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.

Three POEMS on the Death of the late Protector, Oliver Cromwell.

Written by Mr. John Dryden, Mr. Sprat of Ox∣ford, and Mr. Edm. Waller.

Heroick Stanza's, on the late Vsurper Oliver Crom∣well: Written after his Funeral,

by Mr. Dryden.

I.

AND now 'tis time; for their officious haste, VVho would before have born him to the Sky, Like eager Romans, e're all Rites were past, Did let too soon the sacred Eagle fly.

II.

Though our best Notes are Treason to his Fame, Join'd with the loud applause of publick Voice; Since Heav'n, what praise we offer to his Name, Hath render'd too authentick by its choice.

III.

Though in his praise no Arts can liberal be, Since they whose Muses have the highest flown, Add not to his immortal Memory, But do an act of Friendship to their own.

IV.

Yet 'tis our duty, and our interest too, Such Monuments as we can build, to raise, Lest all the world prevent what we should do, And claim a Title in him by their praise.

V.

How shall I then begin, or where concude, To draw a Fame so truly Circular? For in a round, what order can be shew'd, VVhere all the parts so equal perfect are?

VI.

His Grandure he deriv'd from Heaven alone, For he was great e're Fortune made him so; And VVars like mists that rise against the Sun, Made him but greater seem, not greater grow.

VII.

No borrow'd Bays his Temples did adorn, But to our Crown he did fresh Jewels bring; Nor was his Vertue poyson'd soon as born, VVith the too early thoughts of being King.

VIII.

Fortune (that easie Mistress to the young, But to her ancient Servants coy and hard) Him, at that age, her Favourites rank'd among, VVhen she her best lov'd Pompey did discard.

IX.

He private, mark'd the Faults of others sway, And set as Sea-marks for himself to shun;

Not like rash Monarchs, who their youth betray, By Acts their Age too late would wish undone.

X.

And yet Dominion was not his design, We owe that blessing not to him, but Heaven, Which to fair Acts unsought rewards did join; Rewards that less to him, than us were given.

XI.

Our former Chief like Sticklers of the War, First sought t' inflame the parties, then to poise: The quarrel lov'd, but did the cause abhor, And did not strike to hurt, but make a noise.

XII.

War, our Consumption, was their gainfull Trade; He inward bled, whilst they prolong'd our pain; He fought to hinder fighting, and assay'd To stanch the blood by breathing of the Vein.

XIII.

Swift and resistless through the Land he past, Like that bold Greek, who did the East subdue, And made to Battles such Heroick hast, As if on wings of Victory he flew.

XIV.

He fought secure of Fortune as of Fame, Still by new Maps the Island might be shewn, Of Conquests which he strew'd where-e'er he came, Thick as the Galaxy with Stars is sown.

XV.

His Palms, though under weights they did not stand, Still thriv'd, no Winter could his Laurels fade: Heaven in his Portraict shew'd a Workman's hand, And drew it perfect, yet without a shade.

XVI.

Peace was the price of all his toil and care, Which War had banish'd, and did now restore: Bolognia's Walls thus mounted in the Air, To seat themselves more surely than before.

XVII.

Her safety rescued Ireland, to him owes, And treacherous Scotland to no int'rest true, Yet bless'd that Fate which did his Arms dispose Her Land to civilize, as to subdue.

XVIII.

Nor was he like those Stars which only shine, When to pale Mariners, they storms portend; He had his calmer influence, and his Mein Did Love and Majesty together blend.

XIX.

'Tis true his Countenance did imprint an awe; And naturally all Souls to his did bow, As Wands of Divination downward draw, And point to Beds where Sov'raign Gold doth grow.

XX.

When past all offerings to Pheretrian Iove, He Mars depos'd, and Arms to Gowns made yield; Successfull Councils did him soon approve, As fit for close Intrigues as open Field.

XXI.

To suppliant Holland he vouchsaf'd a Peace, Our once bold Rival in the British Main, Now tamely glad her unjust claim to cease, And buy our Friendship with her Idol, Gain.

XXII.

Fame of th' asserted Sea through Europe blown, Made France and Spain ambitious of his Love; Each knew that side must conquer he would own; And for him fiercely, as for Empire strove.

XXIII.

No sooner was the French-man's Cause embrac'd, Than the light Monsieur, the grave Don outweigh'd; His Fortune turn'd the Scale where it was cast, Though Indian Mines were in the other laid.

XXIV.

When absent, yet we conquer'd in his Right; For though that some mean Artists Skill were shewn

In mingling Colours, or in placing Light; Yet still the fair Designment was his own.

XXV.

For from all Tempers he could Service draw; The worth of each with its Allay he knew; And as the Confident of Nature saw How she Complections did divide and brew.

XXVI.

Or he their single Vertues did survey, By intuition in his own large Breast, Where all the rich Ideas of them lay, That were the Rule and Measure to the rest.

XXVII.

When such Heroick Vertue, Heaven set out, The Stars, like Commons, sullenly obey; Because it drains them when it comes about, And therefore is a Tax they seldom pay.

XXVIII.

From this high Spring our Foreign Conquests flow, Which yet more glorious Triumphs do portend; Since their Commencement to his Arms they owe, If Springs as high as Fountains may ascend.

XXIX.

He made us Free-Men of the Continent, Whom Nature did like Captives treat before; To Nobler Preys the English Lion sent, And taught him first in Belgian walks to roar.

XXX.

That old unquestion'd Pirate of the Land, Proud Rome, with dread the Fate of Dankirk heard; And trembling wish'd behind more Alps to stand, Although an Alexander were her Guard.

XXXI.

By his Command, we boldly cross'd the Line, And bravely fought where Southern Stars arise, We trac'd the far-fetch'd Gold unto the Mine, And that which brib'd our Fathers made our Prize.

XXXII.

Such was our Prince, yet own'd a Soul above The highest Acts it could produce to shew: Thus poor M••chanick Arts in publick move▪ Whilst the deep secrets beyond practice go.

XXXIII.

Nor dy'd he when his ebbing Fame went less, But when fresh Laurels courted him to live; He seem'd but to prevent some new Success, As if above what Triumphs Earth can give.

XXXIV.

His latest Victories still thickest came, As near the Center, Motion doth increase; Till he press'd down by his own weighty Name, Did like the Vestal, under spoils decease.

XXXV.

But first the Ocean as a Tribute sent. That Gi••nt Prince of all her wat'ry Herd; And th'••sle, when her protecting Genius went, Upon his Obsequies loud sighs conferr'd.

XXXVI.

No civil Broils have since his Death arose, But Faction now by habit does obey; And Wars have that respect for his Repose, As Winds for Halcyons, when they breed at Sea.

XXXVII.

His Ashes in a peacefull Urn shall rest, His Name a great Example stands to show, How strangely high Endeavours may be blest, Where Piety and Valour jointly go.

To the Reverend Dr. Wilkins, Warden of Wad∣ham College in Oxford.

SIR,

SEeing you are pleased to think fit that these Papers should come into the publick, which were at first design'd to live only in a Desk, or some private Friends hands; I hum∣bly take the boldness to commit them to the security, which your Name and Protection will give them, with the most knowing part of the World. There are two things especially in which they stand in need of your Defence: One is, That they fall so infinitely below the full and lofty Genius of that excellent Poet, who made this way of writing free of our Nation: The other, That they are so little proportioned and equal to the Renown of that Prince, on whom they were written. Such great Actions and Lives, deserving rather to be the Subjects of the noblest Pens and divine Fancies, than of such small Beginners and weak Essayers in Poetry as my self. Against these dangerous Prejudices, there remains no other Shield, than the Universal Esteem and Authority which your Iudgment and Approbation carries with it. The Right you have to them, Sir, is not only on the account of the Relation you had to this great Person, nor of the gene∣ral favour which all Arts receive from you; but more particularly by reason of that Obligation and Zeal, with which I am bound to dedicate my self to your Service: For having been a long time the Object of you Care and Indul∣gence towards the advantage of my Studies and Fortune, having been moulded (as it were) by your own Hands, and formed under your Government; not to intitle you to any thing which my meanness produces, would not only be Injustice, but Sacrilege: So that if there be any thing here tolerably said, which deserves pardon, it is yours Sir, as well as he, who is

Your most Devoted, and Obliged Servant.

To the happy Memory of the late Usurper, Oliver Cromwell.

By Mr. Sprat of Oxon, Pin∣darick Odes.

I.

TIS true, great Name, thou art secure From the forgetfulness and Rage Of Death, or Envy, or devouring Age; Thou canst the force and teeth of Time endure: Thy fame, like Men, the Elder it doth grow, Will of its self turn whiter too, Without what needless Art can do; Will live beyond thy breath, beyond thy Hearse, Though it were never heard or sung in Verse. Without our help, thy Memory is safe; They only want an Epitaph, That do remain alone Alive in an Inscription, Remembred only on the Brass, or Marble-stone. 'Tis all in vain what we can do: All our Roses and Perfumes, Will but officious folly shew, And pious Nothings, to such mighty Tombs. All our Incense, Gums, and Balm, Are but unnecessary Duties here: The Poets may their Spices spare, Their costly Numbers, and their tunefull Feet: That need not be imbalm'd, which of it self is sweet.

II.

We know to praise thee is a dangerous proof Of our Obedience and our Love: For when the Sun and Fire meet, Th' one's extinguish'd quite; And yet the other never is more bright: So that they write of thee, and joyn Their feeble Names with thine,

Their weaker sparks with thy illustrious light, Will lose themselves in that ambitious thought; And yet no fame to thee from hence he brought, We know, bless'd Spirit, thy mighty Name Wants no addition of anothers Beam; It's for our Pens too high, and full of Theme: The Muses are made great by thee, not thou by them. Thy Fame's eternal Lamp will live, And in thy sacred Urn survive, Without the food of Oyl, which we can give. 'Tis true; but yet our Duty calls our Songs; Duty commands our Tongues. Though thou want not our praises, we Are not excus'd for what we owe to thee; For so Men from Religion are not freed. But from the Altars Clouds must rise, Though Heaven it self doth nothing need, And though the Gods don't want an earthly Sacrifice.

III.

Great Life of wonders, whose each year Full of new Miracles did appear! Whose every Month might be Alone a Chronicle, or a History! Others great Actions are But thinly scatter'd here and there; At best, but all one single Star; But thine the Milky-way, All one continued light, of undistinguish'd Day; They throng'd so close, that naught else could be seen, Scarce any common Sky did come between: What shall I say or where begin? Thou may'st in double shapes be shown, Or in thy Arms, or in thy Gown; Like Jove sometimes with Warlike Thunder, and Sometimes with peacefull Scepter in his Hand; Or in the Field, or on the Throne. In what thy Head, or what thy Arm hath done,

All that thou didst was so refin'd, So full of substance and so strongly join'd, So pure, so weighty Gold, That the least Grain of it If fully spread and beat, Would many Leaves and mighty Volumes hold.

IV.

Before thy Name was publish'd, and whilst yet, Though only to thy self wer't great, Whilst yet thy happy Bud Was not quite seen, or understood, It then sure signs of future Greatness shew'd: Then thy Domestick worth Did tell the World what it would be, When it should fit occasion see, When a full Spring should call it forth: As bodies in the Dark and Night, Have the same Colours, the same red and white, As in the open Day and Light, The Sun doth only shew That they are bright, not make them so: So whilst but private Walls did know What we to such a mighty Mind should owe, Then the same Vertues did appear, Though in a less and more contracted Sphere, As full, though not as large as since they were: And like great Rivers, Fountains, though at first so deep thou didst not go; Though then thine was not so inlarg'd a Flood; Yet when 'twas little, 'twas as clear as good.

V.

••Tis true thou wast not born unto a Crown, Thy Scepter's not thy Fathers, but thy own: Thy Purple was not made at once in hast, And after many other Colours past, It took the deepest Princely Dye at last. Thou didst begin with lesser Cares, And private Thoughts took up thy private Years:

Those hands, which were ordain'd by Fates, To change the World, and alter States, Practis'd at first that vast Design On meaner things with equal Mind. That Soul which should so many Scepters sway, To whom so many Kingdoms should obey, Learn'd first to rule in a domestick way, So Government it self began From Family, and single Man, Was by the small relation, first, Of Husband, and of Father Nurs'd, And from those less beginnings past, To spread it self o'er all the World at last.

VI.

But when thy Country (then almost enthrall'd) Thy Vertue, and thy Courage call'd; When England did thy Arms intreat, And 't had been Sin in thee not to be Great: When every Stream, and every Flood; Was a true Vein of Earth, and run with Blood; When unus'd Arms, and unknown War Fill'd every Place, and every Ear; When the great Storms, and dismal Night Did all the Land affright; 'Twas time for thee to bring forth all our Light. Thou left'st thy more delightfull Peace, Thy private Life, and better ease; Then down thy Steel and Armour took, Wishing that it still hung upon the Hook: When Death had got a large Commission out, Throwing her Arrows, and her Sting about; Then thou (as once the healing Serpent rose) Wast lifted up, not for thy self, but us.

VII.

Thy Country wounded was, and sick before Thy Wars and Arms did her restore: Thou knew'st where the Disease did lie, And like the Cure of Sympathy,

Thy strong and certain remedy Unto the Weapon didst apply; Thou didst not draw the Sword, and so Away the Scabbard throw, As if thy Country should Be the Inheritance of Mars and Blood: But that when the great work was spun, War in it self should be undone; That Peace might land again upon the Shore Richer and better than before: The Husbandmen no Steel should know, None but the usefull Iron of the Plow; That Bays might creep on every Spear: And though our Sky was overspread With a destructive Red; 'Twas but till thou our Sun didst in full light appear.

VIII.

When Ajax dy'd, the purple Blood That from his gaping Wound had flow'd, Turn'd into Letters every Leaf Had on it wrote his Epitaph: So from that Crimson Flood, Which thou by fate of times wert led, Unwillingly to shed, Letters, and Learning rose, and renewed: Thou fought'st not out of Envy, Hope, or Hate, But to refine the Church and State; And like the Romans whate'er thou In the Field of Mars didst mow, Was, that a holy Island hence might grow. Thy Wars, as Rivers raised by a Shower, With welcome Clouds do pour: Though they at first may seem, To carry all away with an enraged Stream; Yet did not happen that they might destroy, Or the better parts annoy: But all the filth and mud to scour, And leave behind another slime, To give a birth to a more happy power.

IX.

In Fields unconquer'd, and so well Thou didst in Battles and in Arms excell; That steelly Arms themselves, might be Worn out in War as soon as thee, Success, so close upon thy Troops did wait, As if thou first hadst conquer'd Fate; As if uncertain Victory Had been first overcome by thee; As if her Wings were clipt, and could not flee, Whilst thou didst only serve, Before thou hadst what first thou didst deserve. Others by thee did great things do, Triumphed'st thy self, and mad'st them triumph too; Though they above thee did appear, As yet in a more large and higher Sphere: Thou, the great Sun gav'st Light to every Star. Thy self an Army wert alone, And mighty Troops contain'd'st in one: Thy only Sword did guard the Land, Like that which flaming in the Angel's Hand, From Men God's Garden did defend: But yet thy Sword did more than his, Not only guarded, but did make this Land a Paradice.

X.

Thou fought'st not to be high or great, Nor for a Scepter or a Crown, Or Ermin, Purple, or the Throne; But as the Vestal Heat, Thy Fire was kindled from above alone; Religion putting on thy Shield, Brought thee victorious to the Field. Thy Arms like those, which ancient Heroes wore, Were given by the God thou did'st adore; And all the words thy Armies had, Were on an heavenly Anvil made; Not Int'rest, or any weak desire Of Rule or Empire, did thy Mind inspire;

Thy Valour like the holy Fire, Which did before the Persian Armies go, Liv'd in the Camp, and yet was sacred too: Thy mighty Sword anticipates, What was reserv'd for Heaven and those blest Seats, And makes the Church triumphant here below.

XI.

Though Fortune did hang on thy Sword, And did obey thy mighty word; Though Fortune for thy side and thee, Forgot her lov'd Unconstancy; Amidst thy Arms and Trophies thou Wert valiant and gentle too, Wounded'st thy self, when thou did'st kill thy Foe; Like Steel, when it much work has past, That which was rough does shine at last: Thy Arms by being oftner us'd did smoother grow; Nor did thy Battles make thee proud or high, Thy Conquest rais'd the state, not thee: Thou overcam'st thy self in every Victory: As when the Sun in a directer Line, Upon a polish'd golden Shield doth shine, The Shield reflects unto the Sun again his Light: So when the Heavens smil'd on thee in fight▪ When thy propitious God had lent Success, and Victory to thy Tent; To Heav'n again the Victory was sent.

XII.

England till thou did'st come, Confin'd her Valour home; Then our own Rocks did stand Bounds to our fame as well as Land, And were to us as well, As to our Enemies unpassable: We were asham'd at what we read, And blush'd at what our Fathers did, Because we came so far behind the Dead.

The British Lion hung his main, and droop'd, To Slavery and Burthen stoop'd, With a degenerate sleep and fear Lay in his Den, and languish'd there; At whose least Voice before, A trembling eccho ran through every Shore, And shook the world at every roar: Thou his subdu'd Courage didst restore, Sharpen his Claws, and his Eyes Mad'st the same dreadfull Lightning rise; Mad'st him again affright the neighbouring Floods, His mighty Thunder sounds through all the Woods: Thou hast our military Fame redeem'd, Which was lost or clouded seem'd: Nay more, Heaven did by thee bestow On us, at once an Iron Age, and happy too.

XIII.

Till thou command'st, that Azure Chain of Waves, Which Nature round about us sent, Made us to every Pirate Slaves, Was rather burthen than an Ornament; Those Fields of Sea that wash'd our Shores, We plow'd, and reap'd by other hands than ours: To us, the liquid Mass, Which doth about us run, As 'tis to the Sun, Only a bed to sleep on was: And not as now a powerfull Throne, To shake and sway the world thereon. Our Princes in their hand a Globe did shew, But not a perfect one, Compos'd of Earth and Water too. But thy Commands the Floods obey'd, Thou all the wilderness of water sway'd; Thou did'st not only wed the Sea, Not make her equal, but a Slave to thee. Neptune himself did bear thy Yoke, Stoop'd, and trembled at thy stroke:

He that rul'd all the Main, Acknowledg'd thee his Sovereign: And now the conquer'd Sea doth pay More Tribute to thy Thames than that unto the Sea.

XIV.

Till now our Valour did our selves more hurt; Our wounds to other Nations were a sport; And as the Earth, our Land produc'd Iron and Steel, which should to tear our selves be us'd, Our strength within it self did break Like thundring Cannons creak, And kill'd those that were near, While the Enemies secur'd and untouch'd were. But now our Trumpets thou hast made to sound Against our Enemies Walls in foreign ground; And yet no Eccho back to us returning found. England is now the happy peacefull Isle, And all the World the while, Is exercising Arms and Wars VVith foreign or intestine Jars. The Torch extinguish'd here, we lend to others Oil, VVe give to all, yet know our selves no fear; VVe reach the flame of ruin and of death, VVhere e'er we please, our Swords to unsheath, VVhilst we in calm and temperate Regions breath: Like to the Sun, whose heat is hurl'd Through every Corner of the world; Whose flame through all the Air doth go, And yet the Sun himself, the while no Fire doth know.

XV.

Besides the Glories of thy Peace, Are not in number, nor in value less. Thy hand did cure, and close the Scars Of our bloody civil Wars; Not only lanc'd but heal'd the wound, Made us again as healthy and as sound, VVhen now the Ship was well nigh lost, After the Storm upon the Coast,

By its Mariners endanger'd most: When they their Ropes and Helms had left, When the Planks asunder clest, And Floods came roaring in with mighty sound, Thou a safe Land, and harbour for us found, And sav'dst those that would themselves have drown'd: A work which none but Heaven and Thee could do, Thou mad'st us happy wh'th'r we would or no; Thy Judgment, Mercy, Temperance so great, As if those Vertues only in thy mind had seat: Thy Piety not only in the Field, but Peace, When Heaven seem'd to be wanted least; Thy Temples not like Janus only were, Open in time of VVar, VVhen thou hadst greater cause of fear, Religion and the awe of Heaven possest All places and all times alike thy Breast.

XVI.

Nor didst thou only for thy Age provide, But for the Years to come beside; Our after-times, and late Posterity, Shall pay unto thy Fame as much as we; They two are made by thee. VVhen fate did call thee to a higher Throne, And when thy mortal work was done; VVhen Heaven did say it, and thou must be gone, Thou him to bear thy Burthen chose, VVho might (if any could) make us forget thy loss; Nor hadst thou him design'd, Had he not been Not only to thy Blood, but Vertue kin; Not only Heir unto thy Throne, but Mind, 'Tis he shall perfect all thy Cures, And with as fine a Thread weave out thy Loom: So one did bring the chosen People from Their slavery and fears, Led them through their pathless Road, Guided himself by God.

He hath brought them to the Borders; but a second hand Did settle, and secure them in the promis'd Land.

Vpon the late Storm, and Death of the late Vsur∣per Oliver Cromwell ensuing the same.

By Mr. Waller.

WE must resign; Heav'n his great Soul does claim In Storms as loud as his immortal Fame; His dying Groans, his last Breath shakes our Isle, And Trees uncut fall for his Funeral Pile. About his Palace their broad roots are tost Into the Air: So Romulus was lost. New Rome in such a Tempest mist their King, And from obeying fell to worshipping. On Oeta's top thus Hercules lay dead, With ruin'd Oaks and Pines about him spread; The Poplar too, whose Bough he wont to wear On his victorious Head, lay prostrate there: Those his last Fury from the Mountain rent; Our dying Hero, from the Continent, Ravish'd whole Towns, and Forts from Spaniards rest, As his last Legacy to Britain left; The Ocean which so long our hopes confin'd, Could give no limits to his vaster Mind; Our bounds inlargement, was his latest Toil, Nor hath he left us Prisoners to our Isle: Under the Tropick is our Language spoke, And part of Flanders hath receiv'd our Yoke. From civil broils, he did us disingage, Found nobler Objects for our Martial Rage; And with wise Conduct to his Country shew'd, Their ancient way of conquering abroad: Ungratefull then, if we no tears allow To him that gave us Peace and Empire too: Princes that fear'd him, griev'd, concern'd to see No pitch of Glory from the Grave is free;

Nature her self took notice of his Death, And sighing swell'd the Sea with such a breath, That to remotest shores her Billows rowl'd, Th' approaching Fate of her great Ruler told.