J. Cleaveland revived poems, orations, epistles, and other of his genuine incomparable pieces never before publisht : with some other exquisite remains of the most eminent wits ... that were his contemporaries.

An intertainment at Cotswold.

TRudge hence ye tender flocks, some gloomy grove Must be this days refreshment, now remove Your selves ye must; your walk's must be resign'd Unto a matchlesse troup of female kind, Whose beauty, should the flat-nos'd Satyrs spy, They would not live, but languish, and so die. Troys lofty Towers, wch once o're-topt the clouds And menac'd heaven, Hellens beauty shrowd's In cinders; for his tender Heroes sake. Leander cuts the H••lles-pontick Lake, Yet those to these, were tawny, rivel'd, dun, Such as a glim'ring Taper to the Sun. This Turret swells (me thinks) as proud to be The seat, or foot-stool of that Company; And Eolus, before he will set free The windy Tenant, sayes, Now go and flee O're flow••y Gardens, brush the verdant meads And sweetest walk's, where fair'st beauty treads; Yea, Ransack natur's wardrope for perfumes More precious then the costliest dame consumes, Then gently breath upon that lovely train That are a tripping on the fallow plain; For now, unlesse my Calender do ly, Since fair Diana and her Company Did trace these spacious plains, bright Phoebus Carre Hath run from Pisces to the watry Starre,

From thence to Leo, for 'tis just the day That was appointed for to dance and play; That day, which to posterity shall shine In Almanacks, writ with a Rubrick line, In which days praise the sisters that do sing In pale Pyrene, and Heliconian spring Do drink of, shall compose more witty lay's Then were e're heard of in old Orpheus dayes; Their chief Musician shall Indite a story, Which shall eternize this days founders glory, He's a fit subject for a'l Poets quills, That bring's Arcadia to our Cotswold-hills; Me thinks each Creatur's proud to spend his breath In vindicating this mans name from death; The Candid winds, as they these downs fly over, Whistle the praise of praise-deserving Dover; Heavens winged Q••iristers do warble forth More pleasant notes, and celebrate his worth In sweetest tunes, the till-now sullen earth Hath deckt her breast with flowers fit for mirth Fain would she vent, but 'cause she cannot speak His praise, she weeps it, else her heart would break; For where that famous Valley she o're looks, Run drilling from her eyes sweet silver brooks, Which, when in progresse they salute those plains, Whose large increase yields Wickham men great gains,

In honour of that place they leap on high, And frisk and dance for joy they are so nigh; Each lumpish peble stone they justle far, As who should say, Be frolick as we are; Then they repine at their streight-lacing shore Prohibiting their passage to his dore; And to declare that they obliged stand In sign of homage they salute the land; But when their haste hath posted them from thence, Where his Tutelars keep their residence, They burt against each nook, and as they swell Look back and cry, For ever live, fare-well. Then they to Avoan blazon out his worth, And she to Severne, Severne sets it forth To Isis, who her sister Thame implores To tell the Ocean, an the Ocean roares It to the world; so that there is no ground Where his Encomions Eccho doth not sound; The Bacchides, old Bacchus made to thee, Their red-nos'd pimple-faced diety, Those feasts call'd Orgia, and the Matrons chast To Ceres celebrate a nine-dayes feast, Call'd first-fruits offerings; to the Queen of May, Call'd Flora, youth did make a holy day, Where garlands deckt the temples of the Queen▪ And maidens measur'd Galliards on the green. Th' ensuing age wants Patrons to support Bacchus, or Ceres rights, or Flora's sport,

Till Dover comes, who Flora Queen of May Doth re-install into her holy-day. He sleights the rest, 'tis sure, because they be The Grand supporters of all Luxury; First shall the tender Lambs with Tigers dwell, And fearfull Harts shall lodge with Lyons fell; First shall the glorious Star-bestudded sky Want light, and Neptun's regiment be dry; First shall the Courtiers leave their sweet im∣braces, Ladies to plaister o're their furrow'd faces; First she whose nasty breath offends her love Shall cease her mouth to sweeten with a Clove; First shall Nyctimene that bird of night To fly at noon take pleasure and delight; Ere Cotswold shepheards, on their joynted reeds, Shall cease to sing his fame-deserving deeds; Who from their Tombs wherein they were in∣thral'd The ancient dancing, Druides hath call'd, Which from the woods did walk unto the plain, There dance a Jigge, and so return again. Let him that dares this dancing green deface Be plagued as well as Erisicthon was, Who, cause he ••eld those dancers sacred tree, Was pin'd with famin, di'd in miserie. The rustick swains shall henceforth take delight, To cheat the tedious cold December night, With such sweet Sonnets as the Poets frame, In honour of thy thi••-dayes-work and name:

Yea, they themselves so long shall sleep in mirth, Making of Lambs-woll on the winters hearth, Untill Aurora's snow white limbs they spie Through nights black Curtains, and the night to die: Thus shall they dayly sing, sit, hatch a laugh, And to thy health (brave Dover) freely quaffe.