Poetical recreations consisting of original poems, songs, odes, &c. with several new translations : in two parts
Barker, Jane.
Page  172

These Ten following POEMS done by a Con∣ceal'd Author for his private Recreation.

To CLARINDA on her Incom∣parable Painting and Wax-work. Written Septemb. 1686.

SOar now, my Muse, to an unusual flight,
Whilst fair Clarinda's Skill my Pen excite,
The Wonders of her Pencil to endite.
A modest Poet can't be silent here,
Where so much Art and Excellence appear.
Your active Pencil scorns a constant dress,
It's seen each day in Novelties afresh;
Sometimes you curious Landskips represent,
And arch 'em o'er with gilded Firmament:
Then in IAPAN some Rural Cottage Paint,
You can with equal Skill draw Fiend and Saint.
A genuine sweetness through your Pencil flows,
And charming Pictures to the Life it shows.
Page  173Next Wax-work, Cupid's by your Art made fair,
And sparkling Stars seem hov'ring in the Air,
Supported only by a single Hair.
But your enflaming Eyes shew Stars more bright;
Stars, which may serve those lesser ones to light;
And pretty Cupids dancing there, do dart
More piercing Beams, than those you've made by Art.
A Female Pencil now such Art hath shown,
As neither Sex before could ever own:
For none could yet your matchless Paintings view,
But the same Passions mov'd 'em, which you drew;
And from your Self you copy ev'ry Grace,
For you have all that can adorn each Face:
So like your Pieces to live Objects are,
That if together we should them compare,
Nature her self amaz'd wou'd doubting stand,
To know her own from the Skill'd Painter's hand;
For she the like with less success attempts,
When her own Work in Twins she represents.
Well then may Birds, for real Grapes, mistake
Those pendent Clusters which thy Pencil make.
Page  174Perhaps thy living(a)Plants too they'll neglect,
And fly to these thy Pencil doth project;
For though disrob'd is (b)Nature of her Pride,
Fresh as the Spring thy Painting doth abide:
Thus your Victorious Painting, and your Eyes,
Make Birds, Beasts, Fishes, also Men your prize.

A Young Man to an Old Woman, Courting him. In Imitation of a Modern Author.

PEace, doating Wretch, for ever cease thy suit,
Tempt me no more henceforth with musty fruit;
For rotten Medlers please not, whilst there be
Orchards and Gardens in Virginity.
Thy crabbed Stock is too much out of date,
For young and tender Plants t' inoculate.
Can Wedlock e'er endure so great a Curse,
As putting Husbands out to th' Wife to Nurse?
Page  175How pleasantly Poor Robin then wou'd crack,
T' insert our Names within his Almanack;
And think that time had wheel'd about this Year,
So soon December meeting Ianiveer.
So the AEgyptian Serpent figures Time;
And being strip't, returns unto its prime.
If my affection thou design'st to win,
Then cast of first thy Hieroglyphick Skin.
My tender years will not endure (alack)
The fulsome breathings which attend thy smack,
Proceeding ••om some former loathsome Clap.
Could you a Virgins Beauty but regain,
And change your state from Age to Youth again:
Your o'er-blown Face more charming might appear,
And with delight we might embrace each Year.
Perhaps no strife or discord then might be,
Betwixt my pretty Skeleton and Me:
But Metamorphoses are seldom known
In this our Age, since Miracles are gone.
Cease then your Suit, and for the future try,
To heal your Tenant's Leg, or his sore Eye.
So may you purchase credit, fame and thank,
Beyond the foppish Name of Mountebank;
Page  176Or chew thy Cud on some forlorn delight,
Which thou revivest in thy Eighty-eight;
Or be but Bed-rid once, and surely then
Thou'lt dream once more thy youthfull Sins again.
But if that still you needs will be my Spouse,
First hearken, and attend upon my Vows.
"When th' Needle his dear North shall quite for∣sake,
"And Stones a journey to the Sky shall make.
"When AEtna's fires shall mildly undergo,
"The wond'rous penance of the Alps in Snow.
"When Sol shall by a single blast of's Horn,
"From Crab be posted unto Capricorn.
"When th' Heav'ns confus'dly shuffle all in one,
"And joyn the Torrid with the Frozen Zone.
"Be sure, when all these Contradictions meet,
"Then (Sibyl) thou and I will kindly greet.
For all these Similies are understood,
'Twixt youthfull Heat, and thy dull frigid Blood.
So, Madam, Time continue ever Bald,
For I will not thy Perriwig be call'd:
Nor be a Crutch to prop thy tot'ring frame,
Lest th' Fabrick fall'n, from th' Ruins spring my shame.
Page  177

TO CLARINDA. A SONG.

I.
TEmpt me not with your Face that's fair,
Nor Lips and Cheeks, though red;
I neither prize them, nor your Hair,
Which in its Curls is laid.
Nor value I your Pencils fame,
For Nature it exceeds;
And Lillies do your Beauties stain,
Roses your Lips and Cheeks.
II.
Nor prize I your Seraphick Voice,
That like an Angel sings;
Though if I were to take my choice,
I would have all these things.
But if that you wou'd have me love,
You must be true as Steel;
Or else in vain my Heart you move,
Your Charms I cannot feel.
Page  178III.
But since, fair Nymph, you're fickle grown,
I'll change too with the Wind;
Sometimes in Storms of Love I'll frown,
Sometimes be calm and kind.
My Proteus Love shall frown and play,
As subtle Foxes doe;
Till they have seiz'd th' unwary Prey,
But then shall kill like you.
IV.
A Courtier's Tongue for Flattery,
A Poet's Brain for Wit;
A Womans Breast for Treachery,
For my designs I'll get.
Then through the silly Female flock,
I cunningly will rove;
Thus, thus for once I'll try my luck,
To get their Hate or Love.
Page  179

ON HIS SECRET PASSION FOR COSMELIA.

BY no Discov'ry have I e'er reveal'd
My secret Love, so closely yet conceal'd;
But rather, oft with Hypocritick Art,
In a dissembled look bely'd my Heart.
Yet cou'd Discov'ry gratifie my Wish,
Concealment shou'd not long defer the bliss.
For straight my Passion then I wou'd reveal,
And whisper in her Ear the Am'rous Tale.
But no Relation can my wants relieve,
Or Limits to my boundless Wishes give.
Shou'd my Belov'd, whose Art hath giv'n new breath
To dying Heroes, at the point of Death:
She who no Cure scarce ever undertook,
But the disease her Patient soon forsook:
Page  180She who each Simple's Sov'reign Vertue knows,
And to their proper use can them dispose:
Shou'd She her utmost Skill in Physick try,
All, All wou'd fail to ease my misery:
All her Prescriptions, without Love, are vain;
Love only suits the Nature of my pain.
Thrice hath the Sun his Annual progress made,
Since first my Heart was by my Eyes betray'd;
With various Scenes of suitable delight,
Cosmelia's Beauty entertain'd my sight.
Th' Idea of which doth still salute my Eye,
Nor can her Absence this delight deny.
Whilst Wit and Learning also charm'd each sence,
Her Poetry had no less influence;
For flights of fancy in her lines abound,
As Wine in Conduits, when a King is Crown'd.
Thus Art, Wit, Beauty, Learning, all conspire
T' insnare my Heart, and set my Soul on fire:
Her Words, her Looks my waking thoughts employ;
And when I sleep, I see her with more joy.
But ah! too soon the silent Shades of Night,
Do leave their Empire to the rising Light.
Page  181When, lo, I find my Pleasures but a Dream,
Thus chiefest Ioys glide with the swiftest stream.
A sleep or wake, still Love creeps through my Veins,
And in my Mind the fierce infection reigns.
Sometimes with Books I wou'd divert my Mind,
But that increases but the pain, I find:
Sometimes I court enjoyment rom my Muse,
Till by distraction I my fancy lose.
So wretched Men, that sundry Med'cines try,
As oft increase, as cure the Malady.
In vain I strive these fantoms to remove,
Or shun those Aerial Images of Love:
Her bright Idea makes Affections yield,
Like Ears of Corn, when Wind salutes the Field.
Each rising Sun views her more bright and fair,
Her Vertues more conspicuous appear.
Gentle's her Nature, Modest is her Meen;
Her Conversation's Mild, Her Looks Screen.
No Tyrant Passion rages in her Breast,
But the meek Dove builds there her Halyon Nest.
More Native Wealth doth that fair Breast contain,
Than all the Treasures of the boundless Main.
Page  182Not so delightfull was the Sacred Tree,
Nor God-like knowledge cou'd more tempting be.
For the fair Tree cou'd not such Fruit impart,
As this fair Virgin, wou'd she yield her Heart.
Happy, false Strephon then, whose pow'rfull Charms
Alone might win this Lady to his Arms:
His gracefull Meen, resistless Charms impart,
And glide (unfelt) into her tender Heart;
Whilst on his Lips such smooth discourse is hung,
His Person's less attractive than his Tongue.
No Storms in Love need Strephon then maintain,
Without a Siege he may the Conquest gain:
For where the Fort by Love's betray'd within,
It needs must yield to let the Hero in.
But for th' Squire, and the young hopefull Cit,
With the Gay Spark, that wou'd be thought a Wit;
Their hopes are blasted, and each strives in vain,
By Nuptial Tyes the lovely prize to gain.
The Squire she slights, lest he unkind shou'd prove,
And to his Horse or Dogs prefer her Love.
Covetous and unbred she styles the Citt,
Debauch'd the vain pretender to lewd Wit.
Page  183Thus bravely she doth these kind Heroes slight,
Thinking they all intrude on Strephon's right;
Whilst unconcern'd Triumphant Strephon stood,
Like some dull Image carv'd of Stone or Wood;
Insensible of all Love's pow'rfull Charms,
Nor mov'd by Wit's or Beauty's loud Alarms.
But oh, my Soul! unlike Effects I find,
Her Virgin charms produceth in thy mind.
As nought that's dead and barren can excite
Vital affections, or the sence delight;
So nought inanimate cou'd e'er improve
My Gen'rous thoughts to any fruits of Love:
Or as Clarinda's painted Shadows fed
Only my fancy with their White and Red.
So bright Cosmelia's Pen it do's impart,
Vigour and Motion to my Love-sick Heart:
Her sacred Presence all my Parts do render
Vocal, except my Tongue, that stupid Member.
Her Wit my Soul inspires with thoughts too great,
For words to comprehend, shou'd silence break.
If in kind glances, by a swift surprize,
I do behold the Aspect of her Eyes;
Page  184Alternate Paroxysms of Cold and Heat,
My Vital Spirits strangely do defeat.
Thus various Passions in my Breast do rove,
Yet all do meet and terminate in Love.
Oh wou'd kind Heav'n but be so much my friend,
To make my Fate upon my choice depend:
All my Ambition here I wou'd confine,
And only this fair Virgin shou'd be mine;
Lock'd in her Arms in Love and Peace I'd lye,
And whilst I breathe, my Flames shou'd never dye:
For shou'd that Beauty which she do's possess,
Fade into Autumn, I cou'd love no less.
Page  185

TO CLARINDA, ON HIS Deserting her, and loving Cosmelia.

'TIS true, Clarinda, once I did resign
To your frail Beauty this kind Heart of mine
Yet the Resignment but in thought was sign'd,
For words ne'er seal'd the impress of my Mind.
Too well my Heart was sensible you gain'd,
By treach'rous Wiles, the Conquest you obtain'd:
And that by Art y' assum'd deluding Looks;
Looks unrecorded in kind Nature's Books:
Therefore I've justly banish'd you my Breast,
No more your Beauty shall invade my rest,
I've entertain'd a more deserving Guest:
Not One whose Heart's inconstant as the Wind,
But One, whose Love to One can be confin'd:
One, whose true Love with Friendship ever flows,
And whom kind Fate has for my Lover chose;
Page  186To her m' inamour'd Heart doth panting move,
By fervent Efforts of Ecstatick Love:
With modest Blushes I inform her Eyes,
Her vertuous Love has made my Heart her prize.
And whilst my Blushes doe confess I burn,
By Sighs and Looks she makes as kind return.
Know then, kind Nymph, my Love to you's expir'd,
And fled to her, who thus my Breast has fir'd.
Without her (a)Art, your Beauty will decay,
A fit of Sickness makes it fade away:
Whilst in her sight no bold Disease durst stand,
But, trembling, vanishes at her command.
What though your Pencil Nature oft supplies,
With Charms as piercing as your Azure Eyes:
Yet know, 'tis noble Verse sets off your Paint;
Her Poetry alone can dub a Saint.
Page  187

TO COSMELIA, ON HER Departure into the COUNTREY.

FArewell, fair Mistress of my chief dsires,
Whose charming Beauties kindleth pleasing fires;
Whilst I (sad Fate!) must here forlorn remain,
Since you, fair Conqu'ress, do my Heart retain.
To you, the Center of my Love, it flies,
And ne'er can rest till it enjoys or dyes.
Farewell dear Eyes, it will be tedious Night
With me, as long as I do want your light.
Farewell those ruby Lips which seem to me,
Of Nature's Glory an Epitome.
The Nectar and Ambrosia I shall want,
That hang on them, and fast an irksome Lent.
Farewell best Tongue, now Thee I shall not hear,
I wou'd not care if all things silent were.
Farewell all fair, Beauty I shall not view,
Untill again I do behold 't in You.
Page  188Farewell Physician of my love-sick Soul,
Your sight alone can make your Patient whole.

On a ROSE sticking on a Ladies Breast.

SWeet fading Flower, that with the Sun's uprise
Unfold'st thy Bud, and in the Ev'ning dyes.
Swell now with beauteous pride, and let thy bright
And blushing Leaves joy and refresh our sight.
Incorporate thy sweet and fragrant smell,
With those refreshing Odours there do dwell.
Blest, ah for ever blest be that fair Hand,
That did transplant thee to that Sacred Land.
Oh happy Rose, that in that Garden rests,
That Paradise betwixt that Ladies Breasts:
There's an Eternal Spring, where thou shalt lye,
Betwixt two Lilly Mounts, and never dye:
There thou shalt spring among the fertile Vallies,
By buds, like thee, that grow in midst of Allies;
Page  189There none dare pluck thee from that sacred place,
Nor yet attempt thy Beauty to deface.
If any, but approach, strait doth arise
A most surprizing light, which blasts his Eyes;
There, 'stead of Ruin, shall living Fountains flow,
For Wind her fragrant Breath for ever blow:
Nor now, as wont, shall one bright Sun thee cheer,
But two conjoyn'd, which from her Eyes appear.
Oh then, what Monarch wou'd not think't a Grace,
To leave his Regal Throne to have thy place.
My self to gain thy blessed seat, do Vow,
Wou'd be transform'd into a Rose, as thou.
Page  190

ON THE Most Charming GALECIA's PICTURE.(a)

HAppy the Hand, which to our longing sight,
Presents that Beauty, which the dazling light
Of your bright Charms, do's hide from weaker Eyes,
And all access (save by this Art) denies.
'Tis only here our Sight hath strength to view
Those Beauties, which do terminate in you.
By this your great Perfections we conceive,
The Gracious Image seeming to give leave;
Which daily by your Votaries is seen,
And by the Muses has saluted been.
Who, whilst an Infant, placed in your Hand
The Bays so many strove for in this Land.
Wisely fore-seeing your Poetick Pen,
Might claim the primacy of th'wittiest Men.
Page  191〈◊〉 you th' extreams of Pow'r and Beauty move,
ho are the Quintessence and Soul of Love.
s the bright Sun (whose distant Beams delight)
f equal Glory to your Beauties light;
s wisely plc'd in so sublime a seat,
'extend his light, and moderate his heat.
o happy 'tis you move in such a Sphere,
Which do's not over-come our sence, but chear:
And in our Breasts do's qualifie that fire,
Which kindled by those Eyes, hd flamed higher,
Than when the scorched World like hazard run,
By the approach of the ill-guided Sun.
Such Eyes as yours on Iove himself have thrown,
As bright and fierce a lightning as his own.
Page  192

THE YOUNG LOVER's ADVOCATE: BEING An Answer to a Copy of Verses.

TOo rigid, too censorious and severe,
Your unjust scruples plainly do appear.
Why shou'd you question that most sacred Vow,
Which in sincerity I made but now?
Did I not Vow by all the Pow'rs above,
None but Galaecia shou'd but obtain my Love?
I did, and made a Cov'nant with my Eyes,
No other Beauties shou'd my Heart surprize.
And may those Pow'rs their vengeance from above,
Show'r on my head, when e'er I perjur'd prove:
A thousand Deaths I'd rather chuse to dye,
Than once my Faith to break or falsifie.
Page  193Not all your Sexes charms shall tempt me more,
No other Object shall my Soul adore.
Thy Sex, alas! is but a Lottery,
Where thousand Blanks for one true Prize we see.
And since kind Fate has giv'n me such a Lott,
Think you I'll hazard what's so hardly got?
No, rather think me constant as the Sun,
Who never sts, till he his race hath run:
Firm as the Centre, as the Poles unmov'd,
Faithfull as honest Swains to their Belov'd.
But you alledge for Love I am too green,
Though two years turn'd, and upwards of Eighteen.
Alas, too long I think I've been debarr'd,
And five years since Love's pleasures shou'd have shar'd:
Lovers as young as me I can produce,
As Precedents to warrant my Excuse.
The Famous Sappho summ'd up all her joy
In the Embrace of a Sicilian Boy.
The Queen of Greece lov'd Theseus but a Lad,
And Cytharea her Adonis had:
Nay Love himself, that God, is but a Child;
Shall I for want of Years then be Exil'd?
Page  194
Yea, I have heard fair Virgins say, in truth,
Of all that love, give me the smooth-chinn'd Youth:
My tender years my innocence may prove,
And non-acquaintance with the Wiles of Love.

To my Ingenious Friend, Mrs. IANE BARKER, ON MY Publishing her Romance of SCIPINA.

COu'd I the Censure of each Critick dread,
Before your Book my Lines shou'd not be read;
For 'twill be thought, shou'd I attempt your Praise,
Trophies of Int'rest to my self I'd raise.
Since the same Pen that wou'd applaud my Friend,
At once my Copy, and her Lines, commend:
Nor cou'd my Silence 'scape from Censure free,
Then other Hands, they'd say, I brib'd for the.
Page  195Yet cou'd Applause your learned Piece set forth,
To make your Fame as endless as your Worth;
I wou'd invoke some gentle Muse t' inspire
My active Pen with a Poetick fire;
That it might blazon forth your Matchless Wit,
And your due Merits to the World transmit.
But since this Subject doth require the Skill,
Or of a Maro, or a Waller's Quill,
I must desist, and quit the brave design,
And the great task to better hands resign.
Only as th' empty Coach is wont t' attend,
To Mourn the Obsequies of some dear Friend:
So shall my Worthless lines ev'n now appear,
For want of better, to bring up the Rear
Of those that welcome th' Issue of your Wit,
Which in so soft and smooth a Style you've writ.
You fair Scipina's Name do here advance
Unto the Title of a sam'd Romance:
Then in smooth Lines you celebrate her Praise,
And crown her Temples with immortal Bays.
Her Heroes Fights you bravely have exprest,
Till blest with Peace, he in her Arms finds rest.
Page  196How wou'd it please the gallant Scipio's Ghost,
(The bravest Gen'ral th' Elyzian Fields can boast,)
To see his Battles acted o'er again,
By thy victorious and triumphant Pen.
Thy Virgin Muse soars upwards still on high,
Out-strips the Dedalean Scuddery,
With swifter flights of Fancy wings each line,
And harshest Thoughts to gentle Love refine.
Each Stoick's Heart, and softer Females Breast,
With the same Passion that you write's possest.
Let carping Criticks then complain of Fate,
And envy what they cannot imitate.
Since 'tis beyond their Art or Pow'r to blast
Your Virgin Lawrels, which do spread so fast.
Page  197

A Batchelor's Life, in pursuit of Mrs. BARKER's Verses in Praise of a Single Life.

SInce, O ye Pow'rs, it is by your decree,
For Women I've so great indiff'rencie:
Suffer me not by Love to be mis-led;
Let nought induce me to the Nuptial Bed.
Let no frail Beauties to my Eyes resort,
Lest those false Centinels betray the Fort.
But if blind Cupid with a poys'nous Dart,
Shou'd chance to penetrate my Marble Heart;
Then let an Icy chillness freeze my blood,
And stop the active motion of its slood:
So may I in this happy state abide,
And laugh at those a Single Life deride:
Whilst they (b'ing caught in wretched Wedlock's Noose
Do both their freom and their pleasures loose;
For cursed Avarice and Iealousie,
Attends on him th' unlucky Knot doth tye;
His Soul to Mirth can never be inclin'd,
For Cares and Fears ever distract his Mind.
Page  198Wou'd he be merry, straight his Consorts Noise,
E'er he can think th' Abortive thought, destroys.
And if his Spouse proves Barren, then he prays
To Heav'n for Children, or to end her days:
But if o'er-stock'd, the Husband then repines
At the too fruitfull Issue of his Loins.
Then are his thoughts employ'd to get and spare,
And make provision for a wanton Heir.
How happy is he then, who's free to chuse;
And when he will, accept, when not, refuse.
No Cares in Love can discompose his Breast,
Nor Anxious Fears e'er rob him of his Rest:
But unconcern'd he is in things to come;
If London please not, Paris is his home.
Yet a Fond Wife, or Wanton pratling Boy,
Perhaps might all his gen'rous thoughts destroy.
Page  199

The Exchange of HEARTS. A SONG. By the same. Being an Answer to a SONG in the 81st Page of the First Part.

I.
HAppy the Man, thrice happy he,
Who had the high Desert;
To lose to you his Libertie,
And change a Lover's Heart.
II.
If his do's your Repose invade,
And rob you of your Rest;
Believe as much Disorder's made
By yours within his Breast.
III.
Reason with him has no more pow'r
Than you, to stop the Course
Of an inrag'd and fierce Amour,
Drove by its own wild force.
Page  200

Upon a FLOCK of GOLD-FINCHES Seen in the MORNING.

SCarce had the prancing Coursers of the World,
With their fresh steeming breath the Morning curl'd;
When a gilt flock of Winged Stars did play,
And with strange light increase the new-born day:
Sure they were sent from some Celestial Nest,
To teach Aurora how she should go drest.
Gay Nature's lively Pencil never drew
Its own Perfection in a brighter hew.
Now in light hoverings they their Bodies poise,
And hang in AEquilibriums without noise.
The Amorous Wind in gentle Whispers sings,
And coyly kisses their Enamell'd Wings.
In curling Waves it pleats their silken Plumes,
And from their spicy Breasts doth suck Perfumes;
Then softly swells, and heaves its rising Weight,
The mounting Birds enjoy a noble height:
Page  201There in a spangled Crescent they appear,
And with a flying Rain-bow gild the Air.
And now Sol's Rays dart from their Eastern seat,
And with a golden Blush these Rivals meet;
And then recoil, more sumptuous to behold,
Ten thousand Colours mixing with their Gold.
Thus they which make the watry Fleeces proud,
Themselves draw Lustre from a living Cloud.
Oft through the Air their active Course they change,
And in quick windings their brisk Squadrons range.
The Impressive Atmosphere, where they had flown,
With a long train of painted Lightning shone.
Downward at length they fell, sure wanton Iove
In such a splendid Storm enjoy'd his Love.
When doubtfull Swains behold with wond'ring sight,
Keen Exhalations with their pointed Light,
Shoot through the yielding darkness of the Night.
They think it was some guilty Star that fell,
And trembling pray, that all in Heaven be well.
Oh, had they seen with what a radiant pride,
These feather'd Meteors from above did glide;
They would have pity'd the deserted Sky,
Thinking they did a Constellation spy:
Page  202Which, that it might indulge blest Mortals Ears,
Had brought with it the Musick of the Spheres.
With such soft Ayrs did all the Birds descend,
And their bright Course to the next Bush they bend.
With purling Noise their flutt'ring Wings they clapt,
As if they had for Entertainment rapt.
The Thorns themselves shrunk in to make them room,
And sheath'd their prickles in their barky Womb.
New buds from their Potential beds did leap,
And peep't to see who 'twas disturb'd their sleep
Spying such Guests, their fragrant Laps they spread;
Such Tap'stry none but fragrant Feet must tread.
Each awfull twig gave an obsequious nod;
And bowing, stoop't unto its welcome load.
And now the glitt'ring Bush on high displays
Its streaming Branches, deck't with chirping Rays.
Its Golden back's clad with a breathing Fleece,
Richer than that bold Iason brought rom Greece.
The wav'ring boughs under their weight did leap,
And with their blithfull chantings time did keep.
The Neighb'ring Brook stop't its attentive stream,
And the hush't Winds hung lull'd into a dream.
Page  203Ne'er did the Perriwig'd Hesperian Grove,
On its bright Head so rich an Autumn move.
Hail, happy Shrub, wrap't in a Golden shade,
Whom Nature hath her living Wardrobe made;
Hail, Queen of Plants, crown'd with a Diadem,
Where every Iewel is a Vocal Gem:
A warm soft Gem, whose splendor do's excell
Th' obdurate off-spring of the Indian shell.
May still such Phoenixes shine on thy Crest,
But never burn their odoriferous Nest;
But may each Morn thy glorious twigs recruit,
With a new brood of such Melodious fruit.
Page  204

THE POET's Answer to One, Complaining of their NEGLIGENCE, In not Writing the DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM's ELEGY.

NOR needs he slender Verse, his Mighty Fame,
Rais'd above us, do's all our Praise disclaim;
Poets have liv'd by him, he cannot live by them.
So great his Bounty, we as well might show
The secret Head, whence fertile Nile do's flow.
Like Nilus he, for with a willing Hand
He gave to all, his stream o'er-flow'd the Land.
But still the Muse was his peculiar Care;
Now could I ought in Verse! A subject's here
Page  205Might—But the Mind's ill serv'd by Faculties,
And something still we know, we can't express.
The Trojan Shield, which Maro once did frame,
With an intent to raise Augustus Name,
Should not do more, if (as my Theme's as great)
I could assume his Majesty and State.
But nothing an rehearse his wond'rous Praise,
Unless kind Heaven from his dust should raise
Another matchless mighty Buckingham,
Who, like himself, could gloss the glorious Theme.
Two great effects we had from's noble Mind,
The State and Theatre at once refin'd.
When e'er he pleas'd to lash the nauseous Times,
And with just Rules corret the Poet's Crimes:
Nonsence, and Bays, and Bombast took their flight,
Like frighted Phantoms from the hated Light.
As by the order of this World we guess,
A God, not Chance, first mov'd the mighty Mass:
So whilst we saw, when we made War, Success,
Advantage, when we pleas'd to grant a Peace:
We, by the Beauty, knew, Villers was there,
And God-like Charles was eas'd of half his care:
Page  206So in the Realms above 'tis Iove's to will,
Whilst lesser Powers his Commands fulfill.
Nor was his Body inferiour to his Mind;
For when he was created, Fate design'd
That he should be the wonder of Mankind.
Goodness and Grace did always with him move;
From Men he Honour claim'd, from Women Love
Some slighted Swain, whom Celia's scorn opprest,
May raise a Flame in some less guarded Breast:
But there the Curse do's not intirely fall,
He form'd the Race of Women to enthrall,
Reveng'd upon their Sex the quarrels of us all.
Ten thousand ways soft thoughts he cou'd inspire,
And kindled in all hearts a gen'rous fire,
His Bounty wealth, his Beauty gave desire.
His Iudgment gave us Laws, a Play his Wit;
By him we liv'd, we lov'd, we rul'd, we writ.