Poems on affairs of state from the time of Oliver Cromwell, to the abdication of K. James the Second. Written by the greatest wits of the age. Viz. Duke of Buckingham, Earl of Rochester, Lord Bu-------st, Sir John Denham, Andrew Marvell, Esq; Mr. Milton, Mr. Dryden, Mr. Sprat, Mr. Waller. Mr. Ayloffe, &c. With some miscellany poems by the same: most whereof never before printed. Now carefully examined with the originals, and published without any castration.

The Loyal Scot.

By Cleaveland's Ghost, upon the Death of Captain Douglas, burnt on his Ship at Chatham.

OF the old Heroes, when the Warlike Shades Saw Douglas marching on the Elysium Glades, They all consulting gather'd in a Ring, Which of their Poets should his Welcome sing: And as a favourable Penance chose Cleaveland, on whom they would that task impose. He understood but willingly addrest His ready Muse to court that noble Guest. Much had he cur'd the tumour of his Vein, He judg'd more clearly now, and saw more plain; For those soft Airs had temper'd every Thought, And of wise Lethe he had drunk a Draught. Abruptly he began, disguising Art, As of his Satyr this had been a part.

Not so, brave Douglas, on whose lovely Chin, The early Down but newly did begin: And modest Beauty yet his Sex did veil, While envious Virgins hopes he is a Male. His yellow Locks curles back themselves to seek, Nor other Courtship knew but to his Cheek. Oft as he in chill Esk or Seyn by Night, Hardned and cool'd, his Limbs so soft, so white; Among the Reeds to be espy'd by him The Nymphs would rustle, he would forwards swim; They sigh'd, and said, Fond Boy, why so untame, That fly'st Loves fires, reserv'd for other flame? First on his Ship he fac't that horrid Day, And wondered much at those that run away: No other fear himself could comprehend, Than least Heaven fall e'er thither he ascend; But entertains the while his time too short, With birding at the Dutch, as if in sport; Or waves his Sword, and could he them conjure Within his Circle, knows himself secure. The fatal Bark him boards with grappling Fire, And safely through its Port the Dutch retire. That precious Life he yet disdains to save, Or with known Art to try the gentle Wave; Much him the honour of his ancient Race Inspir'd, nor would he his own Deeds deface; And secret Joy in his calm Soul does rise, That Monk looks on to see how Dowglas dies. Like a glad Lover the fierce flames he meets, And tries his first Embraces in their Sheets: His Shape exact, which the bright flames infold, Like the Suns Statue stands of burnisht Gold. Round the transparent Fire about him glows, As the clear Amber on the Bees does close; And as on Angels heads their Glories shine, His burning Locks adorn his Face divine. But when in his immortal Mind he felt His alt'ring Form, and soder'd Limbs to melt;

Down on the Deck he laid himself, and dy'd, With his dear Sword reposing by his Side: And on the flaming Plank so rests his Head, As one that warm'd himself, and went to Bed. His Ship burns down, and with his Reliques sinks, And the sad Stream beneath his Ashes drinks. Fortunate Boy! If either Pencils Fame, Or if my Verse can propagate thy Name; When Aeta and Alcides are forgot, Our English Youth shall sing the valiant Scot. Skip Saddles Pegasus, thou needst not brag, Sometimes the Galloway proves the better Nag. Shall not a Death so generous, when told, Unite our distance, fill our Breaches old? Such in the Roman Forum, Curtius brave Galloping down, clos'd up the gaping Cave. Nor more discourse of Scotch and English Race, No chaunt the fabulous hunt of Chevy Chase. Mixt in Corinthian Metal at thy Flame Our Nations melting, thy Colossus frame; Prick down the Point, whoever has the Art, Where Nature Scotland does from England part. Anatomists may sooner fix the Cells Where Life resides, and Understanding dwells: But this we know, though that exceeds our Skill, That whosoever separates them does ill. Will you the Tweed that sullen Bounder call Of Soyl, of VVit, of Manners, and of all? VVhy draw you not as well the thrifty Line From Thames, from Humber, or at least the Tine? So may we the State Corpulence redress, And little England, when we please make less. VVhat Ethic River is this wond'rous Tweed, VVhose one Bank Vertue, t'other Vice does breed? Or what new Perpendicular does rise Up from her Streams, continu'd to the Skies, That between us the common Air should bar, And split the Influence of every Star?

But who considers right, will find, indeed, 'Tis Holy Island parts us, not the Tweed. Nothing but Clergy could us two seclude, No Scotch was ever like a Bishop's Feud. All Litanies in this have wanted Faith; There's no Deliver us, from a Bishop's Wrath. Never shall Calvin pardon'd be for Sales, Never, for Burnet's sake, the Lauderdales; For Becket's sake Kent always shall have Tails. Who Sermons e'er can pacifie and Prayers? Or to the Joynt-stools reconcile the Chairs? Though Kingdoms joyn, yet Church will Kirk oppose, The Mitre still divides, the Crown does close; As in Rogation Week they whip us round, To keep in mind the Scotch and English Bound. What the Ocean binds, is by the Bishops rent, Then Sees make Islands in our Continent. Nature in vain us in one Land compiles, If the Cathedral still shall have its Isles. Nothing, not Bogs, nor Sands, nor Seas, nor Alps, Separate the World so as the Bishops Scalps. Scretch for the Line, their Circingle alone 'I will make a more unhabitable Zone. The friendly Load-stone has not more combin'd, Than Bishops crampt the Commerce of Mankind. Had it not been for such a Biass strong, Two Nations had ne'er miss'd the Mark so long. The VVorld in all doth but two Nations bear, The Good, the Bad, and these mixt every where: Und•••• each Pole place either of these two; The Bad will basely, Good will bravely do. And few, indeed, can parallel our Climes, For VVorth Heroick, or Heroick Crimes. The tryal would, however, be too nice, Which stronger were, a Scotch or English Vice: Or whether the same Virtue would reflect From Scotch or English Heart the same effect.

Nation is all but Name, a Shiboleth, Where a mistaken Accent causes Death. In Paradise Names only Nature show'd, At Babel Names from Pride and Discord flow'd; And ever since Men with a Female Spight, First call each other Names, and then they fight. Scotland and England, cause of just uproar, Do Man and Wife signifie, Rogue and Whore. Say but a Scot, and straight we fall to Sides, That Syllable like a Picts's VVall divides. Rational Mens Words, Pledges are of Peace, Perverted, serve Dissention to increase. For shame extirpate from each Loyal Breast, That senceless Rancour against Interest. One King, one Faith, one Language, and one Isle, English and Scotch, 'tis all but Cross and Pile. Charles, our Great Soul, this only understands, He our Affections both, and VVills commands. And where twin-Sympathies cannot attone, Knows the last Secret, how to make us one. Just so the prudent Husbandman that sees The idle Tumult of his factious Bees; The Morning Dews, and Flowers neglected grown, The Hive a Comb-Case, every Bee a Drone; Powders them o'er, till none discerns his Foes, And all themselves in Meal and Friendship lose: The Insect Kingdom straight begins to thrive, And all work Honey for the common Hive. Pardon, young Hero, this so long Transport, Thy Death more noble did the same extort. My former Satyr for this Verse forget; My Fault against my Recantation set. •• single did against a Nation write, Against a Nation thou didst single fight. My differing Crimes does more thy Virtue raise, And such my Rashness best thy Valour praise. Here Douglas smiling said, He did intend, After suck Frankness shewn, to be his Friend

Forewarn'd him therefore, lest in time he were Metempsycos'd to some Scotch Presbyter.

By A. M.