the Life of a Sailor Boy. By W. H. G. Kingston. 
 
 The Swiss Family Robinson ; or, the Adventures of a Father and 
 Mother and Four Sons on a Desert Island. With Explanatory Notes and 
 Illustrations. First and Second Series. New Edition, complete in one 
 volume, 3s. 6d. 
 
 Geography for my Children. By Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe. 
 
 Author of " Uncle Tom's Cabin," &c. Arranged and Edited by an Eng- 
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 Illustrations. Cloth extra, 4s. 6d. 
 
 Stories of the Woods ; or, the Adventures of I eather-Stockin^ : 
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 Child's Play. Illustrated with Sixteen Coloured Drawings by 
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 cloth extra, bevelled cloth, 7s. 6d. The Original Edi tion of this work 
 was published at One Guinea. 
 
List of Publications. 1 5 
 
 BELLES LETTRES, FICTION, &c. 
 
 r^ AVID GRAY ; and other Essays, chiefly on Poetry. 
 By Robert Buchanan, author of " London Poems," " North 
 Coast,' 1 &.Q. In one vol. leap. 8vo. price 6s. 
 
 " The book is one to possess as well as read, not only for the 
 biographical essay on David Gray, an essay of much more 
 than deep interest, of rare power, and a strange unimpassioned pathos, 
 but also for certain passages of fine original criticism, occurring in essays 
 thickly sprinkled, we admit, with foreign substances on poetry, and the 
 religion and aims which modern poets should put before them." Spectator. 
 
 The Book of the Sonnet; being Selections, with an Essay on 
 Sonnets and Sonneteers. By the late Leigh Hunt. Edited, from the 
 original MS. with Additions, by S. Adams Lee. 2 vols. price ISs. 
 
 " Heading a book of this sort should make us feel proud of our language 
 and of our literature, and proud also of that cultivated common nature 
 ivhich can raise so many noble thoughts and images out of this hard, sullen 
 world into a thousand enduring forms of beauty. The k Book of the Son- 
 net,' should be a classic, and the professor as well as the student of English 
 will find it a icork of deep interest and completeness." London Review. 
 
 English and Scotch Ballads, &c. An extensive Collection. De- 
 signed as a Complement to the Works of the British Poets, and embracing 
 nearly all the Ancient and Traditionary Ballads both of England and 
 Scotland, in all the important varieties of form in which they are extant, 
 with Notices of the kindred Ballads of other Nations. Edited by F. J. 
 Child, new Edition, revised by the Editor. 8 vols. fcap. cloth, 3s. Qd. each. 
 
 The Autocrat of the Breakfast Table. By Oliver Wendell 
 Holmes, LL.D. Popular Edition, Is. Illustrated Edition, choicely 
 printed, cloth extra, 6s. 
 
 The Professor at the Breakfast Table. By Oliver Wendell Holmes, 
 Author of "The Autocrat of the Breakfast-Table." Cheap Edition, 
 fcap. 3s. 6d. 
 
 " A welcome book. It may be taken up again and again, and its pages 
 paused over for the enjoyment of the pleasant touches and suggestive 
 passages which they contain." Athenaeum. 
 
 Bee-Keeping. By "The Times" Bee-master. Small post 8 vo. 
 numerous Illustrations, cloth, os. 
 
 " Our friend the Bee-master has the knack of exposition, and knows 
 how to tell a story well; over and above which, he tells a story so that 
 thousands can take a practical, and not merely a speculative interest in it." 
 Times. 
 
 Queer Little People. By the Author of " Uncle Tom's Cabin." 
 Fcap. Is. Also by the same Author. 
 The Little Foxes that Spoil the Grapes, Is. 
 House and Home Papers, Is. 
 
 The Pearl of Orr's Island, Illustrated by Gilbert, 5s. 
 The Minister's Wooing. Illustrated by Phiz, 5s. 
 
16 Sampson Low and Co.'s List of Publications. 
 
 Entertaining and Excellent Stories for Young Ladies, 3s. Gd. each, 
 cloth, gilt edges. 
 
 Helen Felton's Question: a Book for Girls. By Agnes Wylde, 
 Faith Gartney's Girlhood. By Mrs. D. T. Whitney. Seventh thousand. 
 The Gayworthys. By the same Author. Ihird Edition. 
 A Summer in Leslie Goldthwaite's Lii'e. By the same Author. 
 The Masque at Ludlow. By the Author of " Mary Powell." 
 Miss Biddy Frobisher : a Salt Water Story. By the same Author. 
 Selvaggio; a Story of Italy. By the same Author. New Edition. 
 The Journal of a Waiting Gentlewoman. By a new Author. New Edition. 
 The Shady Side and the Sunny Side. Two Tales of New England. By 
 Country Pastors' Wives. 
 
 Marian ; or, the Light of Some One's Home. By Maud Jeanne 
 Franc. Small post 8vo., 5s. 
 
 Also, by the same Author. 
 Emily's Choice : an Australian Tale. 5s. 
 Vermont Vale : or, Home Pictures in Australia. 5s. 
 
 Each Volume, cloth flexible, 2s. ; or sewed, Is. 6rf. 
 
 Tauchnitz's English Editions of German Authors. The follow- 
 ing are now ready : 
 
 1. On the Heights. By B. Auerbach. 3 vols. 
 
 2. In the Year '13. By Fritz Reuter. 1 vol. 
 . Faust. By Goethe. 1 vol. 
 
 4. Undine, and other Tales. By Fouque. 1 vol. 
 
 5 L'Arrabiata. By Paul Heyse. 1 vol. 
 
 6. The Princess, and other Tales. By Heinrich Zschokke. 1 vol. 
 
 Other volumes are in preparation. 
 
 Low's Copyright Cheap Series of American Authors. 
 
 Each complete in itself, printed from new type, with initial letters and 
 ornaments, to be published at the low price of Is. 6d., stiff cover or cloth. 
 The first Volume in the New Series will appropriately be the Novel with 
 
 which the Anglo-American Copyright battle has been fought and won, so 
 long known in our Law Courts and so long suspended in publication. By 
 the recent Judgment its English copyright is established, and the property 
 therein secured to the present Publishers, entitled 
 
 Haunted Hearts- A Tale of New Jersey. By the Author of 
 
 " The Lamplighter." '[On the 1st October. 
 
 And the second, 
 
 The Guardian Angel. By the Author of " The Autocrat of 
 the Breakfast Table." [On the 1st December. 
 
 To be followed by a New Volume on the first of every alternate month. 
 
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