Verses, written upon several occasions by Abraham Cowley.

VERSES, WRITTEN UPON SEVERAL OCCASIONS.

CHRISTS PASSION, Taken out of a Greek Ode written by Mr. Masters of New College in Oxford.

1.

ENough, my Muse, of earthly things, And inspirations but of wind, Take up thy Lute, and to it bind Loud, and everlasting strings, And on'em play, and to'em sing, The happy mournfull stories, The Lamentable glories, Of the great Crucifyed King. Mountainous heap of wonders! which do'st rise Till Earth thou joynest with the Skies! Too large at bottom, and at top too high, To be half seen by mortal eye. How shall I grasp this boundless thing? What shall I play? what shall I sing?

I'le sing the mighty riddle of mysterious love, Which neither wretched men below, nor blessed Spirits above With all their Comments can explain; How all the whole World's Life to dye did not disdain.

2.

I'le sing the Searchless depths of the Compassion Di∣vine, The depths unfathom'd yet By reasons Plummet, and the line of Wit, Too light the Plummet, and too short the line! How the Eternal Father did bestow His own Eternal Son, as ransom for his foe, I'le sing aloud, that all the World may hear, The triumph of the buried Conquerer. How hell was by its Pris'ner Captive led, And the great Slayer Death slain by the Dead.

3.

Me thinks I hear of murthered men the voice, Mixt with the Murderers confused noise, Sound from the top of Calvarie; My greedy eyes fly up the Hill, and see Who 'tis hangs there the midmost of the three; Oh how unlike the others he! Look how he bends his gentle head with blessings from the tree! His gratious hands, ne're stretcht but to do good, Are nail'd to the infamous wood: And sinfull Man do's fondly bind The Arms, which he extends t'embrace all humane kind.

4.

Unhappy Man, can'st thou stand by, and see All this as patient, as he? Since he thy Sins do's bear, Make thou his sufferings thine own, And weep, and sigh, and groan, And beat thy Breast, and tear, Thy Garments, and thy Hair, And let thy grief, and let thy love Through all thy bleeding bowels move. Do'st thou not see thy Prince, in purple clad all o're, Not purple brought from the Sidonian shore, But made at home with richer gore? Dost thou not see the Roses, which adorn The thorny Garland, by him worn? Dost thou not see the livid traces Of the sharp scourges rude embraces? If yet thou feelest not the smart Of Thorns and Scourges in thy heart, If that be yet not Crucified, Look on his hands, look on his feet, look on his side.

5.

Open, Oh! open wide the Fountains of thine eyes, And let 'em call Their stock of moisture forth, where ere it lyes, For this will ask it all. 'Twould all (alas) too little be, Though thy salt tears came from a Sea:

Can'st thou deny him this, when he Has open'd all his vital Springs for thee? Take heed; for by his sides mysterious flood May well be understood, That he will still require some waters to his blood.

On Orinda's Poems. ODE.

WE allow'd You Beauty, and we did submit To all the Tyrannies of it; Ah! Cruel Sex, will you depose us too in Wit? Orinda do's in that too raign, Do's Man behind her in Proud Triumph draw, And Cancel great Apollo's Salick Law. We our old Title plead in vain, Man may be Head, but Woman's now the Brain. Verse was Loves fire-arms heretofore, In Beauties Camp it was not known, Too many Armes besides that Conquerour bore: 'Twas the great Canon we brought down T' assault a stubborn Town; Orinda first did a bold sally make, Our strongest Quarter take, And so succesfull prov'd, that she Turn'd upon Love himself his own Artillery.

2.

Women as if the Body were their Whole, Did that, and not the Soul Transmit to their Posterity; If in it sometime they conceiv'd, Th' abortive Issue never liv'd. 'Twere shame and pitty' Orinda, if in thee A Spirit so rich, so noble, and so high Should unmanur'd, or barren lye. But thou industriously hast sow'd, and till'd The fair, and fruitfull field; And 'tis a strange increase, that it doth yield. As when the happy Gods above Meet altogether at a feast, A secret Joy unspeakably does move, In their great Mother Cybele's contented breast: With no lesse pleasure thou methinks shouldst see, Th's thy no less Immortal Progenie. And in their Birth thou no one touch dost find, Of th' ancient Curse to Woman-kind, Thou bring'st not forth with pain, It neither Travel is nor Labour of the brain, So easily they from thee come, And there is so much room In th' unexhausted and unfathom'd Womb, That like the Holland Countess thou mayst bear A child for every day of all the fertil year.

3.

Thou dost my wonder, wouldst my envy raise If to be prais'd I lov'd more than to praise, Where e're I see an excellence, I must admire to see thy well knit sense, Thy numbers gentle, and thy Fancies high, Those as thy fore-head smooth, these sparkling as thine eye. 'Tis solid, and 'tis manly all, Or rather 'tis Angelical, For as in Angels, we Do in thy Verses see Both improv'd Sexes eminently meet, They are than Man more strong, and more than Woman sweet.

4.

They talk of Nine, I know not who, Female Chimera's that o're Poets reign, I ne'r could find that fancy true, But have invok'd them oft I'm sure in vain: They talk of Sappho, but alass the shame! Ill manners soil the lustre of her Fame: Orinda's inward virtue is so bright, That like a Lanthorn's fair inclosed Light, It through the paper shines where she does write. Honour and Friendship, and the Generous scorn Of things for which we were not born, (Things that can only by a fond Disease, Like that of Girles, our vicious Stomachs please) Are the instructive Subjects of her pen,

And as the Roman Victory Taught our rude Land, Arts, and Civility, At once she overcomes, enslaves, and betters Men.

5.

But Rome with all her Arts could ne're inspire, A Female Breast with such a fire. The warlike Amazonian train, Who in Elysium now do peacefull reign, And wits milde Empire before Arms prefer, Hope 'twill be setled in their sex by her. Merlin the Seer, (and sure he would not ly In such a sacred Company,) Does Prophecies of Learn'd Orinda show, Which he had darkly spoke so long ago. Ev'n Boadicia's angry Ghost Forgets her own misfortune, and disgrace, And to her injur'd Daughters now does boast, That Rome's o'recome at last, by'a woman of her Race.

ODE. Upon occasion of a Coppy of Verses of my Lord Broghills.

BE gon (said I) Ingrateful Muse, and see What others thou canst fool as well as me. Since I grew Man, and wiser ought to be, My business and my hopes I left for thee: For thee (which was more hardly given away) I left, even when a Boy, my Play. But say, Ingratefull Mistress, say, What, for all this, what didst Thou ever pay? Thou'lt say, Perhaps, that riches are Not of the growth of Lands, where thou dost Trade. And I, as well my Country might upbraid Because I have no Vineyard there. Well: but in Love, thou dost pretend to Reign, There thine the power and Lordship is, Thou bad'st me write, and write, and write again; 'Twas such a way as could not miss. I like a Fool, did thee Obey, I wrote, and wrote, but still I wrote in vain, For after all my' expense of Wit and Pain, A rich, unwriting Hand, carry'd the Prize away.

2.

Thus I complain'd, and straight the Muse reply'd, That she had given me Fame,

Bounty Immense! And that too must be try'd, VVhen I my self am nothing but a name. VVho now, what Reader does not strive T' invalidate the gift whilst w' are alive? For when a Poet now himself doth show, As if he were a common Foe, All draw upon him, all around, And every part of him they wound, Happy the Man that gives the deepest Blow: And this is all, kind Muse, to thee we owe. Then in a rage I took And out at VVindow threw Ovid and Horace, all the chiming Crew, Homer himself went with them too, Hardly escap'd the sacred Mantuan Book: I my own Off-spring, like Agave tore, And I resolv'd, nay and I think I swore, That I no more the Ground would Till and Sow, VVhere only flowry VVeeds instead of Corn did grow.

3.

When (see the subtil wayes which Fate does find, Rebellious man to binde, Just to the work for which he is assign'd) The Muse came in more chearful than before, And bad me quarrel with her now no more. Loe thy reward! look here and see, What I have made (said she) My Lover, and belov'd, my Broghill do for thee. Though thy own verse no lasting fame can give, Thou shalt at least in his for ever live.

What Criticks, the great Hectors now in Wit, VVho Rant and Challenge all Men that have VVrit, Will dare to'oppose thee when Broghill in thy defence has drawn his Conquering Pen? I rose and bow'd my head, And pardon ask'd for all that I had said, Well satisfi'd and proud, I straight resolv'd, and solemnly I vow'd, That from her service now I ne'r would part. So strongly, large Rewards work on a gratefull Heart.

4.

Nothing so soon the Drooping Spirits can raise As Praises from the Men, whom all men praise. 'Tis the best Cordial, and which only those Who have at home th'Ingredients can compose. A Cordial, that restores our fainting Breath, And keeps up Life even after Death. The onely danger is, lest it should be Too strong a remedie: Lest, in removing cold, it should beget Too violent a heat; And into madness, turn the Lethargie. Ah! Gracious God! that I might see A time when it were Dangerous for me To be o're heat with Praise! But I within me bear (alas) too great allayes.

5.

'Tis said, Apelles, when he Venus drew, Did naked Women for his Pattern view, And with his powerful fancy did refine Their humane shapes, into a form Divine; None who had set could her own Picture see, Or say, One part was drawn for me: So, though this nobler Painter when he writ, Was pleas'd to think it fit That my Book should before him sit, Not as a cause, but an occasion to his wit: Yet what have I to boast, or to apply To my advantage out of it, since I, In stead of my own likeness, onely find The Bright Idea there of the great Writers mind?

ODE. Mr. Cowley's Book presenting it selfe to the Univer∣sity Library of Oxford.

1.

HAil Learnings Pantheon! Hail the sacred Ark Where all the World of Science do's imbarque! Which ever shall withstand, and hast so long withstood, Insatiate Times devouring Flood. Hail Tree of Knowledg, thy leaves Fruit! which well Dost in the midst of Paradise arise, Oxford the Muses Paradise, From which may never Sword the blest expell, Hail Bank of all past Ages! where they lye T' inrich with interest Posterity! Hail VVits Illustrious Galaxy! VVhere thousand Lights into one brightness spread; Hail living University of the Dead!

2.

Unconfus'd Babel of all tongues which er'e The mighty Linguist Fame, or Time the mighty Tra∣veler, That could speak, or this could hear. Majestick Monument and Pyramide, VVhere still the shapes of parted Souls abide' Embalm'd in verse, exalted souls which now Enjoy those Arts they woo'd so well below, VVhich now all wonders plainly see, That have been, are, or are to be,

In the mysterious Library, The Beatifick Bodley of the Deity.

3.

VVill you into your Sacred throng admit The meanest Brittish VVit? You Gen'ral Councel of the Priests of Fame, VVill you not murmur and disdain, That I place among you claim, The humblest Deacon of her train? VVill you allow me th'honourable chain? The chain of Ornament which here Your noble Prisoners proudly wear; A Chain which will more pleasant seem to me Than all my own Pindarick Liberty: VVill ye to bind me with those mighty names submit, Like an Apocrypha with holy VVrit? VVhat ever happy book is chained here, Nor other place or People need to fear; His Chain's a Pasport to go ev'ry where.

4.

As when a seat in Heaven, Is to an unmalicious Sinner given, VVho casting round his woundring eye, Does none but Patriarchs and Apostles there espye; Martyrs who did their lives bestow, And Saints who Martyrs liv'd below; VVith trembling and amazement he begins, To recollect his frailties past and sins,

He doubts almost his Station there, His soul sayes to it self, How came I here? It fares no otherwise with me VVhen I my self with conscious wonder see, Amidst this purifi'd elected Companie. VVith hardship they, and pain, Did to this happiness attain: No labour I, nor merits can pretend, I think Predestination only was my friend.

5.

Ah, that my Authour had been ty'd like me To such a place, and such a Companie! In stead of sev'ral Countries, sev'ral Men, And Business which the Muses hate, He might have then improv'd that small Estate, VVhich nature sparingly did to him give, He might perhaps have thriven then, And setled, upon me his Child, somewhat to live. 'T had happier been for him, as well as me, For when all, (alas) is done, VVe Books, I mean, You Books, will prove to be The best and noblest conversation. For though some errours will get in, Like Tinctures of Original sin: Yet sure we from our Fathers wit Draw all the strength and Spirit of it: Leaving the grosser parts for conversation, As the best blood of Man's imploy'd in generation.

ODE. Sitting and drinking in the Chair, made out of the Reliques of Sir Francis Drake's Ships.

CHear up my Mates, the wind does fairly blow, Clap on more sail and never spare; Farewell all Lands, for now we are In the wide Sea of Drink, and merrily we go. Bless me, 'tis hot! another bowl of wine, And we shall cut the Burning Line: Hey Boyes! she scuds away, and by my head I know, VVe round the VVorld are sailing now. VVhat dull men are those who tarry at home, VVhen abroad they might wantonly rome, And gain such experience, and spy too Such Countries, and VVonders as I do? But prythee good Pilot, take heed what you do, And fail not to touch at Peru; VVith Gold, there the Vessel we'll store, And never, and never be poor, No never be poor any more.

2.

VVhat do I mean? what thoughts do me misguide? As well upen a staff may VVitches ride Their fancy'd Journies in the Ayr, As I sail round the Ocean in this Chair: 'Tis true; but yet this Chair which here you see, For all its quiet now, and gravitie,

Has wandred, and has travailed more, Than ever Beast, or Fish, or Bird, or ever Tree before. In every Ayr, and every Sea't has been, 'T has compas'd all the Earth, and all the Heavens 't has seen. Let not the Pope's it self with this compare, This is the only Universal Chair.

3.

The pious VVandrers Fleet, sav'd from the flame, (Which still the Reliques did of Troy persue, And took them for its due) A squadron of immortal Nymphs became: Still with their Arms they row about the Seas, And still make new, and greater voyages; Nor has the first Poetick Ship of Greece, (Though now a star she so Triumphant show, And guide her sailing Successors below, Bright as her ancient freight the shining fleece;) Yet to this day a quiet harbour found, The tide of Heaven still carries her around. Only Drakes Sacred vessel which before Had done, and had seen more, Than those have done or seen, Ev'n since they Goddesses, and this a Star has been; As a reward for all her labour past, Is made the seat of rest at last. Let the case now quite alter'd be, And as thou went'st abroad the World to see; Let the World now come to see thee.

4.

The World will do't; for Curiositie Does no less than devotion, Pilgrims make; And I my self who now love quiet too, As much almost as any Chair can do, Would yet a journey take, An old wheel of that Chariot to see, Which Phaeton so rashly brake: Yet what could that say more than these remains of Drake? Great Relique! thou too, in this Port of ease, Hast still one way of Making Voyages; The breath of fame, like an auspicious Gale, (The great trade-wind which ne're does fail,) Shall drive thee round the World, and thou shalt run, As long around it as the Sun. The straights of time too narrow are for thee, Lanch forth into an indiscovered Sea, And steer the endless course of vast Eternitie, Take for thy Sail this Verse, and for thy Pilot Mee.

ODE. Upon Dr. Harvey.

1

COy Nature, (which remain'd, though Aged grown, A Beauteous virgin still, injoyd by none, Nor seen unveil'd by any one) When Harveys violent passion she did see, Began to tremble, and to flee, Took Sanctuary like Daphne in a tree: There Daphnes lover stop't, and thought it much The very Leaves of her to touch, But Harvey our Apollo, stopt not so, Into the Bark, and root he after her did goe: No smallest Fibres of a Plant, For which the eiebeams Point doth sharpness want, His passage after her withstood. What should she do? through all the moving wood Of Lives indow'd with sense she tooke her flight, Harvey persues, and keeps her still in sight. But as the Deer long-hunted takes a flood, She leap't at last into the winding streams of blood; Of mans Meander all the Purple reaches made, Till at the heart she stayd, Where turning head, and at a Bay, Thus, by well-purged ears, was she o're-heard to say.

2.

Here sure shall I be safe (sayd shee) None will be able sure to see This my retreat, but only Hee Who made both it and mee. The heart of Man what Art can er'e reveal? A wall Impervious between Divides the very Parts within, And doth the Heart of man ev'n from its self conceal. She spoke, but e're she was aware, Harvey was with her there, And held this slippery Proteus in a chain, Till all her mighty Mysteries she descry'd, Which from his wit the attempt before to hide Was the first Thing that Nature did in vain.

3.

He the young Practise of New life did see, Whil'st to conceal its toylsome Poverty, It for a Living wrought, both hard, and privately. Before the Liver understood The noble Scarlet Dye of Blood, Before one drop was by it made, Or brought into it, to set up the Trade; Before the untaught Heart began to beat The tunefull March to vital Heat, From all the Souls that living Buildings rear, Whether implyd for earth, or sea, or air,

Whether it in the womb or egg be wrought, A strict account to him is hourly brought, How the Great Fabrick do's proceed, VVhat time and what materials it do's need, He so exactly do's the work survey, As if he hir'd the workers by the day.

4.

Thus Harvey sought for truth in truths own Book The creatures, which by God himself was writ; And wisely thought 'twas fit, Not to read Comments only upon it, But on th' original it self to look. Methinks in Arts great Circle others stand Lock't up together, Hand in Hand, Every one leads as he is led, The same bare path they tread, And Dance like Fairies a Fantastick round, But neither change their motion, nor their ground: Had Harvy to this Road confind his wit, His noble Circle of the Blood, had been untroden yet. Great Doctor! Th'art of Curing's cur'd by thee, VVe now thy Patient Physick see, From all inveterate diseases free, Purg'd of old errors by thy care, New dieted, put forth to clearer ayr, It now will strong, and healthfull prove, It self before Lethargick lay, and could not move.

5.

These Vsefull secrets to his Pen we owe, And thousands more 'twas ready to bestow; Of which a Barba'rous VVars unlearned Rage Has robb'd the Ruin'd Age; O cruell loss! as if the Golden Fleece, VVith so much cost, and labour bought, And from a farr by a Great Hero Brought, Had sunk eve'n in the Ports of Greece. O Cursed VVarre! who can forgive thee this? Houses and towns may rise again, And ten times easier it is To rebuild Pauls, than any work of his. That mighty task none but himself can doe, Nay scarse himself too now, For though his VVit the force of Age withstand, His Body alas! and Time it must command, And Nature now, so long by him surpass't, VVill sure have her revenge on him at last.

ODE, Upon His Majesties Restoration and Return.

Virgil. — Quod optanti Divûm promittere nemo Auderet, volvenda dies, en, attulit ultro.

1.

NOw Blessings on you all, ye peacefull Starrs, VVhich meet at last so kindly, and dispence Your universal gentle Influence, To calm the stormy World, and still the rage of Warrs. Nor whilst around the Continent, Pleni potentiary Beams ye sent, Did your Pacifick Lights disdain, In their large Treaty, to contain The VVorld apart, o're which do reign Your seven fair Brethren of great Charles his Wane; No Star amongst ye all did, I beleeve, Such vigorous assistance give, As that which thirty years ago, At * 1.1 Charls his Birth, did, in despight Of the proud Sun's Meridian Light, His future Glories, and this Year foreshow, No lesse effects than these we may Be assur'd of from that powerfull Ray, VVhich could out-face the Sun, and overcome the Day.

2.

Auspicious Star again arise, And take thy Noon-tide station in the skies, Again all Heaven prodigiously adorn; For loe! thy Charls again is Born. He then was Born with▪ and to Pain: With, and to Ioy he's born again. And wisely for this second Birth, By which thou certain wert to bless The Land with full and flourishing Happiness Thou mad'st of that fair Month thy choice, In which Heaven, Air, and Sea, and Earth, And all that's in them all does smile, and does rejoyce. 'Twas a right Season, and the very Ground Ought with a face of Paradise to be found, Than when we were to entertain Felicity and Innocence again.

3.

Shall we again (good Heaven!) that Blessed Pair behold, Which the abused People fondly sold For the bright Fruit of the Forbidden Tree, By seeking all like gods to be? Will Peace her Halcyon Nest venture to build Upon a Shore with Shipwracks fill'd? And trust that Sea, where she can hardly say, Sh'has known these twenty years one calmy day? Ah! mild and gaulless Dove, Which dost the pure and candid Dwellings love:

Canst thou in Albion still delight? Still canst thou think it White? Will ever fair Religion appear In these deformed Ruins? will she clear Th' Augaean Stables of her Churches here? Will Iustice hazard to be seen Where a High Court of Iustice e're has been? Will not the Tragique Scene, And Bradshaw's bloody Ghost affright her there, Her who should never fear? Then may White-hall for Charls his Seat be fit If Iustice shall endure at VVestminster to sit.

4.

Of all, me thinks, we least should see The chearfull looks again of Liberty. That Name of Crumwell, which does freshly still The Curses of so many sufferers fill, Is still enough to make her stay, And jealous for a while remain, Lest as a Tempest carried him away, Some Hurican should bring him back again. Or she might justlier be afraid Lest that great Serpent, which was all a Tayl, (And in his poys'nous folds whole Nations Prisoners made) Should a third time perhaps prevail To joyn again, and with worse sting arise, As it had done, when cut in pieces twice. Return, return, ye Sacred Fower, And dread your perisht Enemies no more, Your fears are causeless all, and vain

VVhilst you return in Charls his train, For God does Him, that He might You restore, Nor shall the world him only call, Defender of the Faith, but of ye All.

5.

Along with you Plenty and Riches go, VVith a full Tide to every Port they flow, VVith a warm fruitfull wind o're all the Country blow. Honour does as ye march her Trumpet sound, The Arts encompass you around, And against all Alarms of Fear, Safety it self brings up the Rear. And in the head of this Angelique band, Lo, how the Goodly Prince at last does stand (O righteous God!) on his own happy Land. 'Tis Happy now, which could, with so much ease Recover from so desperate a Disease, A various complicated Ill, VVhose every Symptome was enough to kill, In which one part of Three Frenzey possest, And Lethargy the rest. 'Tis Happy, which no Bleeding does indure A Surfet of such Blood to cure. 'Tis Happy, which beholds the Flame In which by hostile hands it ought, to burn, Or that which if from Heaven it came It did but well deserve, all into Bonfire turn.

6.

We fear'd (and almost toucht the black degree Of instant Expectation) That the three dreadfull Angels we Of Famine, Sword, and Plague should here establisht see, (God's great Triumvirate of Desolation) To scourge and to destroy the sinfull Nation. Justly might Heav'n Protectors such as those, And such Commitees for their Safety impose, Upon a Land which scarsely Better Chose. We fear'd that the Fanatique VVar Which men against God's Houses did declare, Would from th' Almighty Enemy bring down A sure destruction on our Own. We read th'Instructive Histories which tell Of all those endless mischiefs that befell, The Sacred Town which God had lov'd so well, After that fatal Curse had once been said, His Blood be upon ours, and on our Childrens head. We knew, though there a greater Blood was spilt, 'Twas scarcely done with greater Guilt. We know those miseries did befall Whilst they rebell'd against that Prince whom all The rest of Mankind did the Love, and Ioy, of Man∣kind call.

7.

Already was the shaken Nation Into a wild and deform'd Chaos brought. And it was hasting on (we thought) Even to the last of Ills, Annihilation. When in the midst of this confused Night, Loe, the blest Spirit mov'd, and there was Light. For in the glorous General's previous Ray, We saw a new created Day. VVe by it saw, though yet in Mists it shone, The beauteous VVork of Order moving on. VVhere are the men who bragg'd that God did bless, And with the marks of good success Signe his allowance of their wickedness? Vain men! who thought the Divine Power to find In the fierce Thunder and the violent VVind: God came not till the storm was past, In the still voice of Peace he came at last. 'The cruell business of Destruction, May by the Claws of the great Fiend be done. Here, here we see th' Almighty's hand indeed, Both by the Beauty of the VVork, we see't, and by the Speed.

8.

He who had seen the noble Brittish Heir, Even in that ill disadvantageous Light, VVith which misfortunes strive t'abuse our sight; He who had seen him in his Clowd so bright: He who had seen the double Pair Of Brothers heavenly good, and Sisters heavenly fair, Might have perceiv'd (me thinks) with ease, (But wicked men see only what they please) That God had no intent t'extinguish quite The pious King's eclipsed Right. He who had seen how by the power Divine All the young Branches of this Royal Line Did in their fire without consuming shine, How through a rough Red sea they had been led, By VVonders guarded, and by VVonders fed. How many yeares of trouble and distress They'd wandred in their fatal VVilderness, And yet did never murmur or repine; Might (me-thinks) plainly understand, That after all these conquer'd Tryals past, Th'Almighty Mercy would at last Conduct them with a strong un-erring hand To their own Promis'd Land. For all the glories of the Earth Ought to be' entail'd by right of Birth, And all Heaven's blessings to come down Upon his Race, to whom alone was given The double Royalty of Earth and Heaven, VVho crown'd the Kingly with the Martyr's Crown.

9.

The Martyr's blood was said of old to be The seed from whence the Church did grow. The Royal Bloud which dying Charles did sow, Becomes no less the seed of Royalty. 'Twas in dishonour sown, We find it now in glory grown, The Grave could but the dross of it devour; 'Twas sown in weakness, and 'tis rais'd in power. We now the Question well decided see, Which Eastern Wits did once contest At the Great Monarch's Feast, Of all on earth what things the strongest be: And some for Women, some for Wine did plead; That is, for Folly and for Rage, Two things which we have known indeed Strong in this latter Age. But as 'tis prov'd by Heaven at length, The King and Truth have greatest strength, When they their sacred force unite, And twine into one Right, No frantick Common-wealths or Tyrannies, No Cheats, and Perjuries, and Lies, No Nets of humane Policies; No stores of Arms or Gold (though you could joyn Those of Peru to the great London Mine) No Towns, no Fleets by Sea, or Troops by Land, No deeply entrencht Islands can withstand, Or any small resistance bring Against the naked Truth, and the unarmed King.

10.

The foolish Lights which Travellers beguile, End the same night when they begin; No Art so far can upon Nature win As e're to put out Stars, or long keep Meteors in. Wher's now that Ignis Fatuus which e'rewhile Mis-lead our wandring Isle? Where's the Impostor Cromwell gon? Where's now that Falling-star his Son? Where's the large Comet now whose raging flame So fatal to our Monarchy became? Which o're our heads in such proud horror stood, Insatiate with our Ruine and our Blood? The fiery Tayl did to vast length extend; And twice for want of Fuel did expire, And twice renew'd the dismal Fire; Though long the Tayl, we saw at last it's end. The flames of one triumphant day, Which like an Anti-Comet here Did fatally to that appear, For ever frighted it away; Then did th' allotted hour of dawning Right First strike our ravisht sight, Which Malice or which Art no more could stay, Than Witches Charms can a retardment bring To the Resuscitation of the Day, Or Resurrection of the Spring. We welcome both, and with improv'd delight Bless the preceding Winter and the Night.

11.

Man ought his Future Happiness to fear, If he be alwayes Happy here. He wants the Bleeding Mark of Grace, The Circumcision of the Chosen race. If no one part of him supplies The duty of a Sacrifice, He is (we doubt) reserv'd intire As a whole Victime for the Fire. Besides even in this World below, To those who never did Ill Fortune know, The good does nauseous or insipid grow. Consider man's whole Life, and you'l confess, The Sharp Ingredient of some bad success Is that which gives the Taste to all his Happiness. But the true Method of Felicitie, Is when the worst Of humane Life is plac'd the first, And when the Childs Correction proves to be The cause of perfecting the Man; Let our weak Dayes lead up the Van, Let the brave Second and Triarian Band, Firm against all impression stand; The first we may defeated see; The Virtue and the Force of these, are sure of Victory.

12.

Such are the years (great Charles) which now we see Begin their glorious March with Thee: Long may their March to Heaven, & still Triumphant be. Now thou art gotten once before, Ill Fortune never shall o're-take thee more. To see't again, and pleasure in it find, Cast a disdainful look behind, Things which offend, when present, and affright, In Memory, well painted, move delight. Enjoy then all thy' afflictions now; Thy Royal Father's came at last: Thy Martyrdom's already past. And different Crowns to both ye owe. No Gold did e're the Kingly Temples bind, Than thine more try'd and more refin'd. As a choise Medal for Heaven's Treasury God did stamp first upon one side of Thee The Image of his suffering Humanity: On th' other side, turn'd now to sight, does shine The glorious Image of his Power Divine.

13.

So when the wisest Poets seek In all their liveliest colours to set forth A Picture of Heroick worth, (The Pious Trojan, or the Prudent Greek) They chuse some comely Prince of heavenly Birth, (No proud Gigantick son of Earth, Who strives t' usurp the god's forbidden seat) They feed him not with Nectar, and the Meat That cannot without Ioy be eat. But in the cold of want, and storms of adverse chance, They harden his young Virtue by degrees; The beauteous Drop first into Ice does freez, And into solid Chrystal next advance. His murdered friends and kindred he does see, And from his flaming Country flee. Much is he tost at Sea, and much at Land, Does long the force of angry gods withstand. He does long troubles and long wars sustain, E're he his fatal Birth-right gain. With no less time or labour can Destiny build up such a Man, Who's with sufficient virtue fill'd His ruin'd Country to rebuild.

14.

Nor without cause are Arms from Heaven, To such a Hero by the Poets given. No human Metal is of force t'oppose So many and so violent blows. Such was the Helmet, Breast-plate, Shield, Which Charles in all Attaques did wield: And all the Weapons Malice e're could try, Of all the several makes of wicked Policy, Against this Armour struck, but at the stroke, Like Swords of Ice, in thousand pieces broke. To Angels and their Brethren Spirits above, No show on Earth can sure so pleasant prove, As when they great misfortunes see With Courage born and Decency. So were they born when Worc'ster's dismal Day Did all the terrors of black Fate display. So were they born when no Disguises clowd His inward Royalty could shrowd, And one of th' Angels whom just God did send To guard him in his noble flight, (A Troop of Angels did him then attend) Assur'd me in a Vision th' other night, That He (and who could better judge than He?) Did then more Greatness in him see, More Lustre and more Majesty, Than all his Coronation Pomp can shew to Human Eye.

15.

Him and his Royal Brothers when I saw New marks of honour and of glory, From their affronts and sufferings draw, And look like Heavenly Saints even in their Purgatory; Me-thoughts I saw the three Iudaean Youths, (Three unhurt Martyrs for the Noblest Truths) In the Chaldaean Furnace walk; How chearfully and unconcern'd they talk! No hair is sindg'd, no smallest beauty blasted; Like painted Lamps they shine unwasted. The greedy fire it self dares not be fed With the blest Oyl of an Anoynted Head. The honourable Flame (Which rather Light we ought to name) Does, like a Glory compass them around, And their whole Body's crown'd. What are those Two Bright Creatures which we see Walk with the Royal Three In the same Ordeal fire, And mutual Ioys inspire? Sure they the beauteous Sisters are, Who whilst they seek to bear their share, Will suffer no affliction to be there. Less favour to those Three of old was shown, To solace with their company, The fiery Trials of Adversity; Two Angels joyn with these, the others had but One.

16.

Come forth, come forth, ye men of God beloved, And let the power now of that flame, Which against you so impotent became, On all your Enemies be proved. Come, mighty Charls, desire of Nations, come; Come, you triumphant Exile, home. He's come, he's safe at shore; I hear the noise Of a whole Land which does at once rejoyce, I hear th' united People's sacred voice. The Sea which circles us around, Ne're sent to Land so loud a sound; The mighty shout sends to the Sea a Gale, And swells up every sail; The Bells and Guns are scarcely heard at all; The Artificial Joy's drown'd by the Natural. All England but one Bonefire seems to be, One Aetna shooting flames into the Sea. The Starry Worlds which shine to us afar, Take ours at this time for a Star. With Wine all rooms, with Wine the Conduits flow; And We, the Priests of a Poetick rage, Wonder that in this Golden Age The Rivers too should not do so. There is no Stoick sure who would not now, Even some Excess allow; And grant that one wild fit of chearful folly Should end our twenty years of dismal Melancholy.

17.

Where's now the Royal Mother, where, To take her mighty share In this so ravishing sight, And with the part she takes to add to the Delight? Ah! why art Thou not here, Thou always Best, and now the Happiest Queen, To see our Ioy, and with new Ioy be seen? God has a bright Example made of Thee, To shew that Woman-kind may be Above that Sex, which her Superiour seems, In wisely managing the wide Extreams Of great Affliction, great Felicity. How well those different Virtues Thee become, Daughter of Triumphs, Wife of Martyrdom! Thy Princely Mind with so much Courage bore Affliction, that it dares return no more; With so much Goodness us'd Felicity, That it cannot refrain from coming back to Thee; 'Tis come, and seen to day in all it's Bravery.

18.

Who's that Heroick Person leads it on, And gives it like a glorious Bride (Richly adorn'd with Nuptial Pride) Into the hands now of thy Son? 'Tis the good General, the Man of Praise, Whom God at last in gracious pitty Did to th' enthralled Nation raise, Their great Zerubbabel to be, To loose the Bonds of long Captivity, And to rebuild their Temple and their City. For ever blest may He and His remain, Who, with a vast, though less-appearing gain, Preferr'd the solid Great above the Vain, And to the world this Princely Truth has shown, That more 'tis to Restore, than to Usurp a Crown. Thou worthiest Person of the Brittish Story, (Though 'tis not small the Brittish glory) Did I not know my humble Verse must be But ill-proportion'd to the Heighth of Thee, Thou, and the World should see, How much my Muse, the Foe of Flattery, Do's make true Praise her Labour and Design; An Iliad or an Aeneid should be Thine.

19.

And ill should We deserve this happy day, If no acknowledgments we pay To you, great Patriots, of the Two Most truly Other Houses now, Who have redeem'd from hatred and from shame A Parliaments once venerable name; And now the Title of a House restore, To that, which was but slaughter-house before. If my advice, ye VVorthies, might be ta'ne, Within those reverend places, Which now your living presence graces, Your Marble-Statues always should remain, To keep alive your useful Memory, And to your Successors th' Example be Of Truth, Religion, Reason, Loyalty. For though a firmly setled Peace May shortly make your publick labours cease, The grateful Nation will with joy consent, That in this sense you should be said, (Though yet the Name sounds with some dread) To be the Long, the Endless Parliament.

The Country Mouse. A Paraphrase upon Horace 2 Book, Satyr. 6.

AT the large foot of a fair hollow tree, Close to plow'd ground, seated commodiouslie, His antient and Hereditary house, There dwelt a good substantial Country-Mouse: Frugal, and grave, and careful of the main, Yet, one, who once did nobly entertain A City Mouse well coated, sleek, and gay, A Mouse of high degree, which lost his way, Wantonly walking forth to take the Air, And arriv'd early, and belighted there, For a dayes Lodging: the good hearty Host, (The antient plenty of his hall to boast) Did all the stores produce, that might excite, With various tasts, the Courtiers appetite. Fitches and Beans, Peason, and Oats, and Wheat, And a large Chesnut, the delicious meat Which Iove himself, were he a mouse, would eat. And for a Haut goust there was mixt with these The swerd of Bacon, and the coat of Cheese. The precious Reliques, which at Harvest, he Had gather'd from the Reapers luxurie. Freely (said he) fall on and never spare, The bounteous Gods will for to morrow care. And thus at ease on beds of straw they lay, And to their Genius sacrific'd the day.

Yet the nice guest's Epicurean mind, (Though breeding made him civil seem and kind) Despis'd this Country feast, and still his thought Upon the Cakes and Pies of London wrought. Your bounty and civility (said he) Which I'm surpriz'd in these rude parts to see, Shews that the Gods have given you a mind, Too noble for the fate which here you find. Why should a Soul, so virtuous, and so great, Lose it self thus in an Obscure retreat? Let savage Beasts lodge in a Country Den, You should see Towns, and Manners know, and men: And taste the generous Lux'ury of the Court, Where all the Mice of quality resort; Where thousand beauteous shees about you move, And by high fare, are plyant made to love. We all e're long must render up our breath, No cave or hole can shelter us from death. Since Life is so uncertain, and so short, Let's spend it all in feasting and in sport. Come, worthy Sir, come with me, and partake, All the great things that mortals happy make. Alas, what virtue hath sufficient Arms, T' oppose bright Honour, and soft Pleasures Charms? What wisdom can their magick force repell? It draws this reverend Hermit from his Cell. It was the time, when witty Poets tell, That Phoebus into Thetis bosom fell: She blusht at first, and then put out the light, And drew the modest Curtains of the night. Plainly, the troth to tell, the Sun was set, When to the Town our wearied Travellers get,

To a Lords house, as Lordly as can be Made for the use of Pride, and Luxurie, They come; the gentle Courtier at the door Stops, and will hardly enter in before. But 'tis, Sir, your command, and being so, I'm sworn t' obedience, and so in they go. Behind a hanging in a spacious room, (The richest work of Morclakes noble Loom) They wait awhile their wearied Limbs to rest, Till silence should invite them to their feast. About the hour that Cynthia's Silver light, Had touch'd the pale Meridies of the night; At last the various Supper being done, It happened that the Company was gone, Into a room remote, Servants and all, To please their noble fancies with a Ball. Our host leads forth his Stranger, and does find, All fitted to the bounties of his mind. Still on the Table half fill'd dishes stood, And with delicious bits the floor was strow'd. The Courteous Mouse presents him with the best, And both, with fat varieties are blest. Th' industrious Peasant every where does range, And thanks the Gods for his Life's happy change. Loe, in the midst of a well fraighted Pye, They both at last glutted and wanton lye. When see the sad Reverse of prosperous fate, And what fierce storms on mortal glories wait. With hideous noise, down the rude Servants come, Six dogs before run barking into th' room; The wretched gluttons fly with wild affright, And hate the fulness which retards their flight.

Our trembling Peasant wishes now in vain, That Rocks and Mountains cover'd him again. Oh how the change of his poor life he curst! This, of all lives (said he) is sure the worst. Give me again, ye Gods, my Cave, and wood; With peace let Tares, and Acorns be my food.

A Paraphrase upon the 10th. Epistle of the first book of Horace. Horace to Fuscus Aristius.

HEalth, from the lover of the Country me, Health, to the lover of the City thee, A difference in our souls, this only proves, In all things else, w' agree like marryed doves. But the warm nest, and crowded dove-house thou Dost like; I loosely fly from bough to bough. And Rivers drink, and all the shining day, Upon fair Trees, or mossy Rocks I play; In fine, I live and Reign when I retire From all that you equal with Heaven admire. Like, one at last, from the Priests service fled, Loathing the honie'd Cakes, I long for Bread. Would I a house for happiness erect? Nature alone should be the Architect. She'd build it more convenient, than great, And doubtless in the Country choose her seat.

Is there a place, doth better helps supply, Against the wounds of Winters cruelty? Is there an Ayr that gentl'er does asswage The mad Celestial Dogs, or Lyons rage? Is it not there that sleep (and only there) Nor noise without, nor cares within does fear? Does art through pipes, a purer water bring, Than that which nature strains into a spring? Can all your Tap'stries, or your Pictures show More beauties than in Herbs and Flowers do grow? Fountains and Trees our wearied Pride do please, Even in the midst of gilded Palaces. And in your towns, that prospect gives delight, Which opens round the Country to our sight. Men to the good from which they rashly fly, Return at last, and their wild Luxury, Does but in vain with those true joyes contend, Which nature did to mankind recommend. The Man who changes gold for burnisht brass, Or small right Gemms, for larger ones of Glass: Is not, at length, more certain to be made Ridiculous, and wretched by the trade, Than he, who sells a solid good, to buy The painted goods of Pride and Vanity. If thou be wise, no glorious fortune choose, Which 'tis but pain to keep, yet grief to lose. For, when we place, even trifles, in the heart, With trifles too, unwillingly we part. An humble Roof, plain bed, and homely board, More clear, untainted pleasures do afford▪ Than all the Tumult of vain greatness brings To Kings, or to the favourites of Kings.

The horned Deer by nature arm'd so well, Did with the Horse, in common pasture dwell; And when they fought, the field it alwayes wan, Till the ambitious Horse begg'd help of Man▪ And took the bridle, and thenceforth did reign Bravely alone, as Lord of all the plain: But never after, could the Rider get From off his back, or from his mouth the bit. So they, who poverty too much do fear, T' avoid that weight, a greater burden bear; That they might Pow'r above their equals have, To cruel Masters, they themselves enslave. For Gold, their Liberty exchang'd we see, That fairest flow'r, which crowns Humanitie. And all this mischief does upon them light, Only, because they know not how, aright, That great, but secret, happiness, to prize, That's laid up in a Little, for the Wise. That is the best, and easiest, Estate, Which to a man sits close, but not too straight▪ 'Tis like a shooe; it pinches, and it burns, Too narrow; and too large it overturns. My dearest friend, stop thy desires at last, And chearfully enjoy the wealth thou hast. And, if me still seeking for more you see, Chide, and reproach, despise and laugh at me. Money was made, not to command our will, But all our lawful pleasures to fulfill. Shame and woe to us, if we' our wealth obey; The Horse doth with the Horse-man run away.

O Fortunati nimium, &c. A Translation out of Virgil.

OH happy (if his happiness he knowes) The Country Swain, on whom kind Heav'n bestowes At home all Riches that wise Nature needs; Whom the just Earth with easie plenty feeds. 'Tis true, no morning Tide of Clients comes, And fills the painted Chanels of his rooms, Adoring the rich Figures, as they pass, In Tap'stry wrought, or cut in Living Brass; Nor is his Wool superfluously dy'd With the dear Poyson of Assyrian pride: Nor do Arabian Perfumes vainly spoil The Native Use, and Sweetness of his Oyl. Instead of these, his calm and harmless life Free from the Alarm's of Fear, and storms of Strife, Does with substantial Blessedness abound, And the soft wings of Peace cover him round: Through artless Grotts the murmuring waters glide; Thick Trees both against Heat and Cold provide, From whence the Birds salute him; and his ground With lowing Herds, and bleating Sheep does sound; And all the Rivers, and the Forests nigh, Both Food and Game, and Exercise supply. Here a well hard'ned active youth wee see, Taught the great Art of chearful Povertie. Here, in this place alone, there still do shine Some streaks of Love, both Humane and Divine;

From hence Astraea took her flight, and here Still her last Foot-steps upon Earth appear. 'Tis true, the first desire which does controul All the inferiour wheels that move my Soul, Is that the Muse me her high Priest would make; Into her holyest Scenes of Myste'ry take, And open there to my mind's purged eye Those wonders which to Sense the Gods deny; How in the Moon such change of shapes is found: The Moon, the changing Worlds eternal bound. What shakes the solid Earth, what strong disease Dares trouble the firm Centre's antient ease; What makes the Sea retreat, and what advance: Varieties too regular for chance. What drives the Chariot on of Winters light, And stops the lazy Waggon of the night. But if my dull and frozen Blood deny, To send forth Sp'rits that raise a Soul so high; In the next place, let Woods and Rivers be My quiet, though unglorious destinie. In Life's cool vale let my low Scene be laid; Cover me Gods, with Tempe's thickest shade. Happy the man I grant, thrice happy he VVho can through gross effects their causes see: VVhose courage from the deeps of knowledge springs, Nor vainly fears inevitable things; But does his walk of virtue calmly go, Through all th' allarms of Death and Hell below. Happy! but next such Conquerours, happy they, VVhose humble Life lies not in fortunes way. They unconcern'd from their safe distant seat, Behold the Rods and Scepters of the great.

The quarrels of the mighty without fear, And the descent of forein Troops they hear. Nor can even Rome their steddy course misguide, VVith all the lustre of her perishing Pride. Them never yet did strife or avarice draw, Into the noisy markets of the Law, The Camps of Gowned VVar, nor do they live By rules or forms that many mad men give. Duty for Natures Bounty they repay, And her sole Laws religiously obey. Some with bold Labour plow the faithless main, Some rougher storms in Princes Courts sustain. Some swell up their sleight sails with pop'ular fame, Charm'd with the foolish whistlings of a Name. Some their vain wealth to Earth again commit; VVith endless cares some brooding o're it sit. Country and Friends are by some VVretches sold, To lye on Tyrian Beds, and drink in Gold; No price too high for profit can be shown; Not Brothers blood▪ nor hazards of their own. Around the VVorld in search of it they roam, It makes ev'n their Antipodes their home; Mean while, the prudent Husbandman is found, In mutual duties striving with his ground, And half the year he care of that does take, That half the year grateful returns does make. Each fertil moneth does some new gifts present, And with new work his industry content. This, the young Lamb, that, the soft Fleece doth yield, This, loads with Hay, and that, with Corn the Field: All sorts of Fruit crown the rich Autumns Pride: And on a swelling Hill's warm stony side,

The powerful Princely Purple of the Vine▪ Twice dy'd with the redoubled Sun, does shine. In th' Evening to a fair ensuing day, VVith joy he sees his Flocks and Kids to play; And loaded Kyne about his Cottage stand, Inviting with known sound the Milkers hand; And when from wholsom labour he doth come, VVith wishes to be there, and wish't for home, He meets at door the softest humane blisses, His chast wives welcom, and dear Childrens kisses. VVhen any Rural Holy dayes invite His Genius forth to innocent delight, On Earths fair bed beneath some sacred shade, Amidst his equal friends carelesly laid, He sings thee Bacchus Patron of the Vine, The Beechen Boul fomes with a floud of VVine, Not to the loss of reason or of strength: To active games and manly sport at length, Their mirth ascends, and with fill'd veins they see, VVho can the best at better trials be. Such was the Life the prudent Sabins chose, From such the old Hetrurian virtue rose. Such, Remus and the God his Brother led, From such firm footing Rome grew the VVorld's head. Such was the Life that ev'n till now does raise The honour of poor Saturns golden dayes: Before Men born of Earth and buried there, Let in the Sea their mortal fate to share. Before new wayes of perishing were sought, Before unskilful Death on Anvils wrought. Before those Beasts which humane Life sustain, By Men, unless to the Gods use were slain.

Claudian's Old Man of Verona.

HAppy the Man, who his whole time doth bound VVithin th' enclosure of his little ground. Happy the Man, whom the same humble place, (Th' hereditary Cottage of his Race) From his first rising infancy has known, And by degrees sees gently bending down, VVith natural propension to that Earth VVhich both preserv'd his Life, and gave him birth. Him no false distant lights by fortune set, Could ever into foolish wandrings get. He never dangers either saw, or fear'd: The dreadful storms at Sea he never heard. He never heard the shrill allarms of war, Or the worse noyses of the Lawyers bar. No change of Consuls marks to him the year, The change of seasons is his Calendar. The cold and heat, VVinter and Summer showes, Autumn by fruits, and Spring by flow'rs he knows. He measures time by Land-marks, and has found, For the whole day the Dial of his ground. A neighbouring wood born with himself he sees, And loves his old contemporary trees. H'as only heard of near Verona's Name, And knows it like the Indies, but by fame. Does with a like concernment notice take Of the Red-Sea, and of Benacus lake. Thus Health and Strength he to' a third age enjoyes, And sees a long Posterity of Boyes. About the spacious VVorld let others roam, The Voyage Life is longest made at home.

Martial Book 10. Epigram 96.

ME who have liv'd so long among the great, You wonder to hear talk of a Retreat: And a retreat so distant, as may show No thoughts of a return when once I go. Give me a Country, how remote so e're, Where happiness a mod'rate rate does bear. Where poverty it self in plenty flowes, And all the solid use of Riches knowes. The ground about the house maintains it there, The house maintains the ground about it here. Here even Hunger's dear, and a full board, Devours the vital substance of the Lord. The Land it self does there the feast bestow, The Land it self must here to Market go. Three or four suits one Winter here does wast, One suit does there three or four Winters last. Here every frugal Man must oft be cold, And little Luke-warm-fires are to you sold. There Fire's an Element as cheap and free, Almost as any of the other Three. Stay you then here, and live among the Great, Attend their sports, and at their tables eat. When all the bounties here of Men you score: The Places bounty there, shall give me more.

A Paraphrase on an Ode in Horace's third Book, beginning thus, Inclusam Da∣naen turris ahenea.

A Tower of Brass, one would have said, And Locks, and Bolts and Iron bars, And Guards, as strict as in the heat of wars, Might have preserv'd one Innocent Maiden-head. The Jealous Father thought he well might spare, All further Jealous Care, And as he walkt, t' himself alone he smil'd, To think how Venus Arts he had beguil'd; And when he slept, his rest was deep, But Venus laugh'd to see and hear him sleep. She taught the Amorous Iove A Magical receit in Love, Which arm'd him stronger, & which help'd him more, Than all his thunder did, and his Almighty-ship before.

2.

She taught him Loves Elixar, by which Art, His Godhead into Gold he did convert. No Guards did then his passage stay, He pass'd with ease; Gold was the VVord; Subtle as Lightning, bright and quick and fierce, Gold through Doors and walls did peirce; And as that works sometimes upon the sword, Melted the Maiden-head away, Even in the secret scabbard where it lay.

The Prudent Macedonian King, To blow up Towns, a Golden Mine, did spring. He broke through Gates with this Petar, 'Tis the great Art of peace, the Engine 'tis of war; And Fleets and Armies follow it afar, The Ensign 'tis at Land, and 'tis the Seaman's Star.

3.

Let all the VVorld, slave to this Tyrant be, Creature to this disguised Deitie, Yet it shall never conquer me. A Guard of Virtues will not let it pass, And wisdom is a Tower of stronger brass. The Muses Lawrel round my Temples spread, 'T does from this Lightnings force secure my head. Nor will I lift it up so high, As in the violent Meteors way to lye. VVealth for its power doe we honour and adore? The things we hate, ill Fate, and Death, have more.

4.

From Towns and Courts, Camps of the Rich and Great, The vast Xerxean Army I retreat: And to the small Laconick forces fly, VVhich hold the straights of Poverty. Sellars and Granaries in vain we fill, VVith all the bounteous Summers store, If the mind thirst and hunger still. The poor rich man's emphatically poor. Slaves to the things we too much prize, VVe Masters grow of all that we despise.

5.

A field of Corn, a Fountain and a Wood, Is all the Wealth by Nature understood. The Monarch on whom fertil Nile bestowes All which that grateful Earth can bear, Deceives himself, if he suppose That more than this falls to his share. Whatever an Estate does beyond this afford, Is not a rent paid to the Lord; But is a tax illegal and unjust, Exacted from it by the Tyrant Lust. Much will alwayes wanting be, To him who much desires. Thrice happy He To whom the wise indulgency of Heaven, VVith sparing hand, but just enough has given.

The Complaint.

1.

IN a deep Vision's intellectual scene, Beneath a Bow'r for sorrow made, Th' uncomfortable shade, Of the black Yew's unlucky green, Mixt with the mourning Willow's careful gray, Where Reverend Cham cuts out his Famous way, The Melancholy Cowley lay. And Lo! a Muse appear'd to' his closed sight, (The Muses oft in Lands of Vision play)

Bodied, arrayed, and seen, by an internal Light, A golden Harp, with silver strings she bore, A wondrous Hieroglyphick Robe she wore, In which all Colours, and all figures were, That Nature or that fancy can create, That Art can never imitate; And with loose Pride it wanton'd in the Air. In such a Dress, in such a well-cloath'd Dream, She us'd, of old, near fair Ismenus Stream, Pindar her Theban Favourite to meet; A Crown was on her Head, and wings were on her Feet.

2.

She touch'd him with her Harp, and rais'd him from the Ground. The shaken strings Melodiously Resound. Art thou return'd at last, said she, To this forsaken place and me? Thou Prodigal, who didst so loosely waste Of all thy Youthful years, the good Estate; Art thou return'd here, to repent too late? And gather husks of Learning up at last, Now the Rich Harvest time of Life is past, And Winter marches on so fast? But, when I meant t' adopt Thee for my Son, And did as learn'd a Portion assign, As ever any of the mighty Nine Had to their dearest Children done; When I resolv'd t' exalt thy' anointed Name, Among the Spiritual Lords of peaceful Fame; Thou Changling, thou, bewitcht with noise and show, Wouldst into Courts and Cities from me go;

Wouldst see the World abroad, and have a share In all the follies, and the Tumults there, Thou would'st, forsooth, be something in a State, And business thou would'st find, and would'st Create: Business! the frivolous pretence Of humane Lusts to shake off Innocence; Business! the grave impertinence: Business! the thing which I of all things hate, Business! the contradiction of thy Fate.

3.

Go, Renegado, cast up thy Account, And see to what Amount Thy foolish gains by quitting me: The sale of Knowledge, Fame, and Liberty, The fruits of thy unlearn'd Apostacy. Thou thought'st if once the publick storm were past, All thy remaining Life should sun-shine be: Behold the publick storm is spent at last, The Soveraign is tost at Sea no more, And thou, with all the Noble Companie, Art got at last to shore. But whilst thy fellow Voyagers, I see All marcht up to possess the promis'd Land, Thou still alone (alas) dost gaping stand, Upon the naked Beach, upon the Barren Sand.

4.

As a fair morning of the blessed spring, After a tedious stormy night; Such was the glorious Entry of our King, Enriching moysture drop'd on every thing: Plenty he sow'd below, and cast about him light. But then (alas) to thee alone, One of Old Gideons Miracles was shown, For every Tree, and every Herb around, With Pearly dew was crown'd, And upon all the quickned ground, The Fruitful seed of Heaven did brooding lye, And nothing but the Muses Fleece was dry. It did all other Threats surpass, When God to his own People said, (The Men whom through long wandrings he had led) That he would give them ev'n a Heaven of Brass: They look'd up to that Heaven in vain, That Bounteous Heaven, which God did not restrain, Upon the most unjust to shine and Rain.

5.

The Rachel, for which twice seven years and more, Thou didst with Faith, and Labour serve, And didst (if Faith and labour can) deserve, Though she contracted was to thee, Giv'n to another thou didst see, Giv'n to another who had store Of fairer, and of Richer Wives before, And not a Leah left, thy recompence to be.

Go on, twice seven years more, thy fortune try, Twice seven years more, God in his bounty may Give thee, to fling away Into the Courts deceitful Lottery. But think how likely 'tis, that thou With the dull work of thy unwieldy Plough, Shouldst in a hard and Barren season thrive, Shouldst even able be to live; Thou to whose share so little bread did fall, In the miraculous year, when Manna rain'd on all.

6.

Thus spake the Muse, and spake it with a smile, That seem'd at once to pity and revile. And to her thus, raising his thoughtful head, The Melancholy Cowley said, Ah wanton foe, dost thou upbraid The Ills which thou thy self hast made? When in the Cradle, innocent I lay, Thou, wicked Spirit, stole'st me away, And my abused Soul didst bear, Into thy new found Worlds I know not where, Thy Golden Indies in the Air; And ever since I strive in vain My ravisht Freedom to regain; Still I Rebell, still thou dost Reign, Lo, still in verse against thee I complain. There is a sort of stubborn Weeds Which, if the Earth but once, it ever breeds. No wholsom Herb can near them thrive, No useful Plant can keep alive:

The foolish sports I did on thee bestow, Make all my Art and Labour fruitless now; Where once such Fairies dance, no grass doth ever grow.

7.

When my new mind had no infusion known, Thou gav'st so deep a tincture of thine own, That ever since I vainly try To wash away th' inherent dye; Long work perhaps may spoil thy Colours quite, But never will reduce the native white: To all the Ports of Honour and of gain, I often stear my course in vain, Thy Gale comes cross, and drives me back again. Thou slack'nest all my Nerves of Industry, By making them so oft to be The tinckling strings of thy loose minstrelsie. Who ever this Worlds happiness would see, Must as entirely cast off thee, As they who only Heaven desire, Do from the World retire. This was my Errour, This my gross mistake, My self a demy-votary to make. Thus with Saphira, and her Husbands fate, (A fault which I like them, am taught too late) For all that I gave up, I nothing gain, And perish for the part which I retain.

8.

Teach me not then, O thou fallacious Muse, The Court, and better King t' accuse; The Heaven under which I live is fair; The fertile soil will a full Harvest bear; Thine, thine is all the Barrenness; if thou Mak'st me sit still and sing, when I should plough. When I but think, how many a tedious year Our patient Soveraign did attend His long misfortunes fatal end; How chearfully, and how exempt from fear, On the great Sovereigns will he did depend: I ought to be accurs'd, if I refuse To wait on his, O thou fallacious Muse▪ Kings have long hands (they say) and though I be So distant, they may reach at length to me. However, of all Princes thou Shouldst not reproach Rewards for being small or slow Thou who rewardest but with popular breath, And that too after death.

FINIS.

Notes

• * 1.1

  The Star that appeared at Noon, the day of the King's Birth, just as the King his Father was riding to St. Pauls to give thanks to God for that Blessing.