A collection of the choicest epigrams and characters of Richard Flecknoe being rather a new work, then [sic] a new impression of the old.

THE SECOND BOOK OF EPIGRAMS, ON GEORGE The First Duke of Buckingham, to my Lord Duke His Son. (Book 2)

THe comliest Person, and the ablest mind, For highest trust, his Prince cou'd ever find. Or to participate his private cares, Or bear the publick weight of his affairs. All which he bore as steddy, and as even As ever Atlas did the Globe of Heaven: Like well built Arches stronger, with their weight, And well built minds, the steddier with their height. Such was the Composition and Frame, O'th' Noble, and the Gallant Buckingham. Whence, though he rose, as high or higher yet, Than ever Prince advanced Favorit,

None envied his heighth, nor wish'd his fall, ut who their Countreys ruine wisht withal.

These whilst he liv'd, your Fathers praises were, And now he's dead, are yours, my Lord, his heir. The winning carriage, and the smiling Grace Of his exterior Person, and his Face. The noble Vertues of's interior brest, And in's example you have all the rest.

On MARY Dutchess of Richmond.

WHether a chearful Air does rise, And elevate her fairer Eyes: Or a pensive heaviness, Her lovely Eyelids does depress. Still the same becoming Grace Accompanies her Eyes and Face. Still you'd think that habit best In which her count'nance last was drest. Poor Beauties! Whom a look or glance, Can sometimes make looks fair by chance. Or curious dress, or artful care, Can make seem fairer than they are. Give me the Eyes, give me the Face; To which no art can add a Grace. Give me the Looks, no Garb, nor Dress, Can ever make more fair or less.

On Mistress STUART.

STuart a Royal Name that Springs From Race of Calidonian Kings. Whose vertuous mind, and beauteous frame, Adds honor to that Royal Name. What praises can we worthy find, To celebrate thy form and mind? The greatest pow'r that is on Earth, Is given to Princes by their Birth, But there's no pow'r in Earth nor Heaven, Greater than what's to Beauty given; That, makes not onely Man relent When unto rage and fury bent, But Lions tame, and Tygers mild, All fierceness from their brests exild. Such wonders yet cou'd ne'er be done By Beauties pow'r and force alone; Without the force and pow'r to boot, Of excellent goodness added to't. For just as Jewels we behold More brightly shine when set in Gold, So Beauty shines far brighter yet, In goodness and in vertue set. Continue then but as you are, So excellently good and fair, Let Princes by their Birth-rights sway, You'll have a pow'r as great as they.

On Her Dancing in Whitehal, all shining with Jewels.

SO Citherea in th'Olympick Hall, And, th'rest o'th' Stars dance their Celestial Ball As Stuart with the rest o'th' Nimphs does here, The brightest Beauties of the British sphere. Who wou'd not think her Heaven, to see her thus All shine with starry Jewels as she does? Or somewhat heavenlier, yet to see her eyes Out-shine the starry Jewels of the skies? Onely their splender's so exceeding bright, Th'excess confounds and blinds us with the sight, Just as the Sun, who's bright to that degree, Nothing is more, nothing less seen than he. Mean time the rapid motion of the spheres, Is not more sweet, nor ravishing than hers. And 'tis not th'harmony makes her dance, but she With Dancing 'tis, that makes the harmony. Next to divinest Cynthia, Queen of Light, Never was seen a Nimph more fair nor bright, Nor ever shall 'mongst all her starry train, Though those in Heaven, shou'd all come down again.

On Her Marriage with the Duke of RICHMOND.

THe fairest Nimph of all Diana's train, For whom so many sigh'd, and sigh'd in vain. •…•…he who so oft had others captive made, •…•…nd who so oft o'er others triumpht had, •…•…s Hymens captive now herself, and led •…•…n triumph, to the noble Richmond's Bed. Nor is it strange to see about her flie •…•…s many Cupids as are Stars i'th' skie, •…•…s many Graces as are Sands i'th' Sea, Nor yet as many Venus's as they; But to behold so many Vertue's throng, About a Nymph so beautiful and young, •…•…s strange indeed, and does enough declare, That she is full, as vertuous as fair. And all those lovely graces has beside, As e'er made Bridegroom happy in a Bride.

To the truly Honorable Mr. Thomas Howard, Brother to the Earl of Carlisle.

ALthough there's many of opinion are, That Honor's onely in the Honorer, Yet we may truly say of such as you, 'Tis both i'th' Honorer, and the Honor'd too. Nay, you'd be Honorable Sir, though none In all the World, there were, but you alone. As th' Sun would still be luminous and bright, Though all the World were destitute of sight. Let others glory in the Titles then, And Honors they receive from other Men. You have no Title, by the which y'are known, Nor Honor, but what's properly your own.

On the Death of the Earl of Sandwich.

NEver was greater Sacrifice than this, Where Sea's the Temple, Fireship Altar is, And Sandwich victime offer'd up to save His Countreys honor, by a death more brave, Than ever Heroe died, though we shou'd sum All Greece e'er boasted of, or ancient Rome. O Noble Sandwich! While there's memory O'th' British Seas thy Fame shall never die;

Who 'twixt two different deaths at last wert found, •…•…n Water burnt, and in the Fier drown'd. As if to kill thee once, did not suffice Thy mighty mind, but they must kill thee twice. Or else to serve thy Countrey, thou didst choose More than one death, more than one life to loose. Let then the Fabii, Decii, Curtii, nor Meltiades's be mentioned no more, Who for to serve their Countrey chose to fall, Our Noble Sandwich has out-done them all.

To the Earl of Ossery on his going to Sea.

MOst noble Ossery, who does possess, So much of honor, and of nobleness, As were all honor, all nobility, •…•…n others lost they might be found in thee. •…•…n these our Wars at Sea, where Death does stand, With twice more force and terror than at Land, •…•…nto what danger thou thy life dost bear, The less thou fear'st, the more thy friends do fear. But when we talk of danger unto him, Who life than honor, does far less esteem, This onely's all the answer he does give, There's need to go, but there's no need to live. Go then, since nothing can be throughly done, •…•…ut where the Noble Ossery is one.

There's nothing now that England needs to fear, When York is Leader, and he follower, Who's both in Peace and War, by Land and Sea, So fit to serve his Countrey every way, As for true honor, true nobility, England had ne'er a braver Man than he.

On Welbeck the Duke of New∣castle's House, where he entertain∣ed the Last King so Royally.

WElbeck a Royal Place, where every thing Seems made for entertainment of a King; And ••very one confesses, that he ne'er, Was en••ertain'd more Royally than there. Let others wonder at thy Lords expence, And at the vastness of's magnificence. He who wou'd hazard Fortune, Life and all, To serve his Master, when his General; For me I ne'er shall wonder, that he wou'd Not spare his Purse, who wou'd not spare his Blood.

TO Sir WILLIAM DUCEY, on his Three Entertainments, of the King, Prince of Tuscany, and Prince of Denmark, all the same year. An. 1669.

DƲcey, who bravely knows to spend, When 'tis for any noble end; And never sticks at the expence, When 'tis to shew magnificence. For th'Royal entertainment that Thou gav'st unto thy Prince of late▪ The honor onely is thine own; But what's to other Princes done, The honor which to that is due, •…•…s both thine own, and others too. •…•…n that th'art but a private Man, •…•…n this a publick Person, and Thy Countrey shou'd ungrateful be, •…•…hou'd it not always honor thee. Who know'st so bravely how to spend, When 'tis for any noble end. •…•…nd never sticks at the expence, When 'tis to shew magnificence.

On his House at Charlton, nigh Greenwich, where these En∣terments were made.

NOr shalt thou Charlton uncommended go, Whilst Greenwich is by all commended so. Although thou want'st a Barkleys Pen to raise Thee to that height of Fame, which t'other has. Did Thames but at thy Feet its tribute pay, As't does to theirs, shou'dst be as Fam'd as they But yet it needs not, for thou hast by Land, As it by Water full as great command. And hast as many Neiades, as they Their Hyades, who thy commands obey. Thy Champions are as pleafant and as green, Thou seest as much, though not so much art seen. And in thy safe Retirement from the shore, Thy fame is less, but happiness the more. In fine, thy Gardens, Orchards, and thy Fields, Yield not to t'other Park, while Greenwich yields As much or more, (although a Royal Seat) To thee for height, as thou to it for great.

On the Death of Charles Lord Gerrard of Bromley.

WHo alive so far had been, He almost every Land had seen; And almost every thing did know, A man cou'd in this world below. At last his knowledge to improve, Is gone unto the World above. Where his knowledge is so much, And his happiness is such; 'Twou'd envy, and not sorrow seem In those too much, shou'd grieve for him.

To the Lady Gerrard of Bromley, on the Education of my Lord Her Son.

IF Education, Second Nature be, You doubly have oblig'd Posterity, By giving, Madam, to, my Lord, your Son, Such brave and noble Education, As gives him double Title to the Fame Of noble Gerrards, and brave Digbies name. Which while you give, and he does take so well, Who merits greatest praise, we cannot tell; But all agree there's none can better do, A Sons then he, a Mothers part than you.

To Sir K. D.

WHilst with thy mighty wit we but compare Our petty ones, me thinks they pigmies are. And thine the Giant, with whose vast discourse, Whilst we'd be meddling fain, but want the force, Thy wit comes to't, and takes it up with ease, Turns it as light, and handles as thou please. Oh how I've long'd! when I've in company been, Where I've some insolent talking Tyrant seen; Usurping all th'discourse o'th' company, Whilst none must talk, none must be heard but he; T'have some such Tyrant-Conqueror as thou Enter the Room, but onely to see how My talking; Sir, would presently be husht, And his swoln insolence like a Bladder crusht. So have I seen some chattering Pye or Jay, Fright with their noise, the lesser Foul away. Until some mighty Eagle comes in sight, When strait themselves are husht, and put to flight.

To the same, Recommending a certain Memorial to him in Italy. An. 1646.

I Must beg of you Sir, nay, what is more, 'Tis a disease so infectious to be poor.

•…•…ust beg you'd beg for me, which whilst I do, •…•…hat is't, but even to make you begger too? •…•…ut poverty being as honorable now, •…•…s 'twas when Cincinnatus held the Plough, •…•…enatots sow'd and reapt, and who had been •…•…n Carr of Triumph, fetcht the Harvest in. •…•…hen mightiest Peers do want, nay, what is worse, •…•…ven greatest Princes live on others Purse. •…•…nd very Kings themselves are Beggers made, •…•…o shame for any Sir, to be o'th' trade.

On the Dutchess of Newcastles Closset.

WHat place is this! Looks like some sacred Cell, Where holy Ermits anciently did dwell. •…•…nd never left importunating Heaven, •…•…ill some great blessing unto Earth was given? 〈…〉〈…〉 this a Ladies Closset! 'T cannot be, •…•…or nothing here of vanity we see: •…•…othing of curiosity or pride, •…•…s most of Ladies Clossets have beside. •…•…carcely a Glass or Mirror in't you find, •…•…xcepting Books, the Mirrors of the mind. •…•…or is't a Library, but just as she, •…•…akes each place where she comes a Library. •…•…ere she's in rapture, here in extasie, With studying high and deep Philosophy.

Here those clear Lights descend unto her mind, Which by Reflexion in her Books we find: And those high Notions, and Idea's too, Which but her self, no woman ever knew. Whence she's the cheifest Ornament and Grace, O'th' Age and of her Sex, Hail sacred Place, To which, the World in after time, shall come, As unto Homers Shrine, or Virgils Tomb. Honoring the Walls in which she made abode, The Air she breath'd, and Ground on which sh•…•… trode•…•… So Fame rewards the Arts, and so agen, The Arts reward all those who honor them. While those in any other Fame do trust, Shall after death lie in forgotten dust.

To the same with his Emilia.

WHen Poets wou'd a Heroinna make. Does all perfections of her Sex partake. They make her noble Fair, and vertuous too, All which perfections, Madam, are in you. Emilia then is but a feigned name, But you and she, are really the same. Or, if there's any diff'rence this is all, She's but the Copy, you the Original, Being then your Pourtraict, and your mirror too, There's none has greater right unto't, than you. Who so resembles you, we well may say; Emilia's you, and you Emilia.

To Mr. Henry Jermin, On the demand, Why he had no higher Titles.

STill Noble, Gallant, Generous, and Brave, What greater Titles would these people have? Or, what can they imagine more to express, •…•…ow great thou art, that wou'd not make thee less? He who is proud of other Titles, is •…•…roud of a thing, that's others, none of his. 〈…〉〈…〉 thing that's but the Title Page o'th' Book, On which your Fools and Children onely look. Or garnishment of dishes not to ear, •…•…ut empty nothings to set off the meat. •…•…hou enviest none their Honors, but would be, •…•…orry they shou'd deserve them more then thee. •…•…nd 'twere in thee, but vain ambition, •…•…o seek by other Titles to be known. When Henry Jermins name alone affords, •…•…s loud and high a found as any Lords. •…•…e still thy self then, and let others be, •…•…igh as they list in's place, what's that to thee? •…•…heir worth is all without them, thine within, •…•…nd whilst man fills the place, 'tis worth fills him. •…•…he Title of a worthy person's more, •…•…han all those Titles which your Clowns adore.

And there's no Office we may greater call, Than doing of good offices to all. This is thy Office, these thy Titles are. Let whose list take the rest, thou dost not care.

To James Earl of Northampton.

WHilst you your Fathers noble steps did trace, And still were found where greatest danger was. As none i'th' Wars more active was than you, So none has since more suffer'd for it too; By Plundering, Harassing, Imprisonment, And all successful Rebels cou'd invent; To punish Loyalty with, in such a time, When being Loyal was the greatest crime. All which you not with patience alone, But even with chearfulness have undergone. Wishing your dangers, loss, and suffering, Far greater yet in serving of your King. And that far from the mercenary regard Of those, did less for honor than reward. And you've the honor of't, let other men Take the reward, you do not envy them.

To Mr. Bernard Howard, Brother to the Duke of Norfolk. Seguite il Pocchi, & non li vulgare genti.

I Grant you Sir, I have a mind unfit, For my low fortune far too high for it; •…•…ut sure you'll grant 'tis better have it so, •…•…han for high fortune to have a mind too low. •…•…y that a man is elevated too, •…•…n Angels pitch, attain'd by onely few. •…•…y this, the Noble Soul is even deprest •…•…nto the vulgar, almost to the Beast. •…•…his sentence I have ta'en for Motto then, Follow the few, not vu••gar sort of men; •…•…nd care not what the ignorant vulgar say, •…•…or being not of their number, nor their way; •…•…hey do but talk, and can't in judgment sit, Nor lies it in their verge to judge of it. 〈…〉〈…〉 put my self upon the onely few, •…•…hat is the best and noblest, such as you.

To the Lord George Barkley.

IF as they say, and as we clearly see, Vertue be onely true nobility: There's none gives greater testimony than you, My Lord, that your nobility is true. And that't may so continue, you provide By adding to 't true piety beside. For Piety is but Vertue Died in Grain, Can ne'er change colour, nor take spot or stain. In which pure G••rments, who so e'er are clad, Are truly noble, truly vertuous made. Such Courtiers, Heaven desires, and such King shou'•• Desire too, if they'd have them great and good. Happy the whilst, my Lord, are such as you, F••t both for th'Earthly Court, and Heavenly too.

To LILLY, Drawing the Dutchess of Clevelands Picture.

STay daring Man, and ne'er presume to draw Her Picture, till thou maist such Colours get; As Zeuxes and Apelles never saw, Nor e'er were known by any Painter yet.

Till from all Beauties thou extracts the Crace, And from the Sun, the Beams that guild the Skies; Never presume to draw her Beauteous Face, Nor Paint the Radiant brightness of her Eyes. In vain the whilst thou dost the labor take, Since none can set her forth, to her desert. She who's above, all Nature e'er did make, Much more's above, all can be made by Art. Yet been't discourag'd, for who e'er does see't, At least, with Admiration must confess, It has an Air so charming and so sweet, Much more than others, though than hers much less. So those bold Giants, who wou'd scale the Sky, Although they in their high attempt did fall, This comfort had, they mounted yet more high Than those, who never strove to climb at all. Comfort thee then, and think it no disgrace, From so great heighth, a little to decline. Since all must grant the Reason of it was, Her too great Exc'llence, and no want of thine.

In Memory of his Noble Friend, Col. William Evers, Slain in the Battle of Marstone-Moor.

EVers, who as thou liv'dst, so thou didst die! Deserving an Eternal Memory!

Let some for th' Macedonian go about To cut Mount Athos into Statues out; Others in memory of Great Heroes, Raise huge Mausolium's and Collosose's. This for thy memory, may be enough To make't not onely Time, but Glory prove, To see thee embracing of a Kingdom stand, Like some great Cato, or some greater hand; And midst of thy embraces see it fall, Drawing to ruine with it, thee, and all. Who would not say of such a mind, 'twas fit 'T shou'd never fall, but all the World with it.

Of the Riches of the Barbado's, to Mr. Henry Drax.

HOw rich Barbadoes is in other things, We well may see by th' wealthy Trade it brings. How rich it is in Men, we well may see, By bringing forth brave Drax, such Men as thee.

On Mr. Abraham Cowley.

COwley's not dead, immortal is his Muse; Or, if he be a Phenix he's become, Who match-less in his kind, his life renews, And animates his ashes in his Tomb.

The same in French.

NOn Couley n'est pas mort, sa muse est immortelle, Ou bien si Couley est mort c'est un Phenix nouveau Qui n' ayant son pareil, soy mesme renouelle, Et suruit a sa cendre, animant son Tombeau.

The Praises of Burbadge, or an Excellent Actor. To Charles Hart.

WHo by the best and noblest of the Age, Was held the chiefest ornament o'th' Stage And Actors clearest light, in no dark time, To shew them what to follow, what decline. Who knew by Rules of the Dramatick Art, To fit his Speech and Action to his Part. And of an Excellent Orator had all In voice and gesture which we charming call; Who a delightful Proteus was, that cou'd Transform himself into what shape he wou'd. And finally did on the Stage appear. Beauty to th' Eye, and Musick to the Ear. Such Burbadge was, and such Charles Hart is now, All but the deaf and blind, must needs allow.

To Mr. John Dryden.

DRyden, the Muses darling and delight, Then whom, none ever flew so high a flight; Nor ever any's Muse, so high did sore Above th' Poets Empyrium before. Some go but to Parnassus foot, and there Creep on the Ground, as if they Reptils were: Others but Water Poets, who have gone, No farther than the Fount of Helicon; And they're but Airy ones, whose Muse soars up No higher than to Mount Parnassus top. Whilst thou with thine, dost seem t'have mounted higher, Than he who fetcht from Heaven, Celestial fire; And dost as far surpass all others, as The fier's, all other Elements does surpass.

On Mistress Jean Roberts.

Roberts, whom rather we Rob-hearts, may call, Since of our Hearts, her Beauty robs us all; And does it with such gentle force and slight, As she even robs us with her very sight. Nay, what few Beauties else cou'd ever do, Her sight not onely robs, but kills us too.

Though none so fond of life, was ever found, Who wou'd not gladly die of such a wound; Nor talk of Law to her, who is above All other Laws, but onely those of Love. Whence she's so high, and absolute become, As she gives Laws to all, but takes of none. Such priviledge Beauty has, whence we may see Less Thieves are punish'd, great ones lawless be. And mighty Conquerors, whom no Laws can touch, Do rob and kill like her, but not so much.

The End of the Second Book of EPIGRAMS Published before.