Poetical recreations consisting of original poems, songs, odes, &c. with several new translations : in two parts / part I, occasionally written by Mrs. Jane Barker, part II, by several gentlemen of the universities, and others.

The Six following COPIES done by Mr. T. B. of Cambridge.

An ELEGY on King CHARLES the Second, who dyed of an Apoplexy.

NO more, he's gone, with Angel's Wings he fled, What Mortal Art cou'd keep him from the Dead? The Miracles of Art were shewn in vain, Such as cou'd give a meaner Life again; But Miracles were common in his Reign. A Diet in distress no comfort brings, Thus are we sure to lose the best of Kings.

Great Charles, or lov'd or fear'd too much by Death! Our Bribes cou'd get us but a parting breath. Unusual Fate destroy'd our chief design, And ev'ry Sister cut the Royal Twine; Direfull Solemnities they us'd below, And thrice they gave the irrevocable Blow. Thrice on the Monarch (for each Nation) seize, And to his Empire suited the Disease. So did Geryon take his long farewell, And saw two Heads expire before he fell; So put Alcydes Vict'ry to a stand, And piece-meal fell by an All-conqu'ring hand.

Say, envious Stars, did he deserve your spight; Say, all ye grand Caballers of the Night, Did you remember with regret the Day, When his new Star drove all your Beams away, When the glad Sky did wond'rous smiles dispence, Fear'd you to lose your ancient Influence?

The same good Omen gave our Charles his Birth, As usher'd in Salvation to the Earth.

Under one Planet grisly Death was slain, But the same bad him live, and slay again. O ye, just Pow'rs! That Death (by Faith o'er-come) Shou'd lead the Faith's Defender to his Tomb.

Britains lament, inspir'd by sorrow, sing, Embalm with Tears and Verse your Gracious King; Where-ever Death can come, let it be said, In mournfull Elegies, our Gracious King is Dead. A Soul so large, so generous a Mind, As Heav'n all knowing, and as Heav'n all kind. Let the sad News be born through ev'ry Sea, And the Winds groan whilst they the News convey. Our Peacefull Ships will need no Cannon roar, And with the Tidings terrifie the Shoar.

What Grief in Neighb'ring States shall not be known, Now the soft link of Amity is gone? Love has the Nat'ral World to Peace confin'd, But the Political by Charles was joyn'd. What Grief shall not the Foreign Reg••ons shew? For they have lost their Ioy, and ••onder too. Libyans shall slash their Bre••••••s, and so ••eclare Their outward Grief to Ch••rl•••• 〈…〉〈…〉 there.

One, o'er her Gold, corroding Drops shall shed, The other Ind. weep Gems for Iames's head; No Quarter but shall Sighs and Blessings send, And to a thousand Gods our King shall recommend.

Pardon, Great Ghost, your sinfull People spare, And be our Genius with your Princely care. Smiling, the Story of your Troubles tell, And pity the mean Souls who cou'd Rebell. With joy recount the Changes you have known, And all the shapes attend the British Crown. How faithless, as incircling Waves, were We; How you became the Proteus of our Sea: How on the Wing you'd now deceive the Foe, Then vanish't into Air unseen you'd go: How like a stately Oak you'd sometimes Reign, And with long Scepters awe the shrubby Plain.

Such were the forms, Alive, you us'd to have, Immutable and stiff now in the Grave; Variously prest, and molded up and down, You were reserv'd for an Eternal Crown.

A DITHYRAMBIQUE, Made just before the KING and QUEEN Went to Their CORONATION.

I.

KEep now, my Muse, the great Pindarique road, And fly as if to meet a God, For Iames and Mary are the same; Ascend my Muse, mount in your Flame, For oh my Soul's in hast to be abroad; Our Souls of old were stol'n from on high, And since, as if they fear'd Discov'ry, Sneak here below with dull Mortality, Let mine be open, and confess her Mother-Sky; Visit the Plains above, and sing Some worthy Transports of a God-like King:

What Muse cannot our Iames inspire; What cannot Royal Mary doe, They give us Theams and Genius too, Fewel at once, and Fire. Leander stretcht along, & buffeted the sawcy Waves, That, when he thought of Life, and Ioy, Dared the kind Thoughts annoy, And threaten him with Graves: The Taper did not only shew his Pathless Way, But made him bold, and strong, Leander stretcht along; Not only on his Eye it play'd, But follow'd Love through all the Pores he there had made, It glitter'd in his Mind as well as in the Sea.

II.

Heroes, by Nature, still dispence Vigour and Sence, To the most Thoughtless subject-Clay, Upon the Machins still they shine: The Machins feel a warmeth Divine, And briskly move, and sweetly play.

Their Royal sparkling Virtues are The only Stars that have an Influence, And du 'ile as the Gold they wear. This happy England knows; England is happy in her Sons at last, The Days of Prodigality are past; For Arms and Arts her Sons grow fit, They gather Courage, and they gather Wit; In vain their Temper, and their Clime oppose, And once-insulting Neighbours fear, Those Lyons ••url their Mains no more, No longer tear the ground, and roar, They see our Iames his England's shape restore, And break the Charms that made her Beast before; Those Lyons tremble, and reveer, For England once again a Royal Matron do's appear.

III.

How much indebted must the Coronation be, Heroick Iames, to very Thee, Thy Person wou'd, unrob'd, add to th' Solemnity,

Luster to Thee thy Diadem will owe, And Flaming Iewels round thy Head, Like a good Omen spread, Thou do'st on all a noble Stamp bestow, Thy subtile Beams thorough thy People go, And make each Vulgar look to show, Indulgent Planets to their Friends, and Comets to the Foe: Thou, with Illustrious Graces, round Thee hurl'd From Thy own self, do'st Animate the British World; Poetick Plato, when he made his Deitie, But fancy'd what in Iames wee see, The In••inite was plac'd alone, Amidst his wond'rous Creation; The Indivisible the Center did possess, And with Extended Spirit, bless The living Circles that his Breath had form'd about his Throne, His Spirit penetrated every-where, And left no point void of the searching Care, Large streams of Inspiration flow'd, And taught the Beings, that they gave, to praise their God.

IV.

Io, my Muse, the Triumphs just begin, Over our Nations vanquish't sin, Our Animosities and Feuds are done, All those unhealthy Clouds are gone; Fix't is our Delos now, nor can th' imbracing Sea Flatter her to her old Inconstancie. Awake, my Muse, The comfortable news Reherse, * 1.1 And tell it to the President of Verse, If such a President of Verse there be, And any way a-kin to Memorie; How will it work on his Harmonious Mind? How soft will be his strain, When he shall find His own strange Story acted o'er again? He'll smile when e'er You wond'ring tell, Our Delos did become unmoveable; He'll strike his Lyre, when You shall praise Our crowned Phoebus, and describe his Rays.

Diana too you must recite, The Three-nam'd Goddess naturally bright, Whose Native Glories then were seen, When a vast Tract of Earth was plac'd between, When she deserv'd alone to be a Queen, Tho', like his Sister, say she now but borrows Light.

V.

Lo, where Apollo smiling stands, And strikes his Lyre with his Melodious hands, Possest with mighty Pleasure; Lo Where he has left his Quiver and his Bow; There are his Arrows lay'd aside, And by the milder Lyre supply'd; The chearfull sound, the chearfull sound methinks I hear; And lo, how every Year Dances in decent order here, By the smooth Motion all their Poyson's spent, And th' Hieroglyphick Snake grows innocent; At th' chearfull Sound ill-boding Spirits fly, Charm'd from their best-beloved Cruelty, And vanish, like sad Ghosts, that shun the Morning's Eye. Ill-boding Spirits on happy Minutes wait, And boldly vex the Fortunate,

And Politickly seize a glad unwary State; A Coronation pomp gone by, Behind the greedy Vultures fly, The rear's brought up with Iudgments, Plagues, Mortality, And all the poor Spectators dye; Instead of Medals to be thrown about, Malicious Powers Scatter their Ulcers, and their Sores, And show'r their Tokens on th'Infected Rout, This former times have known, avert it Heaven from ours.

VI.

Close up, my Muse, the dismal Scene, Leave the Destroying Angels, or Destroying Men; Our Monarch shall your Musick make, Of honourable Actions speak, Sing of our Present Ioys, and Miseries forsake; Speak of the Prince that aw'd the Main, And in the Ocean wide began his Reign, Whose Prowess heavy Flemmings understood; Whose Valour every-where Escap'd the Rocks and Shallows of Despair, Who Noah's lawfull Heir Succeeded in the boundless Empire of the Flood.

Shew the undaunted Champion on the shore, Dying his future Robes in Hostile Gore; Shew him in Peace how easie, and how free, And yet beyond the Reach of Mutinie, Eternal Conquerour! in Peace he gets a Victorie. He stops not there where other Warriours doe, He do's not always force pursue, He can both Soul and Body too, Mankind in all Capacities subdue: He do's not only use the killing Art, With harmless Skill sometimes he wounds the Heart, And there plants Loyal Veins to quell the trayt'rous part; The Vital Flame he do's not always damp, But pours a precious Oyl into the gloomy Lamp; His former Vict'ries are in this o'er-come, And he's the greatest Conquerour at home.

VII.

Illustrious Prince, humble and brave, Head of his Country, and his Countries slave; A Souldier's hardships oft h' endur'd, And in bold Deeds the Prince obscur'd; As Iove to the Egyptian Beasts was known, Oft he retir'd to our Condition, And thence took Rise to leap into a Throne.

He ran through every Task that Subjects bear, Accomplish't, by degrees, for Royal Care; With Toil he climb'd the Pinnacle of State, His Fortune oft was us'd before 'twas great, * 1.2 And Lawrels did his Head for the Imperial Crown prepare. Theseus and Bacchus thus Ambrosia gain, And with the Healing Nectar calm their former Pain: Thus Hercules upon twelve Trophies rose, He labour'd for, and merited a long Repose. Thus sacred Charles ascends, And visits his Celestial Friends; Safely he cuts the thund'ring Skies, Adorn'd with new imperious Ioys; Young Angels kiss each tender Limb, And fondly call him Cherubim, His Saviour and his Sire embrace him as he flies.

VIII.

Iames, thou hast won 'em, & our Lives are thine, Thousands of ours vouchsafe receive, For that Great One thou woud'st so often give;

That Life which weather'd Storms, & a more damn'd Design, Which can the Devils various shapes decline, In Patience Second Brother of the Stuart's Line. Patience, the stay of angry Fate, That pleases Heav'n when it's inclin'd to Hate: Patience, that Patience purchases above, By sacred Sympathy, The Bar at which the Heav'ns and We Meet and Agree, Patience the Alchymie, That turns to Gold the Leaden Darts of Love; By Touch-stone Patience, the creating Counsels know If they have fram'd a Master-piece, or no. In Patience Thetis dip't her Boy, And sent him to defy the Force of Troy; Patience the Shield which Cyclops beat, Compos'd of Cold and Heat, Struck by the Sword of Envy, or of Spite, The more it sparkles, and confounds the fight. The Icy Sword snaps on the Shield, Spite falls unarm'd, and Envy quits the Field.

Thus far th' inconstant style betrays my mind, Wav'ring, as needless, till the Pole they find. But here 'tis fix't, since to the Queen 'tis brought, The Queen is the Perfection of our Thought: Her Beauty, which can fire the So••id Iames, With ease must put our ••inder Breasts in flames. Such Beauty Heav'ns in Modena misplace, We lay the justest claim to such a Face. Such radiant Eyes our Nation's loss repay, For the rich Pearls that Caesar bore away; As in some Vital, where the Scarlet Blood Glides smoothly on, and keeps an equal ••lood; The brisker Soul rides high, and knows no bound, Expands it self, and slashes round: S•• must our Queen, when she shall pass along, So be distinguish't ••rom the Crimson Throng. Hail, Gracious Queen of Beauty, and of Wit, In whom the two best Characters are writ, From the blest Hills; Oh, Aiding Goddess! You Both warm our Climate, and our Fancies too. What Off'rings for such Presents cou'd we bring, If we had not been happy in a King.

To Their GRACES, THE DUKE and DUTCHESS OF ALBEMARLE, Upon Their Voyage for IAMAICA.

Great Sir, YOur Presence still we wou'd implore, Did not the Indies court You to their shore; Thence rising Glory drives our Grief away, And only Envy can desire your stay. Tremble we might, and dread Ano••her's Doom, But Your strange Blessings promise more to come. We that beheld how Riches slow'd to Thee, Need not suspect a Tributary Sea; Nor can we fear that Danger's there design'd, Where Providence has made the Rocks so kind: Prodigious Fortune must on him attend, To whom the Waves such pleasing Monsters send;

Your Father's Spirit, sure on th'Water mov'd, Wont to restore the Gallant Men he lov'd.

Go then, lov'd Prince, Success your Actions crown, Guarded with vertuous Honours there unknown: How shall your Star shine on the new-found Coast, And please the Pride of the third Edward's Ghost, So far out-doing his Prophetick Boast. The George by him pent up in Lands he knew, Will make the utmost Conquest under You. How shall the slaves to Labour born, and Toil, When Your kind Person shall refresh the Isle, Wonder with joy to see each other smile? The Spirits which, to them, You shall dispence, So much their once-vex't Souls will influence, That they shall banish all sad sorrows thence. What ease shall Natives, what delight possess, Who from blest You derive their Happiness? New Kings at home have Acts of Grace bestow'd, And Albemarle gives Iubilees abroad.

Madam, 'Twas no desert in us, we own, So long detain'd You to our selves alone; No Worth of ours, but Charity in You, Gave more to Us than was by Nature due. Your Grace for Universal Comfort made, As the Day-Beams are round the Globe display'd, Shou'd equally distribute Light and Shade. And Beauties still of Alexander's mind, In one poor World too narrowly con••in'd: But these two Conqu'rours do this Diff'rence keep, Fate will not let the charming Victress weep.

When Thund'ring Spaniards Mexico did seize, Indians surprized, thought 'em Deities. By suff'ring since, taught what the Furious are, Now wisely will adore the soft and fair; Even from their Sun to gentler warmth they'll ••ly, And at Your Rays their smother'd Souls supply; They'll thank the Heav'ns that made their Herbs for smoke, And sacrifice Plantations, You t'invoke. Their teeming Soil vast Treasures needs must give, For You can ripen where the Planets leave:

Your chearfull Eyes all sorrow shall destroy, And fill their Hearts with Plenty, and with joy. What cannot Greatness, Wit, and Beauty doe, Such constant Bliss is to Your Presence due, As if their Spring but Prophesy'd of You?

Ovid. Amor. lib. 2. Eleg. 15. A Ring Presented to his Mistress.

GO, sparkling Ring, my Fair one's finger bind,

Shine there, and tell what Flames you le••t be∣hind. Leap on the tender Ioint with eager Zeal, And may she smile, and entertain thee well. Close may her Finger be to Thee embrac'd, As Fate has made my Arms to clasp her Was••. Thou little Ring, how happy must thou be, Handl'd by Her, and Envy'd ev'n by Me. Rais'd to my Heav'n, a Comet thou wilt prove, And vex the quiet Government of Love. Now for a Spell, that I my Gift might grow, To rifle all the Charms my Fair can show.

Then as her naked Skin she ever prest, Or hid her hand within her heaving Breast; With joy grown big I'd quit my former hold, And send to better Mines th' enliv'ned Gold.

Then when she seals her Letters with my Gem, (Let not my Ruine be contriv'd in them) Lest the soft Wax refuse to let me go, What balmy Kisses will her Lips bestow?

Then, if hence Betty with this Ring she cries, And throw it where my other Plunder lyes. Shrunk with the fright, I'll lengthen a Delay, I'll gently squeeze her, and my Love betray. Disgrace from me, my sweetest, never fear, I am a pretty Woman's Ring, my Dear. Let You and I go to the Bath's alone, And let the fruitfull Waters change my Stone. O, Madam, then, Madam, the Blessing then, Passion shall teach your Ring the Crimes of Men.

But these are Dreams, my little Gift, adieu, Say I adore Her, and have offer'd You.

TO AFER. MARTIAL. Epig. 31. lib 4.

THis for an hundred Pound's engag'd to me, That Merchant owes me two, that Banker three. The Chamberlain runs deeper in my score, And the Exchequer keeps a thousand more. The new Plantations raise my Treasure much; Beside a Trade with Spaniards, and the Dutch.

The same dull Tale Afer so oft you tell, I scarce remember my own Name so well. Afer, I faint, my Patience quite is lost, I cannot hear your Gains, but to your Cost. Without reward, such Torture who will bear, Poundage is due for every Summ, I hear.

An Excuse for not Rhiming in the Time of the Rebellion.

'TIS true, my Friend, my Style is mean and low; But if you like it, 'tis no longer so. What to the unkind World do's Humble seem, Lovers and Friends may raise by their Esteem; E'er since the Image of Immortal Love, Made Dust and Ashes fit for Ioys above.

Yet though I had as clear and smooth a Vain, And Sung as well as any Iovial Swain. Though I cou'd force the Dulness of our Clime, And aid the Lab'ring Fancy with my Rhime; Heighten my thoughts, expel the Clouds from thence, Or strike from them Flashes of Wit and Sence. War wou'd disorder my soft Spirits quite, And, like a Plague infect, and make them fight. Rebellious War all Melody destroys, From Plow-men's Whistle, to the Laureat's Voice. Swords fright the Muses ••rom their peacefull seat, And Poets are the first they captivate.

Minerva's easie, while her Garment flows, Dress her in Armour, and how stiff she goes? The Harps that drew wild Mortals from the Wood, And taught the Harmony of Common good, By just proportion of their tunefull strings, Rank't People, Gentry, Nobles, and their Kings. Hence is it when State-Unisons expire, They barbarously slay their Parent Lyre.

FINIS.

Notes

• * 1.1

  Most of this Fourth Stanza is an Allusion to an Old Poetical Fa••le, and parallels the King and Queen, in some respects, to the Heathen Deities, Apollo and Diana.
• * 1.2

  The Motto of the King's Medal.