Madagascar; WITH OTHER Poems.

BY W. DAVENANT.

[figure]

LONDON, Printed by John Haviland for Thomas Walkly, and are to be sold at his shop at the Flying Horse neare Yorke house. 1638.

Imprimatur,

Feb. 26. 1637.
MATTH. CLAY

IF THESE POEMS LIVE, MAY THEIR MEMORIES, BY WHOM THEY WERE CHERISH'D, END. PORTER, H. IARMYN, LIVE WITH THEM.

TO My worthy Friend M r. William Davenant; upon his Poem of Madagascar, which he writ to the most Illustrions Prince RUPERT.

I Am compell'd by your commands to write
I'th Frontis-peece of this, and sure I might
With quaint conceirs, here to the World set forth
The merit of the Poem, and your worth;
Had I well fancy'd reasons to begin▪
And a choyce Mould, to cast good verses in:
But wanting these, what pow'r (alas) have I
To write of any thing? will men rely
On my opinion? which in Verse, or Prose,
Hath just that credit, which we give to those
That sagely whisper, secrets of the Court,
Having but Lees, for Essence, from Report.
[Page]And that's the knowledge which belongs to mee;
For by what's said, I guesse at Poetrie:
As when I heare them read strong-lines, I cry
Th'are rare, but cannot tell you rightly why:
And now I finde this quality was it,
That made some Poet eite mee for a wit:
Now God forgive him for that huge mistake!
If hee did know, but with what paines I make
A Verse, hee▪ld pittie then my wretched case;
For at the birth of each, I twist my Face,
As if I drew a Tooth; I blot, and write,
Then looke as pale, as some that goe to fight:
With the whole Kennell of the Alphabet,
I hunt sometimes an houre, one Rime to get:
What I approv'd of once, I streight deny,
Like an unconstant Prince, then give the lye
To my owne invention, which is so poore,
As here I'de kisse your hands, and say no more;
Had I not seene a childe with Si [...]ors cut,
A folded Paper, unto which was put
More chance, than skill, yet when you open it,
You'd thinke it had beene done, by Art and Wit:
[Page]So I (perhaps) may light upon some straine,
Which may in this your good opinion▪ gaine;
And howsoever, if it be a plot,
You may be certaine that in this, y'have got
A foyle to set your Jewell off, which comes
From Madagascar, scenting of rich gummes;
Before the which, my lay conceits will smell,
Like an abortive Chick, destroy'd i'th shell:
Yet something I must say, may it prove fit;
I'le doe the best I can; and this is it.
What lofty fancie was't possest your braine,
And caus'd you soare into so high a straine!
Did all the Muses joyne, to make this Peece
Excell what wee have had, from Romo, or Greece?
Or did you strive, to leave it as a Friend
To speake your prayses, when there is an end
Of your mortalitie? If you did so,
En [...]y will then, scarce finde you out a Foe:
But let me tell you (Friend) the heightning came,
From the reflection of Prince Rupert's name;
Whose glorious Genius cast into your soule,
Divine conceits, such as are fit t'inroule,
[Page]In great Apollo's court, there to remaine
For future ages to transcribe againe:
For such a Poem, in so sweet a stile,
As yet, was never landed on this Isle:
And could I speake your prayses at each Pore,
Twere little for the worke; it merits more.
Endimion Porter.

TO MY FRIEND Will. Davenant; upon his Poem of Madagascar.

WHat mighty Princes Poets are? those things
The great ones stick at, and our very Kings
Lay downe, they venter on; and with great ease,
Discover, conquer, what, and where they please.
Some Flegmatick Sea-Captaine, would have staid
For money now, or Victualls; not have waid
Anchor without'em; Thou ( will) do'st not stay
So much as for a Wind, but go'st away,
Land'st, View'st the Country; fight'st, put'st all to rout,
Before another cou'd be putting out!
[Page]And now the newes in towne is; Dav'nant's come
From Madagascar, Fraught with Laurell home,
And welcome ( will) for the first time, but prithee
In thy next Voyage, bring the Gold too with thee.
I. Suckling.

On his other Poems.

THou hast redeem'd us, will; and future Times,
Shall not account unto the Age's crimes
Dearth of pure Wit: since the great Lord of i [...]
( Donne) parted hence, no Man has ever writ
So neere him, in's owne way: I would-commend
Particulars, but then, how should I end
Without a Volume? Ev'ry Line of thine
Would aske (to praise it right) Twenty of mine.
I. Suckling.

To Will. Davenant my Friend.

WHen I behold, by warrant from thy Pen,
A Prince rigging our Fleets, arming our, Men,
Conducting to remotest shores our force
(Without a Dido to retard his course)
And thence repelling in successe-full fight,
Th'usurping Foe (whose strength was all his Right)
By two brave Heroes, (whom wee justly may
By Homer's Ajax or Achilles lay,)
I doubt the Author of the Tale of Troy,
With him, that makes his Fugitive enjoy
The Carthage Queene, and thinke thy Poem may
Impose upon Posteritie, as they
Have done on us: What though Romances lye
Thus blended with more faithfull Historie?
[Page]Wee, of th'adult'rate mixture not complaine,
But thence more Characters of Vertue gaine;
More pregnant Patterns, of transcedent Worth,
Than barren and insipid Truth brings forth:
So, oft the Bastard nobler fortune meets,
Than the dull Issue of the lawfull sheets.
Thomas Carew.

TO MY FRIEND, Will. Davenant.

I Crouded' mongst the first, to see the Stage
(Inspir'd by thee) strike wonder in our Age,
By thy bright fancie dazled: Where each Sceane
Wrought like a charme, and forc't the Audience leane
To t'h' passion of thy Pen: Thence Ladies went
(Whose absence Lovers sigh'd for) to repent
Their unkind scorne; And Courtiers, who by art
Made love before, with a converted hart,
To wed those Virgins, whom they woo'd t'abuse;
Both renderd Hymen's pros'lits by thy Muse.
But others who were proofe 'gainst Love, did sit
To learne the subtle Dictats of thy Wit;
And as each profited, tooke his degree,
Master, or Batchelor, in Comedie.
[Page]Who on the Stage, though since they venter'd not,
Yet on some Lord, or Lady, had their plot
Of gaine, or favour: Ev'ry nimble jest
They spake of thine, b'ing th' entrance to a Feast,
Or neerer whisper: Most thought fit to be
So farre concluded Wits, as they knew thee.
But here the Stage thy limit was▪ Kings may
Find proud ambition humbled at the sea,
Which bounds dominion: But the nobler flight
Of Poesie, hath a supremer right
To Empire, and extends her large command
Where ere th'invading Sea assaults the land.
Ev'n Madagascar (which so oft hath been
Like a proud Virgin tempted, yet still seen
Th'Enemy Court the Wind for flight) doth lie
A trophie now of thy Wits Victorie:
Nor yet disdaines destruction to her state,
Encompast with thy Laurell in her fate.
William Habington.

Madagascar. A Poem written to Prince RUPERT.

MY Soule, this Winter, hath beene twice about
To shift her narrow Mansion, and looke out;
To aire her yet unpractis'd wings, and trie
Where Soules are entertain'd when Bodyes die:
For this intended journey was to cleere
Some subtle humane doubts, that vex her here,
And for no other cause; how ere the Court
Beleeve (whose cruell wits turne all to sport)
'Twas not to better my philosophie
That I would mount, and travell through the Skie,
As if I went, on Natures embassie;
Whose Legate there, Religion termes a Spie.
[Page 2]But these sick offers to depart, they call
A wearinesse of life, each Spring, and Fall:
And this beliefe (though well resolv'd before)
Made mee so sullen, that I'le die no more
Than old Chaldean Prophets in their sleepe;
Who still some reliques of their Soules, would keepe,
As gage for the returne of what they sent,
For visions to the starry Firmament.
Thus in a dreame, I did adventure out
Just so much Soule, as Sinners giv'n to doubt
Of after usage, dare forgoe a while:
And this swift Pilot steer'd unto an Isle,
Betweene the Southern Tropick and the Line;
Which (noble Prince) my prophecie cals thine:
There on a Christall Rock I sate, and saw
The empire of the Winds, new kept in awe,
By things, so large, and weighty as did presse
Waves▪ to Bubbles, or what unswell'd to lesse:
The Sea, for shelter hastned to the shore;
Sought harbor for it selfe, not what it bore:
So well these Ships could rule; where ev'ry Saile,
The subdu'd Winds, court with so milde a gale,
[Page 3]As if the spacious Navy lay adrift;
Sayles swell'd, to make them comely more than swift:
And then I spi'd (as cause of this command)
Thy mighty Uncles Trident in thy hand;
By which mysterious figure I did call
Thee chiefe, and universall Admirall!
For well our northerne Monarch knowes; howere
The Sea is dully held, the proper spheare
Wherein that Trident swayes, yet, in his hand
[...]t turnes strait to a Scepter when on land:
And soone this wise assertion prov'd a truth;
For when thy selfe, with thy advent'rous Youth
Were disimbarqu'd; strait with one lib'rall minde,
That long-lost, scatter'd-parcell of mankinde,
Who from the first disorder'd throng did stray
And then fix heere, now yeeld unto thy sway:
On Olive trees, their Quivers empty hung,
Their Arrowes were unplum'd, their Bowes unstrung:
But some from farr, with jealous Opticks trace
Lines of thy Mothers beauty in thy face:
By which, so much thou seem'st the God of love,
That with tumultuous haste they strait remove,
[Page 4]And hide, their Magazin of Archerie;
Lest what was their defence, might now supply
Thy Godhead, which is harmelesse yet; but know
When thou shalt head a Shaft, and draw a Bow,
Each then thou conquerst, must a Lover be;
The worst estate of their captivitie.
What sound is that! whose concord makes a jarre
'Tis noise in peace, though harmonie in warre:
The Drumme; whose doubtfull Musick doth delight
The willing eare, and the unwilling fright.
Had wet Orion chosen to lament
His griefs at Sea, on such an Instrument;
Perhaps the martiall Musick might incite
The Sword-fish, Thrasher, and the Whale to fight,
But not to dance; the Dolphin he should lack,
Who to delight his eare, did load his back:
And now as Thunder, calls ere Stormes doe rise;
Yet not forewarnes, 'till just they may surprise;
Till the assembling clouds are met, to powre
Their long provided furie in one showre;
Even so this little thunder of the Drumme,
Foretold a danger just when it was come:
[Page 5]When strait mine Eye, might ratifie mine Eare;
And see that true, which heard, was but my feare:
For in a firme well order'd body stood,
Erected Pikes, like a young leavelesse Wood;
And that shew'd dark, they were so close combin'd;
And ev'ry narrow File was double lin'd;
But with such nimble Ministers of fire,
That could so quickly charge, so soone retire,
That shot so fast; to say it lightned were
No praise, unto a Gunners motion there;
Nor yet to say, it lightned ev'ry where;
Their number thence, not swiftnesse would appeare;
Since so incessant swift; that in mine eye,
Lightning seem'd slow, and might be taught to flie!
Tis lawfull then to say, thou didst appeare
To wonder much, although thou couldst not feare:
Thy knowledge (Prince) were younger than thy time,
[...]f not amaz'd; to see in such a clime,
Where Science is so new, men so exact,
[...]n Tactick Arts, both to designe, and act.
These from unwieldy Ships (the day before)
The weary Seas disburdned on the shore:
[Page 6]In envy of thy hopes they hither came;
And Envy men in warr Ambition name;
Ambition, Valor; but'tis valor's shame
When Envy feeds it more than noble Fame:
Strait I discern'd by what their Ensigne weares,
They are of those ambitious Wanderers;
Whose avaritious thoughts would teach them runne,
As long continu'd journeys as the Sunne;
And make the title of their strength, not right,
As knowne, and universall as his light:
For they beleeve their Monarch hath subdu'd
Already such a spacious latitude;
That sure, the good old Planet's bus'nesse is
Of late, only to visit what is his:
And those faire beames, which he did think his owne
Are tribute now, and he, his subject growne;
Yet not impair'd in title, since they call
Him kindly, his Surveyor-Generall.
Now give mee Wine! and let my fury rise,
That what my travail'd Soul's immortall eies
With joy, and wonder saw, I may reherse
To curious Eares, in high, immortall verse!
[Page 7]Two of this furious Squadron did advance;
Commanded to comprise the publique chance
In their peculiar fates: Their Swords they drew;
And two, whose large renowne their Nation knew,
Two of thy party (Prince) they call'd to try
By equall duell such a victory,
As gives the Victor's side a full command
Of what possess'd by both, is neithers Land.
And this to save the Peoples common blood;
By whom although no cause is understood;
Yet Princes being vex'd they must take care
To doe not what they ought, but what they dare:
Their reason on their courage must rely;
Though they alike the quarrell justifie,
And in their Princes kinde indiff'rent eie
Are dutious fooles, that either kill, or die.
This safe agreement by the gen'rall voyce
Was ratifi'd with vowes; then strait thy choice
For the encounter (Prince) with greedy eye
I did intirely view; and both I spie
March to the List; whilst eithers cheerefull looke
Fore-told glad hopes, of what they undertooke.
[Page 8]Their lookes; where forc'd-state-clouds, nere strive to lowre,
As if sweet feature, bus'nesse could makesowre:
Where solemne sadnesse of a new court face,
Nere meant to signifie their pow'r, or place.
You may esteeme them Lovers by their haire;
The colour warnes no Lady to despaire;
And Nature seem'd to prove their stature such,
As tooke not scantly from her, nor too much:
So tall, wee can't mis-name their stature length,
Nor think' [...] lesse made for comlinesse, than strength.
Their hearts are more, than what wee noble call,
And still make Envy weary of her Gall.
So gentle soft; their valours with more ease,
Might be betrai'd to suffer than displease:
Compar'd to Lovers, Lovers were undone;
Since still the best gaine by comparison.
Of these, the God-like Sidney was a Type,
Whose fame still growes, and yet is ever ripe;
Like fruits of Paradise, which nought could blast
But ignorance; for a desire to taste,
And know, produc'd no curse; but neut'rall will,
When knowledge made indiff'rent, good, and ill.
[Page 9]So whilst our judgement keepes unmix'd, and pure,
Our Sidney's full-growne Fame will still endure:
Sidney, like whom these Champions strive to grace,
The silenc'd remnant of poore Orpheus race.
First those, whom mighty Numbers shall inspire;
Then those, whose easier art can touch his Lyre.
And they protect, those who with wealthier fare,
Old Zeuxis lucky Pen [...]ill imitate,
And those, who teach Lysippus Imag'rie;
Formes, that if once alive, would never die!
Which though no offices of life they taste,
Yet, like th'Elements (life's preservers) last!
An Art, that travailes much, deriv'd to us
From pregnant Rome, to Rome from Ephesus!
But whither am I fled? A Poets Song,
When love directs his praise, is ever long.
The Challenge was aloud; whilst ev'ry where
Men strive to shew their hopes; and hide their feare.
They now stood opposite, and neer: awhile
Their Eyes encounter'd, then in scorne they smile.
Each did disguise the fury of his heart,
By safe, and temp'rate exercise of Art.
[Page 10]Seem'd to invite those thrusts they most decline,
Receive and then returne in one true line:
As if, all Archymedes science were
In duell both express'd, and better'd there.
Each strove the others judgement to surpasse;
Stood stiffe, as if their postures were in brasse.
But who can keepe his cold wise temper long,
When honours warmes him, and his blood is young▪
Those subtle figures, they in judgement chose
As guards secure, in rage they discompose:
Now Hazard is the play, Courage the Maine▪
Which if it hits at first, assur's the gaine:
But Honor throwes at all; and in this strife,
When Honor playes, how poore a stake is life?
Which soone (alas!) the adverse Second found;
Made wise, by the example of a wound▪
But Gamsters wisdome ever comes too late;
So deare 'tis bought, of that false Merchant Fate:
For our bold Second by that wound had wone▪
The treasure of his strength; whilst quite undone,
He shrunke from this unlucky sport: but now
More angry wrinckles on his Rivals brow
[Page 11]Appear'd, than hunted Lions weare; and all
His strength, hee ventures on our Principall:
Who entertain'd his streame of fury so
As Seas meet Rivers whom they force to flow:
It is repulse makes Rivers swell, and he
Forc'd back, got courage from our victorie:
Rivers, that Seas doe teach to rage, are tost,
And troubled for their pride, then quickly lost:
So he was taught that anger, which he spent
To make the others wrath more prevalent.
For in the next assault he felt the best,
First part of Man (the Monarch of his brest)
To sicken in its warme, and narrow Throne,
His Rivals hasty Soule, to shades unknowne
Was newly fled; but his made greater haste,
His feares had so much sense of suff'rings past▪
Such danger he discern'd in's Victors eye;
Whom he beleev'd, so skill'd in victorie;
As if his Soule should neere his body stay,
The cruell heavens, would [...]each him finde a way
To kill that too; by which, no pride (wee see)
Can make us so prophane as miserie?
[Page 12]This when their Campe beheld, they strait abjure
That pitty in their vow; which to secure
The publique bloud, ventur'd their hopes, and fame,
On Two, cause they could dye, were censur'd tame:
And to exhort, such vex'd, and various Minds,
Were in a storme, to reconcile the Winds,
With whisper'd precepts of philosophy;
Armes, and Religion, seldome can comply.
Their faith they break, and in a Body draw
Their looser strength, to give the Victors law.
Charge! charge! the battaile is begun! and now
I saw, thy Vncles anger in thy brow:
Which like Heavens fire, doth seldom force assume,
Or kindle till tis fit, it should consume:
Heavens slow, unwilling fire; that would not fall,
'Till Two injurious Cities seem'd to call
With their loud sinnes; and when t'was time it must
Destroy; although it was severely just
To those, so much perverted in their will;
The righteous saw the fire, yet fear'd no ill.
So carelesse safe, here all the Natives were,
Who stood, as if too innocent to feare▪
[Page 13]As if they knew, they Uncle bred thy Fate,
And his just anger thou didst imitate.
But thy proud Foes, who thought the Morne did rise,
For no chiefe cause, but to salute their Eies;
Are now enform'd by Death, it may grow Night
With them, yet others still enjoy the light:
For strait (me thought) their perish'd Bodies lay
To soyle the Ground, they conquer'd yesterday.
O, why is valour priz'd at such a rate?
Or if a Vertue, why so fool'd by Fate?
That Land, achiev'd with patient toyle, and might
Of emulous encounter in the fight,
They must not only yeeld, when they must dy,
But dead, it for the Victor fructifie.
And now our Drummes so fill each adverse Eare,
Their fellowes groanes, want roome to enter there;
Like Ships neere Rocks, when stormes are growne so high,
They cannot warne each other with their cry:
Ev'n so, not hearing what would make them flye,
All stay'd, and sunke, for sad societie:
Their wounds are such, the Neighb'ring Rivers need
No Springs to make them flow, but what they bleed▪
[Page 14]Where Fishes wonder at their red-dy'd flood,
And by long nourishment on humane blood,
May grow so neere a kin to men, that he
who feeds on them hereafter, needs must be
Esteem'd as true a Caniball, as those
Whose luscious diet is their conquer'd Foes.
Sure Adam when himselfe he first did spie
So singular, and onely in his eye;
Yet knew, all to that single selfe pertain'd,
Which the Sunne saw, or Elements sustain'd;
He not beleev'd, a race from him might come
So num'rous, that to make new off-spring roome,
Is now the best excuse of Nature, why
Men long in growth, so easily must die.
Eden, which God did this first Prince allow,
But as his Privie-garden then, is now
A spacious Country found; else wee supplie
With dreames, not truth, long lost Geographie:
And each high Island then (though nere so wide)
Was but his Mount, by Nature fortifi'd;
And every Sea, wherein those Islands float,
Most aptly then, he might have call'd his Moat.
[Page 15]Parts, and divisions were computed small,
When rated by his measure that had all:
And all was Adams when the world was new;
Then strait that all, succeeded to a few;
Whilst men were in their size, not number strong;
But since, each Couple is become a Throng:
Which is the cause wee busie ev'ry winde
(That studious Pilots in their compasse finde)
For Lands unknowne: where those who first doe come
Are not held strangers, but arrive at home:
Yet he that next shall make his visit there,
Is punish'd for a Spie and Wanderer:
Not that Man's nature is a verse from peace;
But all are wisely jealous of increase:
For Eaters grow so fast, that wee must drive
Our friends away to keepe our selves alive:
And Warr would be lesse needfull, if to die,
Had bin as pleasant as to multiplie.
Forgive mee Prince, that this aspiring flame
(First kindled as a light, to shew thy fame)
Consumes so fast, and is mis-spent so long,
Ere my chiefe Vision is become my Song,
[Page 16]Thy selfe I saw, quite tir'd with victorie;
As weary growne to kill, as they to die:
Whilst some at last, thy mercy did enjoy
'Cause t'was lesse paines, to pardon than destroy;
And thy compassion did thy Army please,
In meere beleefe, it gave thy Valour ease.
Here in a calme began thy regall sway;
Which with such cheerefull hearts, all did obey,
As if no Law, were juster than thy word;
Thy Scepter still were safe, without a Sword.
And here Chronologers pronounce thy stile;
The first true Monarch of the Golden Isle:
An Isle, so seated for predominance,
Where Navall strength, its power can so advance,
That it may tribute take, of what the East
Shall ever send in traffique to the West.
He that from cursed Mahomet derives
His sinfull blood: the Sophy too, that strives
To prove, he keepes that very Chaire in's Throne,
The Macedonian Youth last sate upon:
And hee, whose wilder pride, makes him abhor
All but the Sunne, for his Progenitor;
[Page 17]Whose Mother sure, was ravish'd in a dreame,
By somes o're hot, lascivious Noone-day-beame;
From whence, he cals himselfe, The wealth of sight,
The Morn's Executor, the Heire of Light:
And he, that thinks his rule extends so farre,
He hopes, the former Three his Vassailes are:
Compar'd to him, in Warre hee rates them lesse,
Than Corporals; than Constables in peace:
And hopes the mighty Presbiter stands bare
In [...]rev'rence of his name, and will not dare
To weare (though sick) his purple Turband on
Within a hundred Leagues, of his bright Throne.
These Mortall Gods, for traffique still disperse
Their envy'd wealth, throughout the universe;
In Caracks, built so wide, that they want roome
In narrow Seas; or in a Iunck, whose wombe
So swels, as could our wonder be so mad,
To thinke that Boats, or Ships their sexes had;
Who them beheld, would simply say; sure these
Are neere their time, and big with Pinnaces:
Yet though so large, and populous, they all
Must tribute pay, unto thy Admirall.
Now Wealth (the cause, and the reward of War)
Is greedily explor'd: some busie are
In virgin Mines; where shining gold they spie,
That darkens the Celestiall Chymicks eye▪
I wish'd my Soule had brought my body here,
Not as a Poet, but a Pioner.
Some neere the deepest shore are sent to dive;
Whilst with their long retentive breath they strive
To root up Corall Trees, where Mermaids lie,
Sighing beneath those Precious boughs, and die
For absence of their scaly Lovers lost
In midnight stormes, about the Indian coast.
Some finde old Oysters, that lay gapeing there
For ev'ry new, fresh flood, a hundred yeare;
From these they rifle Pearles whose pond'rous size
Sinks weaker Divors when they strive to rise:
So big, on Carckonets were never scene,
But where some well truss'd Giantesse is Queene;
For though th'are Orient, and design'd to deck,
Their weight would yoke a tender Ladies Neck.
Some climbe, and search the Rocks, till each have found
A Saphyr, Ruby, and a Diamond:
[Page 19]That which the Sultan's glistrings Bride doth weare,
To these would but a Glowormes eie appeare:
The Tuscan Duk's compar'd, shewes sick, and dark;
These living Starres, and his a dying spark.
And now I saw (what urg'd my wonder more)
Black Suds of Ambar-Greece, float to the shore:
Whilst rude'dull Mariners, who hardly can
Distinguish Buffe, or Hides, from Cordovan,
(Since gloves they never weare) this Oyntment use
Not to perfume, but supple their parch'd Shooes.
Now others hasten to the woods, and there
Such fruits for taste and odor, ev'ry where
Are seene; that the Merabolan by some
Is slighted as a course sowre winter-Plumme.
Then new temptations make them all in love
With wand'ring, till invited to a Grove,
They strait those silken litle Weavers spie,
That worke so fast on leaves of Mulberie:
The Persian worme (whose weary sommer toyles
So long hath beene the rusling Courtiers spoyles)
Compar'd to these, lives ever lazily,
And for neat spinning is a bungling Flie!
Such hopes of wealth discern'd, tis hard to say
How gladly reason did my faith obey;
As if that miracle would now appeare,
Which turnes a Poet to an Usurer:
But reason soone will with our faith conspire,
To make that easie which wee much desire:
Nor, Prince, will I despaire; though all is thine,
That Pioners now dig from ev'ry Mine;
Though all, for which on slipp'ry Rocks they strive,
Or gather when in Seas they breathlesse dive;
Though Poets such unlucky Prophets are,
As still foretell more blessings than they share;
Yet when thy noble choyce appear'd, that by
Their Combat first prepar'd thy victorie;
Endimion, and Arigo; who delight
In Numbers and make strong my Muses flight!
These when I saw; my hopes could not abstaine,
To think it likely I might twirle a Chaine
On a judiciall Bench: learne to demurre,
And sleepe out trials in a gowne of Furre,
Then reconcile the rich, for Gold-fring'd-gloves,
The poore, for God-sake, or for Sugar-loaves!
[Page 21]When I perceiav'd, that cares on wealth rely;
That I was destin'd for authoritie,
And early Gowts; my Soule in a strange fright
From this rich Isle began her hasty flight;
And to my halfe dead Body did returne,
Which new inspir'd, rose cheerefull as the Morne.
Heroique Prince, may still thy acts, and name,
Become the wonder and discourse of Fame;
May ev'ry Laurell, ev'ry Mirtle bough,
Be strip'd for Wreaths, t'adorne, and load thy brow;
Triumphant Wreaths, which cause they never fade,
Wise elder times, for Kings and Poets made:
And I deserve a little sprig of Bay,
To weare in Greece on Homers Holy-day;
Since I assume, when I thy Battailes write,
That very flame, which warm'd thee in the fight.
FINIS.

Elizium. To the Duchesse of BVCKINGHAM.

MADAM,
SO sleeps the Anchoret on his cheap bed,
(whose sleep wants only length to prove him dead)
As I last night, whom the swift wings of Thought,
Convey'd to see what our bold faith had taught;
Elizium, where restored formes nere fade;
Where growth can need no seeds, nor light a shade;
The joyes which in our flesh, through fraile expence
Of strentgh, through age, were lost t'our injur'd sense,
Wee there doe meet agen; and those we taste
Anew, which though devour'd, yet ever last:
[Page 23]The scatter'd treasure of the Spring, blowne by
Autumn's rude winds from our discoverie;
Lillies, and Roses; all that's faire and sweet,
There reconcil'd to their first roots we meet:
There, only those triumphant Lovers reigne,
Whose passions knew on earth so little staine,
Like Angels they nere felt what sexes meant;
Virtue, was first their nature, then intent:
There, toyling Victors safely are possest,
With servent youth, eternitie, and rest;
But they were such, who when they got the field;
To teach the conquer'd, victorie, could yeeld
Themselves againe; as if true glorie were
To bring the foe to courage, not to feare.
There are no talking Greeks, who their blood lost,
Not for the cause, but for a theame to boast;
As if they strove enough for Fame, that sought
To have their Batailes better told, than fought.
There I a Vestal's Shadow first did spy,
Who when a live with holy huswifry,
Trick'd up in lawne, and flow'ry Wreaths (each hand
Cleane as her thoughts) did'fore the Altar stand:
[Page 24]So busie still, strewing her Spice, and then
Removing Coales, vexing the Fire agen,
As if some queasie Goddesse had profess'd,
To taste no smoak that day, but what she dress'd:
This holy coyle she living kept; but farre
More busie now, with more delightfull care
Than when she watch'd the consecrated Flame,
Sh'attends the Shade of gentle Buckingham;
Who there unenvi'd sits, with Chaplets crownd;
And with wise scorne, smiles on the Peoples wound;
He call'd it so; for though it touch'd his heart,
His Nation feeles the rancour, and the smart.

TO The Lord D. L. upon his Mariage.

WEe that are Orpheus Sons, and can inherit
By that great title, nought but's num'rous spirit;
His broaken Harpe, and when w'are tir'd with moane,
A few small Trees of Bay to hang it on.
Wee that successively can claime no more,
From such a poore unlucky Ancestor;
Must now (my noble Lord) take thrifty care,
To know, what moderne wealth the Muses share?
Or how it is dispos'd? and strait wee finde
Great, pow'rfall Love, hath bount'ously resign'd
Into your happy Armes, the chiefe, and best,
Of all that our ambitious hopes possest:
[Page 26]Your noble Bride; to whose eternall Eies,
Wee daily offer'd Wreaths in Sacrifice:
Whose warmth gave Laurell growth, whose ev'ry beame
Was first our influence, and then our theame:
Whose brest (too narrow for her heart) was still
Her reasons Throne, and prison to her will:
And since, this is your willing faith; tis fit
What all the kinde, and wiser Starres commit
Unto your charge, be with such eager love,
And soft indeerements us'd, as well may prove,
They meant, when first they taught you how to woo [...],
She should be happy, and the Muses too▪
Live still, the pleasure of each others sight;
To each, a new made wonder, and delight;
Though two, yet both so much one constant minde,
That t'will be art, and mystery to finde
(Your thoughts and wishes, being still the same)
From which of eithers loving heart they came.

A Journey into Worcestershire.

THree, who (if kinder Destinies shall please)
May all dye rich, though they love Wit, and ease;
And I, whom some odde hum'rous Planet bid
To register the doughty acts they did,
Tooke horse; leaving ith' Town, ill Playes, sowre Wine,
Fierce Serjeants and the plague; besides of mine
An Ethnick Taylor too, that was farre worse
Than these, or what just Heaven did ever curse.
Scarce was the busie Citie left behind,
But from the South arose a busier Winde;
Which sent us so much raine, each man did wish,
His hands and leggs, were Finnes, his Horse, a Fish.
Dull as a thick-skull'd- Iustice, drunke with Sloth;
Or Alderman (farre gone in Capon Broth)
[Page 28]Wee all appear'd; no man gave breath to thought;
But like to silent Traytors in a Vault,
Digg'd on our way; or as wee Traytors were
T'our selves, and jealous of each others Eare:
And as i'th Worlds great Showre, some that did spie
(Hors'd on the Plaines) Rivers, and Seas draw nigh;
Spurr'd on apace; in feare all lost their time,
That could not reach a ground where they might climbe;
So wee did never thinke us safe, untill
Wee had attain'd the Top o'th first high Hill:
And now it cleer'd: so to my travail'd Eie,
Lookes a round yellow Dane, when he doth spie
Neere to his puissant Arme, a Bowle so full,
That it may fill his Bladder, and his Skull,
As Phebus at this moysture falne; who laught;
To see such plenty for his mornings draught:
But like Chamelions Colours that decay
But seemingly to give new colours way;
So our false griefs, had not themselves outworne,
But step'd aside, to vary in returne.
Beare witnesse World! for now my tir'd Horse stood,
As I, a Vaulter were, and himselfe Wood:
[Page 29]As if some Student fierce, the day before
Had spurr'd his full halfe Crowne from him, and more.
Endimion cryes, away! What make wee here?
To draw a Map, or gather Juniper?
More cruell than Shrove-Prentices, when they
(Drunk in a Brothell House) are bid to pay;
Or than the Bawd at Sessions, to that vilde
Indicted Rout, which first her house until'de,
Is now the Captaine; who laughing swore; thus,
Each puny Poet rides his Pegasus.
But what's the cause my Lord spurs on amaine,
As if t'outride a Tartar, not the Raine;
Some such swift Tartar as might safely say,
To an inviting friend, that tempts his stay;
Farwell; thou seest the Sunne declin'd long since,
And I'm to sup a Hundred miles from hence.
My Lord (me thought) as he had heard this same,
Rod post, to eat that supper ere he came.
And now, my Mule moves too; but with such speed,
As Pris'ners to a Psalme, that cannot read:
Yet wee reach'd Wickham, with the early Night:
Which to describe to Eares, or draw to Sight;
[Page 30]For scituation, or for forme, for heighth,
For strength, or magnitude, would (in good faith)
But stale the price o'th Map; small credit be
T'our Poem, lesse to our Geographie:
Or as your riding Academicks use,
To toyle, and vex, a long fed mutton-Muse,
With taking the circumference of mine Host,
Or his Wives sumitrie, were time worse lost;
Since nor Taurentius, nor Van-dike, have yet
Command to draw them for the King in great.
He that to night rul'd each delighted breast,
Gave to the pallat of each Eare a feast;
With joy of pledges made our sowre wine sweet,
And nimble as the leaping juice of Creet;
Was, the brave Endimion; whose triumphs, cleere,
From cruell tyranny, or too nice feare;
Having wit still ready, and no huge sinne
To cause a sadnesse that might keepe it in,
Let flye at all; the Shafts were keene; and when
They miss'd to pierce, he strongly drew agen▪
But Sleep, whom Constables obey, though they
Have twenty Bills to keepe him off till day:
[Page 31]Sleepe, whom th'high tun'd Cloth-worker, Weaver tall,
Nor Cobler shrill, with Catches or his Aule,
Knowes to resist, seal'd up our lips, and sight;
Making us blind, and silent as the Night.
Our other Sallies, and th'adventures wee
Achiev'd, deserve new braine, new Historie.

To Endimion Porter.

I Gave, when last I was about to die;
The Poets of this Isle a Legacie;
Each so much wealth, as a long union brings
T'industrious States, or Victorie to Kings:
So much as Hope's clos'd Eies, could wish to see,
Or tall Ambition reach; I gave them thee.
But as rich Men, who in their sicknesse mourne
That they must goe, and never more returne,
To be glad Heires unto themselves, to take
Againe, what they unwillingly forsake;
As these bequeath, their treasure, when they dye,
Not out of love, but sad necessitie;
[Page 33]So I (they thought) did cunningly resigne
Rather than give, what could no more be mine:
And they receiv'd thee not, from bounteous Chance,
Or mee; but as their owne inheritance.
This, when I heard, I cancell'd my fond Will;
Tempted my faith to my Physitians skill;
To purchase health, sung prayses in his Eare,
More than the Living of the Dead would heare.
For though our gifts, buy care, nought justly payes
Physitians love, but faith, their art, but prayse:
Which I observ'd; now walke, as I should see
A death of all things, save thy memorie.
But if this early Vintage shall create
New wishes in my blood, to celebrate
Thee Endimion, and thy Muse, thy large heart,
Thy wisdome that hath taught the world an art
How (not enform'd by Cunning,) courtship may
Subdue the minde, and not the Man betray:
If mee (thy Priest) our curled Youth assigne,
To wash our Fleet-street Altars with new Wine;
I will (since 'tis to thee a Sacrifice)
Take care, that plenty swell not into vice:
[Page 34]Lest, by a fiery surfe [...] I be led,
Once more to grow devout in a strange bed:
Lest through kind weaknesse in decay of health,
Or vanity to shew my utmost wealth;
I should againe bequeath thee when I die,
To haughtie Poets as a Legacie.

TO THE QVEENE, entertain'd at night by the Countesse of Anglesey.

FAire as unshaded Light; or as the Day
In its first birth, when all the Yeare was May;
Sweet, as the Altars smoake, or as the new
Unfolded Bud, swell'd by the early Dew;
Smooth, as the face of Waters first appear'd,
Ere Tides began to strive, or Winds were heard;
Kind, as the willing Saints, and calmer farre,
Than in their sleepes forgiven Hermits are:
You that are more, than our discreeter feare
Dares praise, with such dull Art, what make you here?
[Page 36]Here, where the Sommer is so little seene,
That Leaves (her cheapest wealth) scarce reach at greene;
You come, as if the silver Planet were
Misled a while from her much injur'd Spheare,
And t'ease the travailes of her beames to night,
In this small Lanthorn would contract her light.

In remembrance of Master William Shakespeare.

ODE.

(1)
BEware (delighted Poets!) when you sing
To welcome Nature in the early Spring;
Your num'rous Feet not tread
The Banks of Avon; for each Flowre
(As it nere knew a Sunne or Showre)
Hangs there, the pensive head.
(2)
Each Tree, whose thick, and spreading growth hath made,
Rather a Night beneath the Boughs, than Shade,
(Unwilling now to grow)
Lookes like the Plume a Captive weares,
Whose rifled Falls are steept i'th reares
Which from his last rage flow.
(3)
The piteous River wept it selfe away
Long since (Alas!) to such a swift decay;
That reach the Map; and looke
If you a River there can spie;
And for a River your mock'd Eie,
Will finde a shallow Brooke.

To the Lady Bridget Kingsmill; sent with Mellons after a report of my Death.

MAdam, that Ghosts have walk'd; and kindly did
Convey Men heretofore to mony hid;
That they weare Chaines, which rattle 'till they make
More noise, than injur'd Ale-wives at a Wake;
All this is free to faith; but Sozomine,
Nor th' Abbot Tretenheim, nor Rh [...]digine,
Nor the [...]ew Trip [...]o, though they all defend
Such dreames, can urge one Ghost that Verses pend:
Therefore, be pleas'd to thinke, when these are read;
I am no Ghost, nor have beene three weekes dead.
Yet Poets that so nobly vaine have beene,
To want so carelesly, till want prove sinne;
Through avarice of late, toth' Arches sent,
To know the chiefe within my Testament:
[Page 40]And th' Aldermen by Charter, title lay
('Cause writ 'ith City's Virge) to my new Play:
So if, the Proclamations, kinde, nice care,
Keepe you not (Madam) from our black raw Aire,
Next Terme, you'll finde it own'd thus on each Wall
Writ by the Lord May'r, acted at Guild-Hall.
But then I must be dead; which if you will
In curteous pitty feare, and suspect still;
These Mellons shall approach your pensive Eye,
Not as a Token but a Legacie.
Would they were such, as could have reach'd the sense,
To know what use they had of excellence,
Since destin'd to be yours; such as would be
(Now yours) justly ambitious of a Tree
To grow upon; scorne a dejected birth,
Course German Tiles, low Stalks, that lace the Earth▪
Such, as since gladly yours, got skill, and pow'r,
To choose the strongest Sunne, and weakest Showre▪
Such, as in Groves Cecilian Lovers eat,
To coole those wishes, that their Ladies heat.
But if the Gard'ner make (like Adam) all
Our human hopes, bold, and apocryphall;
[Page 41]And that my Mellons prove no better than
Those lovely Pompe'ons, which in Barbican,
Fencers, and Vaulters Widowes please to eat,
Not as a Sallad, but cheap-filling-meat;
Thinke then I'm dead indeed; and that they were
Early bequeath'd, but pay'd too late i'th Yeare:
So the just scornes, of your lov'd wit, no more
Can hazard mee, but my Executor.

To the King on New­yeares day 1630.

ODE.

(1)
THe joyes of eager Youth, of Wine, and Wealth,
Of Faith untroubled, and unphysick'd Health;
Of Lovers, when their Nuptials nie,
Of Saints forgiven when they die;
Let this yeare bring
To Charles our King:
To Charles, who is th'example, and the Law,
By whom the good are taught, not kept in awe.
(2)
Long proffer'd Peace, and that not compass'd by
Expensive Treaties but a Victorie;
And Victories by Fame obtain'd,
Or pray'r, and not by slaughter gain'd;
[Page 43]Let this yeare bring:
To Charles our King.
To Charles; who is th'example, and the Law,
By whom the good are taught, not kept in awe.
(3)
A Session too, of such who can obey,
As they were gather'd to consult, not sway:
Who not rebell, in hope to git
Some office to reclaime their wit;
Let this yeare bring
To Charles our King;
To Charles; who is th'example and the law,
By whom the good are taught, not kept in awe.
(4)
Prators, who will the publique cause defend,
With timely gifts, not Speeches finely pend;
So make the Northerne Victors Fame
No more our envy, nor our shame;
Let this yeare bring
To Charles our King:
To Charles; who is th'example, and the law,
By whom the good are taught, not kept in awe.

TO THE QVEENE, presented with a suit, in the behalfe of F. S. directed, From Orpheus Prince of Poets, To the Queene of Light; In favour of a young listner to his Harpe.

I Sing these Numbers in the shady Land,
Where Ayrie Princes dwell; which I command
Some Spirit, or some Winde, gently convey
To you, whose breath is Spring, whose Eie-beames Day!
'Gainst your arrivall here, which must be late;
(Such pow'r the pray'rs of Mortalls have with Fate)
Fields I have dress'd, so rich in scent, and show;
As if your influence taught our Flow'rs to grow:
Where still delighted you shall nobly move;
Not like a sad Shadow, as they above
[Page 45]With learned falshood most unkindly dreame
Of ev'ry Ghost; but like a beautious Beame.
The Lilly, and the Rose; which Lovers seeke,
Not on their stalks, but on their Ladies Cheeke;
Shall here not dare take root; nor yet the strange
And various Tulip; which so oft doth change
Her am'rous Colours to a diff'rent hew,
That yearly Men beleeve the Species New.
In stead of these; on ev'ry Bank I'le shew
(Blith on his stemme) the nice Adonis grow;
Who though, in's beauties warm'th belov'd of old;
His transmutation only makes him cold;
For the amazed Goddesse now perceives,
Him scarce so faire in's Flesh, as in his Leaves.
Then proud Narcissus; whose rare beauty had
[...]arre lesse excuse, and cause, to make him mad,
Then in his owne Eyes, flourishing alive;
Than since he was become a Vegative.
With these, the jealous Crocus, and the chaste
[...]emone, whose blushes ever last.
[...]ow for a cooling Shade, what use have wee
[...]f the delightfull Lydian-Platan-Tree,
[Page 46]Which X [...]rxes so much lov'd, or of the Lime,
Or the tall Pine, which spreads, as it doth climbe?
Or Lovers Sicamore, or mine owne Bay?
On which, since my Euridices sad day,
My Harp hath silent hung: No Trees your Bowre
Shall need; the slender stalke of ev'ry Flow'r,
When you arrive among us, and dispence
The lib'rall comfort of your influence,
Shall reach at Body, Rinde, and Boughs; then grow
Till't yeeld a Shade, as well as Scent, and Show,
For your Attendants here; Tomiris, she
That taught her tender sex, the wayes to victorie;
The Queene of Ithaca, whose precious name
For chaste desires, is decre to us, and Fame;
And Artimesia whom Truths best Record,
Declar'd a living Tomb unto her Lord,
Shall ever wait upon your sway; and when
The Destinies are so much vex'd with Men,
That the just God-like Monarch of your brest,
Is ripe, and fit to take eternall rest;
To court his spirit here, I will not call
The testy Pyrrhus, or malicious Hanibal;
[Page 47]Nor yet the fiery Youth of Macedon,
Shall have the dignitie t'attend his Throne:
But mighty I [...]lius, who had thoughts so high
They humble seem'd, when th'aim'd at victorie;
And own'd a Soule so learn'd; Truth fear'd that shee
Might stand too nak'd, neere his Philosophie:
In anger, valiant, gently calme, in love;
He soar'd an Eagle, but he stoop'd a Dove!
Know, Queene of light; hee onely doth appeare,
Fit to embrace your Royall Lover here:
Nor thinke my promise is the ayrie boast
Of a dead Greeke, a thinne-light-talking-Ghost:
It shall be well perform'd; and all I dare
For those just toyles commend unto your care;
Is but a Poets humble suit; who now
With everlasting Wreaths may deck his Brow;
Since first your Poet call'd; and by that stile
He is my Deputy throughout your Isle.

To the Lord B. in per­formance of a vow, that night to write to him.

MY Lord, it hath beene ask'd, why 'mongst those few
I singled out for Fame, I chose not you
With early speed the first? but I, that strive
My manners should preserve my Verse alive;
That read Men, and my selfe; would not permit
The boldnesse of my love, should tax my wit.
There are degrees, that to the Altar lead;
Where ev'ry rude, dull Sinner must not tread:
'Tis not to bring, a swift thankes-giving Tongue,
Or prayers made as vehement as long,
Can privilege a zealous Votarie,
To come, where the High Priest should only be:
Then why should I (where some more skilfull hand
May offer Gummes, and Spice) strew Dust, and Sand
[Page 49]And this (my chiefe of Lords) made me designe▪
Those noble flames, sprung from your nobler Wine,
To keepe my spirits warme; till I could prove
My Numbers smooth, and mighty as my love:
Yet such my treach'rous fate, that I this night
(Fierce with untutor'd heat) did vow to write:
But happy those, who undertake no more
Than what their stock of rage hath rul'd before!
It is a Poet's sinne, that doth excell
In love, or wine, not to resolve how well,
But strait how much to write; for then wee think
The vast tumultuous Sea is but our Ink;
The World, our Forest too; and that wee may
Beleeve each Tree, that in it growes, a Bay.
My Vow now kept, I'm loth (my Lord) to doe
Wrong to your justice, and your mercy too;
The last, if you vouchsafe; you will excuse
A strong Religion here, though not a Must▪

To Endimion Porter.

HOw safe ( Endimion) had I liv'd? how blest,
In all the silent privacies of rest?
How might I lengthen sleeps, had I beene wise
Unto my selfe, and never seene thine Eyes?
My Verse (unenvy'd then) had learn'd to move
A slow, meeke pace; like sober Hymns of love
By some noch'd-Brownist sung; that would indeere
His holy itch, to some chaste Midwives Eare:
The pleasure of ambition then had bin,
To me lost in the danger, and the sinne:
The Mirtle Sprig (that never can decay)
[...] had not knowne, nor Wreaths of living Bay:
In stead of these, and the wild Ivy Twine,
(Which our wise Fathers justly did assigne,
To him that in immortall Verse exceeds)
My Brow had worne, some homly Wreath of Weeds:
[Page 51]And such low pride is safe: for though the Bay
Lightning, nor Winds can blast, yet Envy may.
If hidden still from thee, I should have lesse
To answer now, for glory, and excesse:
My surfets had not reach'd the cunning yet,
To seeke an expiation from their wit:
For more than Village Ale, and drowsie Beere,
(Cawdles, and Broth to the dull Islander)
I nere had wish'd; now, My Man, hot, and dry,
With fierce transcriptions of my Poesie;
Cryes, Sir, I thirst! then strait I bid him chuse
(As Poets Prentices did surely use
Of Greece, and Rome) some cleere, cheap Brook; there stay,
And drinke at Natures charge his thirst away:
Though Fasts (more than are taught i'th Kalender)
Had made him weake; this gave him strength to sweare;
And urge, that after H [...]race the divine
Maecenas knew, his Slaves drunke ever Wine:
So whilst Endimion lives, hee vowes to pierce
Old Gascoine Caske, or not transcribe a verse.
If never knowne to thee, missing the skill
How to doe good, I should have found my ill
[Page 52]Excus'd: Th'excessive charge of Ink, and Oyle,
Expence of quiet sleepes, and the vaine toyle,
In which the Priest of Smyrna tooke delight,
(When he for knowledge chang'd his precious sight)
Had scap'd me then; now whilst I strive to please
With tedious Art, I lose the lust of ease.
And when our Poets (enviously miss-led)
Shall finde themselves out-written, and out-read;
T'will urge their sorrow too, that thou didst give
To my weake Numbers, strength, and joy to live.
But O! uneasie thoughts! what will become
Of me, when thou retir'st into a Tombe?
The Cruell, and the Envious then will say,
Since now his Lord is dead; he that did sway
Our publique smiles, opinion, and our praise,
Till wee this Childe of Poesie did raise
To Fame, and love; let's drowne him in our Inke;
Where like a lost dull Plummet let him sinke
From humane sight; from knowledge he was borne;
Unlesse Succession finde him in our scorne.
Remembrance, never to Repentance showes,
The wealth wee gaine, but what wee feare to lose;
[Page 53]Thou art my wealth; and more than Light ere spy'd,
Than Easterne Hills bring forth, or Seas can hide:
But thus when I rejoyce, my feares divine,
I want the fate, still to preserve thee mine:
And Kings depos'd, wish they had never knowne
Delight, nor sway; which erst they toyl'd to owne.

Ieffereidos, Or the Captivitie of Jeffery.

Canto the first.

A Sayle! a sayle! cry'd they, who did consent
Once more to break the eighth Commandement
For a few Coles; of which by theft [...]o well
Th'are stor'd; they have enow to furnish Hell
With penall heat; though each sad Devill there
A frozen Muscovite, or Russian were:
The chase grew swift; whilst an old weary Pinke,
Not us'd to fly, and somewhat loth to sinke,
Did yeeld unto the Foe; who boards [...]her strait;
And having rifled all her precious Freight;
A trembling Britaine kneeles, and did beseech
Each composition there, of Tarre and Pitch,
[Page 55]That they would heare him speake: 'tis not (quoth he)
Our kinde respect to wealth, or libertie,
Begets this feare; but lest blind Fortune may
Unto some fierce, unruly hand betray,
The truest Servant to a State, that cou'd
Be giv'n a Nation out of flesh and bloud:
And hee tall Ieff'ry height! who not much us'd
To fights at Sea, and loth to be abus'd,
Resolv'd to hide him, where they sooner might
Discover him, with smelling than with sight.
Each Eye was now imploy'd; no man could thinke
Of any uncouth Nooke, or narrow Chinke,
But strait they [...]ought him there; in holes not deep
But small, where slender Magots us'd to creep:
At last, they found him clo [...]e, beneath a spick
And almost span-new-pewter-Candlestick.
A sapient Dicgo, that had now command
Of Ships and Victorie, tooke him in hand:
Peis'd him twise, tasted his discourse; at [...]ength
Beleev'd, that he di [...]sembled wit, and strength:
Quoth he, Victors, and Vanqui [...]hed▪ I bid
You all give eare, to wisdome of Madrid▪
[Page 56]This that appeares to you, a walking-Thumbe,
May prove, the gen'rall Spie of Christendome:
Then calls for Chaines, but such as fitting seeme,
For Elephants, when manag'd in a Teeme.
Whilst puissant Ieff'ry 'gins to wish (in vaine)
He had long since contriv'd a truce with Spaine.
His Sinewes faile him now; nor doth hee yeeld
Much trust unto his Buckler, or his Shield;
Yet threatens like a second Tamberlaine,
To bring them 'fore the Queenes Lord-Chamberlaine▪
Because without the leave, of him, or her,
They keepe her Houshold-Servant prisoner.
Diego, that study'd wrath, more than remorse,
Commands, that they to Dunkerk steere their course:
Whilst Captive- Ieffr'y snewes to wiser sight,
Just like a melancholy Isralite,
In midst of's journey unto Babylon;
Melt marble hearts, that chance to thinke thereon▪
The Winds are guilty too; for now behold
Already landed this our Brittaine bold!
The People view him round; some take their oath
He's humane Issue, but not yet of growth:
[Page 57]And others (that more sub'tly did conferre)
Thinke him a small, contracted Conjurer:
Then Diego, Bred [...]o names! Hemskerk! and cryes,
Hans van Geulick! Derick too! place your Thighs
On this judiciall Bench; that wee may sit
T'undoe, this short-Embassadour with wit.
One, faine would know's discent: Thou Pirat-Dogge
(The wrathfull Captive then reply'd) not Ogge
(The Bashan King) was my Progenitor;
Nor doe I strive, to fetch my Ancestor
From Anack's Sonnes, nor from the Genitals
Of wrastling- Cacus, who gave many falls.
No matter for his birth, sayd Diego then;
Bring hither strait the Rack! for it is Ten
To one, this will enforce from out his Pate,
Some secrets, that concerne the English State.
But O! true, loyall Heart! he'ld not one word
Reveale, that he had heard at Councell-bord.
Some ask'd him then, his bus'nesse late in France;
What Instruments lay there conceal'd t'advance
The Bri [...]tish cause? when they perceiv'd his heart;
Was bigge, and whilst enforc'd, would nought impart;
[Page 58] Diego arose; and said, Sir, I beseech you,
Acquaint us if the Cardinall de Richel [...]eu
Intend a warre, in Italy, or no?
(Most noble Ieff'ry still [...]) hee seemes to know
Nought of that point; though divers think, when there;
The Cardinall did whisper in his eare
The Scheame of all his plots; and sought to gaine
His company along with him to Spaine;
For thither he'll march, if he can byth' way
Sweep a few durty Nations intoth' Sea.
A solemne Monke, that silent stood close by,
Beleev'd this little Captive, a Church-Spie!
Quoth he, that shrivled face, hath Schysme in it;
And lately there's a learned volumne writ,
Wherein Ben- [...]harky, and Ben-Ezra too,
And Rabin Kimky eke, a learned Jew,
Are cited all; it labours to make good,
That there were Protestants before the Flood;
And thou its Author art: Ieff'ry swore then,
He never knew those Hebrew Gentlemen!
When they perceiv'd, nor threats, nor kindnesse sought
From love, could get him to discover ought;
[Page 59] Diego leaves the Table; sweares by his Skarffe;
The thing, they doubted thus, was a meere Dwarffe.
The fleetest Izeland-Shock, they then provide;
On which they mount him strait, and bid him ride:
He weepes a teare or two, for's Jewells lost;
And so, with heavy heart, to Bruxels post.

Ieffereidos, Or the Captivitie of Jeffery.

Canto the second.

SO runs the nimble Snayle, in slimy track,
Hast'ning with all his Tenement on's back;
And so, on goodly Cabidge-leafe, the fleet
Swift-Caterpiller moves with eager feet,
As this sad Courtier now; whose mighty Steed
May for an easie amble, or for speed,
Compare with gentle Bull in Yoke: But O!
Here now begins a Canticle of woe!
[Page 61]Chide cruell Fate, whose buisnesse in the Spheares,
Wise Ieff'ry notes, is but to cause our Teares:
Their rule, and pow'r (quoth he) is understood,
More in the harme they doe us, than the good:
And this hee say'd, because he scarce had driven
Along that Coast, the length of Inches Seven,
But downe his Izeland fell; some Authors say
A burly Oake, lay there disguis'd in's way;
Others a Rush; and some report, his Steed
Did stumble, at the splinter of a Reed;
And some (far more authentick) say agin,
'Twas at a haire, that drop'd from humane Chin:
But though, the sage Historians are at strife,
How to resolve this point; his Coursers life
They hold lost in the fall; whilst the discreet
Ieff'ry was forc'd, to wander on his Feet.
Old wives, that saw the sorrowes of this Spy,
Their wither'd Lips (thinner than Lids of Eye)
Strait opened wide; and tickled with his wrongs,
Did laugh, as if t'were [...]ech'ry to their Lungs;
And Diego too, whose grave, and solemne Brow,
Was ever knit, grew loud, and wanton now:
[Page 62]O for a Guard (quoth he) of Switzers here,
To heave that Giant up! but come not neere;
For now enrag'd, he may perchance so tosse us,
As you would thinke, you touch'd a live Colossus!
This Ieff'ry heard; and it did stir his gall,
More than his Coursers death, or his owne fall.
Sorrowes, that hasten to us, are but slow
In their departure; as the learn'd may know
By this sad Story; since new cause was given;
For which our deepe Platonick questions Heaven.
O cruell Starres (quoth he) will you still so
Officious be, to trouble us below?
'Tis say'd your care doth governe us; d'ye call
That care, to let Ambassadours thus fall?
Nay, and permit worse dangers to ensue?
Though all your rule, and influence be true;
I had as leefe (since mortals thus you handle)
Be govern'd by the influence of a Candle.
This he had cause to say; for now behold
A Foule of spatious wing, bloody, and bold
In his aspect; haughty in gate, and stiffe on
His large spread Clawes he stood, as any Griffon;
[Page 63]Though, by kinde, a Turkey; whose plot that way
Was like a subtle Scowt to watch for prey;
Such as is blowne about by ev'ry wind;
But here's the dire mistake; this Foule (halfe blinde)
At Ieff'ry pecks, and with intent to eat
Him up, in stead of a large graine of Wheat:
Ieff'ry (in duell nice) ne're thinks upon't,
As the Turkeys hunger, but an affront.
His sword he drew; a better none alive
E're got from Spanish Foe, for Shillings Five.
And now, the Battaile doth begin: sound high
Your Oaten Reeds, t'encourage Victorie!
Strike up the wrathfull Tabor! and the Gitthern;
The loud Jew's-trump! and Spirit-stirring-Cittherne!
Ieff'ry the bold, as if he had o'reheard
These Instruments of Warre, his Arme uprear'd,
Then cryes S t. George for England! and with that word
He mischief'd (what I pray?) nought but his sword:
Though some report, he noch'd the Foes left wing;
And Poets too, who faithfully did sing
This Battaile in Low-Dutch, tell of a few
Small Feathers there, which at the first charge flew
[Page 64]About the field; but doe not strictly know
That they were shed by fury of that blow.
This they affirme; the Turkey in his looke
Express'd how much, he it unkindly tooke,
That wanting food; our Ieff'ry would not let him,
Enjoy awhile the privilege to eat him:
His Taile he spreads, jets back; then turnes agen;
And fought, as if, for th'honour of his Hen:
Ieff'ry retorts each stroke; and then cryes; Mauger
Thy strength, I will dissect thee like an Augure!
But who of mortall race, deserves to write
The next encounter in this bloudy fight?
Wisely didst thou (O Poet of Anchusin;)
Stay here thy Pen, and lure thy eager Muse in;
Envoking Mars, some halfe an houre at least,
To helpe thy fury onward with the rest:
For Ieff'ry strait was throwne; whilst saint, and weake,
The cruell Foe, assaults him with his Beake.
A Lady-Midwife now, he there by chance
Espy'd, that came along with him from France:
A heart nours'd up in War; that ne're before
This time (quoth he) could bow, now doth implore:
[Page 65]Thou that deliver'd hast so many, be
So kinde of nature, to deliver me!
But stay: for though the learn'd Chronologer
Of Dunkerk, doth confesse him freed by her;
The subt'ler Poets yet, whom wee translate
In all this Epick Ode, doe not relate
The manner how; and wee are loth at all
To vary from the Dutch Originall.
Deeds they report, of greater height than these;
Wonders, and truth; which if the Court-wits please,
A little helpe from Nature, lesse from Art,
May happily produce in a Third part.

For the Lady, Olivia Porter.

A present, upon a New-yeares day.

GOE! hunt the whiter Ermine! and present
His wealthy skin, as this dayes Tribute sent
To my Endimion's Love; Though she be farre
More gently smooth, more soft than Ermines are!
Goe! climbe that Rock! and when thou there hast found
A Starre, contracted in a Diamond,
Give it Endimion's Love; whose lasting Eyes,
Out-looke the Starry Jewells of the Skies!
Goe! dive into the Southern Sea! and when
Th'ast found (to trouble the nice sight of Men)
A swelling Pearle; and such whose single worth,
Boasts all the wonders which the Seas bring forth;
[Page 67]Give it Endimion's Love! whose ev'ry Teare,
Would more enrich the skillfull Jeweller.
How I command? how slowly they obey?
The churlish Tartar, will no [...] hunt to day:
Nor will that lazy, sallow- Indian strive
To climbe the Rock, nor that dull Negro dive.
Thus Poets like to Kings▪ (by trust deceiv'd)
Give oftner what is heard off, than receiv'd.

To I. C. Rob'd by his Man ANDREW.

SIr, whom I now love more, than did the good
Saint Martin, that all-naked-Flesh-and-blood,
Whose Cloake (at Plimmouth spun) was Crab-Tree wood.
His owne was Tammie sure; which made it teare
So soone into a gift; and thou (I feare)
Wilt beg halfe mine, not to bestow, but weare.
For thy Saint- Andrew sought not out the way
To keepe thee warme, but make thee watch, and pray;
That is, for his returne; about, Doomes-day;
Worse left, than blushing Adam, who withdrew
The nakednesse he fear'd, more than he knew,
Not to a Mercers, but where Fig-leaves grew:
Which sew'd with strings of slender Weeds, cloath Men
Cheaper than Silks, that must be paid for, when▪
It pleases the chiefe Scribe, 'oth Chamberlen.
Though my sick Joints, cannot accompany
Thy Hue-on-cry; though Midnight parlies be
Silenc'd long since, 'tween Constables, and me;
Without their helpes, or Suburb-Justices,
(Upon whose justice now an impost lies,
For with the price of Beefe, their Warrants rise)
I'le finde this Andrew strait. See, where the pale
Wretch stands: Thy guiltlesse Robes (ne're hang'd for fale;)
He executes, on Sundry Brokers Nayle.
In stead of him (chas'd thence by his wise feare)
Does the Mothers joy, a bold Youth appeare;
Who swaggers up to Forty Markes a yeare!
Sometimes he troubles Law, at th'Inns of Court;
Now comes, to buy him Weeds of shining sort;
And faine would have thy Cloake, but'tis too short:
Too short (neat Sir) was all thy rifled store;
Which made those Brokers curse thy stature more,
Than thou, Fiend- Andrew, the sad day before.
But hark! who knocks? good troth my Muse is staid,
By an Apothecaries Bill unpaid;
Whose length, not strange-nam'd-Drugs, makes her afraid.

To the Earle of Port­land, Lord Treasurer; on the mariage of his Sonne.

MY Lord, this Night is yours! each wandring Star
That was nnbusi'd, and irregular;
Most gravely now, his bright Companion leads,
To fix o're your glad Roofe, their shining Heads.
And it is sayd, th'exemplar King's your guest;
And that the rich-Ey'd-Darling of his Breast,
(To ripen all your Joyes) will there become
The Musick, Odor, Light, of ev'ry Roome!
A mixture of two noble bloods, in all
Faith, and domestick nature, union call,
No trava [...]l'd Eyes have seene, with humbler state
Of love perform'd, where Princes celebrate.
This when I heard; I know not what bold Starre
My Spirits urg'd, but it was easier farre
[Page 72]The torne, the injur'd Panther, to restraine
In's hot pursuit, or stroke him coole againe;
To tell the cause, why Winds doe disagree,
Divide them when in Stormes they mingled be;
Strait fix them single, where they breath'd before;
Or fanne them with a Plume, from Sea to Shore;
Than bind my raging Temples, or resist
The pow'r that swell'd me, as Apollo's Priest.
Therefore my Robe, that on his Altar lay,
My Virge, my Wreath, I tooke; and thus did pray:
That you (my Lord) with lasting memory,
And strength of fervent youth, may live to see,
Your name in this blest nuptiall store the Earth,
With such a masculine, and knowing birth;
As shall at factious Councells moderate,
And force injurious Armies to their fate.
Let Time be fetter'd, that they never may
Increasing others, feele themselves decay.
To you (my Lord) who with wise industrie,
Seeke Virtue out, then give it strength to be;
Where ere you shall recide, let Plenty bring,
The pride, and expectations of the Spring;
[Page 73]The wealth that loads inticing Autumne grow
Within your reach; let hasty Rivers flow
'Till on your shores, they skaly Tribute pay,
Then ebbe themselves in empty Waves away:
Let each pale Flow'r, that springeth there, have pow'r
T'invite a Sunne-beame, and command a Show'r;
The dew that falls about you taste of Wine,
Each abject Weed change root, and be a Vine!
But I with this prophetick plenty grow
Already rich, and proud; 'cause then I know
The Poets of this Isle, in Vineyards may
Rejoyce, whilst others thirst in groves of Bay!
Sir, let me not your wary patience move;
And sinne, with too much courage of my love!
He that in strength of wishes, next shall trie,
T'increase your blessings with his Poesie,
May shew a fiercer Wit, and cleaner Art,
But not a more sincere, and eager Heart.

THE QVEENE, returning to London after a long absence.

HOw had you walk'd in Mists of Sea-coale­smoake,
Such as your ever teeming Wives would choak,
(Fa [...]e Sonnes of thrift!) did not her beauties light,
Dispell your Clouds, and quicken your dull sight?
As when, th'illustrious Officer of Day,
(First worship'd in the East) 'gins to display
The glory of his beames; then Buds unfold
Their chary Leafes; each dew-drownd Marigold
Insensibly doth stirre it selfe, and spread;
Each Violet lifts up, the pensive Head;
So when the Rayes of her faire Eyes appeare,
To warme, and gild your clouded Hemispheare;
[Page 75]Those Flow'rs which in your narrow Gardens grow,
(Narrow as Turfs, which you a Lark allow
In's wicker Cage) rejoyce upon their stalks;
Imbellishing your sommer inch-broad walks:
But she remov'd, what all your weary'd lives,
You plant in German pots, to please your Wives,
Shall fade; scarce in your Climate shall be seene
Enough of Spring to make your Tansies green.
Nor shall your blew-Ey'd-Daughters more appeare
(Though in the hopefull'st season of the Yeare)
In the dark street, where Tantlin's Temple stands,
With Time, and Marg'rom Posies in their hands.
Wee know (distrustfull Bergainers!) you most
Love sacrifice, that puts you least to cost;
Give her your prayers then; that her Lookes may
After long Nights, restore you unto Day.
Though Ringing be some charge, and Wood grew deere;
In troth; it will become you once a yeare,
To offer Bells, and Bonfires too, alltho'
You couzen't out in Silks, next publique Show.

To I. W. Vpon the death of his Mistresse.

AS the great Sonnes of War, that are rays'd high
With eager heats, of frequent Victorie,
Grow to such lazy pride; they take it ill
Men still should put them to the paines to kill;
And would, at each sterne becken of the Eye,
Have the sad Foe, vaile Plumes, take leave, and dye:
So thou; as if thy Sorrowes had o'recome
Halfe the wise world, and struck all reason dumbe;
Cry'st, she is dead! and frown'st, because I now
Take not my Wreath (the treasure of my Brow)
Then hurle my selfe, and it, a Sacrifice
In hallow'd flames, to her departed Eyes.
[Page 77]'Cause early Men, their Curtaines draw, and say
Behold the Sunne is risen, now'tis day;
Knowing thy Sunne is set, thou swearst their sight,
Is led by bus'nesse t'a miss-take of Light.
Lovers beleeve, if yet th'Almighty cou'd
Doabt part of his so swift creation good;
To ease him of another Fiat, they
Can with their Mistresse beames, make him a day:
To rule the Night, each Glance (they thinke) will fit
Planets to largest Spheares, if wee admit
Their silly Priests (the Poets) be but by,
That love to sooth such faith t'idolatrie.
But how have I transgress'd, thus to declame
'Gainst sorrow I should envy more than blame?
For what is he, though reverendly old,
And than a Mountaine Muscovite more cold;
Though he want Wit, or nature to desire;
Though his hard heart be Ir'ne, his heart-strings Wire:
Or what is he, though blind, and knowes no good
Of love, but by an itching faith in's blood,
That when thy Tongue her beauty open layes
To mentall view, and her soft minde displayes,
[Page 78]Will thinke thy griefe was over-pay'd, or yet
Bate the world one Sigh, of so just a debt?
But she is gone! Repine now, if you dare;
Like Heav'ns unlicenc'd Fooles, all punish'd are
For Nature as for crimes; yet cannot choose
But mourne for ev'ry excellence wee loose;
Though still commanded to a tame content;
To thinke no good was given us, but lent:
And a fond ridle in Philosophy,
Perswades us too; the Virtuous never dye;
That all the ills, which wee in absence finde
Concerne the Eye-sight only, not the Minde:
But Lovers (whose wise Sences take delight
In warme contaction, and in reall sight)
Are not with leane imagination fed,
Or satisfi'd, with thinking on the Dead.
'Tis fit wee seeke her then; but he that finds
Her out, must enter friendship with the Winds;
Enquire their dwelling, and uncertaine walks;
Whither they blow, from their forsaken Stalks
Flow'rs that are gone, ere they are smelt? or how
Dispose o'th sweeter Blossoms of the Bough?
[Page 79]For She (the Tresuresse of these) is fled,
Not having the dull leasure to be dead;
But t'hoord this Wealth; returne, and this Wealth bring
Still vary'd, and encreas'd in ev'ry Spring.

To Endimion Porter.

IT is (Lord of my Muse and heart) since last
Thy sight inspir'd me, many ages past▪
In darknesse thick as ill-met Clouds can make,
In sleeps wherein the last Trump scarce could wake
The guiltlesse dead, I lay; and hidden more
Than Truth, which testy Controverts explore.
More hid than paths of Snakes, to their deep beds,
Or walkes of Mountaine-Springs from their first Heads:
And when my long forgotten Eies, and Mind,
Awak'd; I thought to see the Sunne declin'd
Through age, to th' influence of a Starre, and Men
So small, that they might live in Wombes agen.
But now, my strength's so giantly, that were
The great Hill-lifters once more toyling here;
They'ld choose me out, for active Back, for Bone,
To heave at [...]ae [...]io [...] first, and heave alone.
[Page 81]Now by the softnesse of thy noble care,
Reason, and Light, my lov'd Companions are;
I may too, ere this Moone be lost, refine
My bloud, and bathe my Temples with thy Wine:
And then, know my Endimion (thou, whose name
To'th World example is, Musick to Fame)
I'le trie if Art, and Nature, able be
From the whole strength, and stock of P [...]e [...]ie,
To pay thee my large debts; such as the poore
In open Blushes, hidden Hearts restore.

Epitaph, on I. Walker.

ENvy'd, and lov'd, here lies the Prince of mirth!
Who laugh'd, at the grave bus'nesse of the Earth.
Look'd on ambitious States-men with such Eyes,
As might discerne them guilty, could not wise.
That did the noyse of Warr, and Battailes heare,
As mov'd to smiling pitty, not to feare:
Thought fighting Princes at their dying sad;
Beleev'd, both Victors, and the Conquer'd mad:
Might have beene rich, as oft as he would please,
But wayes to Wealth, are not the wayes to Ease.
The wit, and courage of his talke, now rests,
In their impatient keeping that steale Jeasts;
His Jeasts, who e're shall Father, and repeat
Small mem'ry needs, but let's estate be great,
[Page 83]Danger so season'd them, each hath Salt le [...]t,
Will yet undoe the Poore for one small theft;
The Rich, that will owne them, what e're they pay,
Shall finde, 'tis twice a weeke Star-Chamber day.

To Doctor Cademan, Physitian to the Queene.

FOr thy Victorious cares, thy ready heart;
Thy so small tyranny to so much Art;
For visits made to my disease
And me, (Alas) not to my Fees:
For words, so often comforting with scope
[...]arned reason, not perswasive hope:
For Med'cines so benigne, as seeme
Cordials for Easterne Queenes that teeme.
For setting now my condemn'd Body free,
From that no God, but Devill Mercurie:
For an assurance, I ne're shall
A forfeit be to'th Admirall;
[Page 85]Like those in Hospitals, who dare presume
To make French Cordage now of English Rhume;
Or slender Ropes, on which, in stead
Of Pearle, revolted Teeth they thred;
For limitting my Cheekes, that else had beene
Swolne like the signe, o'th Head o'th Saracen;
For preservation from a long
Concealement of my Mother-Tongue;
Whilst speechlesse, sow'd in Hoods, I should appeare,
An Antarminian, silenc'd Minister;
Or some Turks poyson'd Mute; so fret
So fome at mouth, make signes, and spet.
Whilst all I eat, goes downe, with lookes to sight
More forc'd, than Quailes t'each full-cramm'd Isralite;
Whose angry swallowing denotes
They lay at Flux, and had sore throats.
For these deliverances, and all the good
My new returne of Senses, strength, and blood,
Shall bring; for all I mine can boast,
Whilst my Endimion is not lost,
Sy'th feeble influence of my Starre; or turnes
From me, to one whose Planet cleerer burnes;
[Page 86]May (thou safe Lord of Arts) each Spring
Ripe plenty of Diseases bring
Unto the Rich; they still t'our Surgeons be
Experiments, Patients alone to thee:
Health, to the Poore; lest pitty shou'd
(That gently stirs, and rules thy blood)
Tempt thee from wealth, to such as pay like mee
A Verse; then thinke, they give Eternity.

To Endimion Porter, When my Comedy (call'd the Wits) was presented at Black▪ Fryars.

HEare, how for want of others griefe, I mourne
My sad decay, and weepe at mine owne Ur [...]e [...]
The Hou'rs (that ne're want Wings, when they should fly
To hasten Death, or lead on Destinie,)
Have now fulfill'd the time, when I must come
Chain'd to the Muses Barre, to take my doome:
Where ev'ry Terme, some tim'rous Poet stand▪
Condemn'd by whispers, e're repriv'd by hands.
I that am told conspiracies are laid,
To have my Muse, her Arts, and life betray'd,
Hope for no easie Judge; though thou wert there,
T'appease, and make their judgements lesse severe▪
[Page 88]In this black day, like Men from Thunders rage,
Or drowning showres, I hasten from the stage;
And wish my selfe, some Spirit, hid within
Those distant, wandring Winds, that yet have bin
Unknowne to'th Compasse, or the Pilots skill;
Or some loose Plumet, sunke so low, untill
I touch where roots of Rocks deepe bury'd be;
There mourne, beneath the leafelesse Corall Tree.
But I am growne too tame! what need I feare,
Whilst not to passion, but thy reason cleere?
Should I perceive, thy knowledge were subdu'd,
T'unkinde consent with the harsh Multitude,
Then I had cause to weep; and at thy Gate
(Deny'd to enter) stand disconsolate;
Amaz'd, and lost to mine owne Eyes; there I
(Scarce griev'd-for by my selfe) would winke and dye:
Olivia then, may on thy pitty call
To bury me, and give mee funerall.

In celebration of the yearely Preserver of the Games at COTSWALD.

HEare me you Men of strife! you that have bin,
Long time maintain'd by the dull Peoples sin,
At Lyon's, Furnifold's, and Cleme [...]t's Inne!
With huge, o're-comming Mutton, Target-Cheese,
Beefe, that the queasie stomack'd Guard would please,
And limber Groats, full halfe a Score for Fees.
Heare you Gown'd Lackeys that on both sides plead!
Whose hollow Teeth, are stuff'd with others Bread;
Whose Tongues will live (sure) when your selves are dead.
Here you Alcaldos, whose sterne faces looke,
Worse than your Pris'ner's that's deny'd his Booke;
Than Pilat painted like a scalded Cooke.
Lift all that toyle for pow'r to doe Men wrong,
With penseve Eare, to my prophetick Song!
Whose Magick sayes, your Triumphs hold not long.
The time is come, you on your selves shall sit;
Whilst Children finde (if they endevour it)
Your learning, Chronicle; Clinches, your Wit.
Ere you a Yeare are dead, your Sonnes shall watch,
And rore all Night with Ale, in house of Thatch;
And spend, 'till Swords are worne in Belts of Match.
Whilst D [...]ver (that his knowledge not imploy's
T'increase his Neighbors Quarrels, but their Joyes;)
Shall in his age; get Money, Girles, and Boyes!
Mony, at Cotswald Games shall yearely fly;
Whilst the Precise, and Envious shall stand by,
And see his Min'rall Fountaine never dry.
His Girles, shall dowr'-lesse w [...]d with Heires of birth;
His Boyes, plough London Widowes up like earth:
Whilst Cotswald Bards caroll their Nuptiall Mirth▪
[...]over (the Gentry's Darling) know this frame,
[...]s but a willing tribute to thy Fam [...],
[...]ung by a Poet, that conceals his name.

On the Death of the Lady Marquesse of WINCHESTER.

IN care, lest some advent'rous Lover may
(T'increase his love) cast his owne Stock away;
I (that finde, th'use of griefe is to grow wise)
Forbid all trassique now 'tweene Hearts, and Eyes:
Our remnant-love, let us discreetly save,
Since not augment; for Love, lies in the Grave.
Lest Men; whose patience is their senses sloth,
That only live, t'expect the tedious growth
Of what the following Sommer slowly yeelds;
Whose faire Elizium, is their furrow'd Fields;
Lest these, should so much prize mortalitie;
They ne're would reach the wit, or faith to die;
Know, Summer comes no more; to the dark bed
Our Sunne is gone; the hopefull Spring is dead.
[Page 93]And lest kind Poets, that delight to raise
[...] With their just truths, not extasie of praise)
Beauty to Fame; should ra [...]hly overthrow
The credit of their Songs; I let them know
Their Theame is lost; so lost, that I have griev'd,
They never more can praise, and be beleev'd.

To Endimion Porter, upo his recovery from a long Sicknesse.

Iust so the Sunne doth rise, as if last Night
He cal'd t'accompt the Moone, for all the light
She ever ow'd; now looks so full of scorne,
And pride; as she had payd him all this Morne!
So cleere a day, timely foretells; I now
Shall scape those Clouds, that hung upon my Bro [...]
Whilst I thy sicknesse mourn'd; and lesse did sleep
Than faithfull Widowes, that sincerely weep.
A true presage! My hopes no sooner tell
What they desir'd, but strait I finde thee well.
Bless'd be the Stars; whose pow'rfull influence
Our healths, by Minerals, and Hearbs dispence!
And that's their chiefest use: who thinks that Fa [...]
So many Stars did purposely create,
[Page 95]And them so large, meerely for show, and light;
Concludes, it tooke lesse care, of Day, than Night.
Since thou art safe, those Numbers will be lost,
Which I laid up, to mourne thee as a Ghost:
Unlesse I spend them on some Tragick Tale,
Which Lovers shall beleeve, and then bewaile:
Next Terme, prepare thee for the Theater!
And untill then, reserve thy skilfull Eare;
For I will sing imagin'd Tragedie,
'Till Fates repent their essence is so high
From passion rays'd; 'cause they can ne're obtaine
To taste the griefs, which gentle Poets feigne.

Vpon the nuptials of Charles, Lord Herbert, and the Lady M. Villers.

ROses 'till ripe, and ready to be blowne,
Their beauty hide, whilst it is yet their owne;
'Tis ours but in expectance, whilst th'are greene;
And bashfully they blush when first 'tis seene:
As if to spread their beauty were a crime;
A fault in them, not in all-ripening-Time.
So stands (hidden with Vayles) in all her pride
Of early flourishing, the bashfull Bride!
And 'till the Priest, with words devoutly said,
Shall ripen her a Wife, that's yet a Maid,
Her Vaile will never off: so modest still,
And so express'd by Nature, not by skill,
[Page 97]That sure she dress'd her lookes when she did ri [...]e,
Not in her Glasse, but in her Mother's Eyes.
The jolly Bridegrome stands, as he had t'an [...]
And led, Love strongly fetter'd in a Chaine:
Forgetting when her Vailes are lay'd aside,
Himselfe, is but a Captive to the Bride.
The Priest now joynes their hands, and hee doth finde
(By mysterie divine,) in both one minde,
Mix'd, and dispers'd; his spirits strait begin
(As they were rap't) to vex, and talke within:
His Temples swett, whilst he stood silent by,
Not as prepar'd to blesse, but prophesie:
What nee [...]ded more? since they must needs posses [...]e,
All he fo [...]e-told, though he should never blesse:
And blessing unto such, at most restores,
Or but repeats, what was their Ancestors.

Prologue to a reviv'd Play of M r Fletcher's, call'd The Woman-ha [...]er.

LAdies! take't as a secret in your Eare,
In stead of homage, and kind welcome here,
I heartily could wish, you all were gone;
For if you stay, good faith, wee are undone.
Alas! you now expect, the usuall wayes
Of our addresse, which is, your Sexes praise:
But wee to night, unluckily must speake,
Such things, will make your Lovers Heart-strings breake;
Bely your Virtues, and your beauties staine,
With words, contriv'd long since, in your disdaine.
'Tis strange you stirre not yet; not all this while
Lift up your Fannes, to hide a scornefull smile:
Whisper, nor jog your Lords to steale away;
So leave us t'act, unto our selves, our Play:
[Page 99]Then sure, there may be hope, you can subdue,
Your patience to endure, an Act, or two:
Nay more, when you are told, our Poets rage
Pursues but one example, which that age
Wherein he liv'd produc'd; and wee rely
Not on the truth, but the varietie.
His Muse beleev'd not, what she then did write;
Her Wings, were wom to make a nobler flight;
Soar'd high, and to the Stars, your Sex did raise;
For which, full Twenty yeares, he wore the Bayes.
'Twas hee reduc'd Evadne from her scorne,
And taught the sad Aspasia how to mourne;
Gave Arethusa's love, a glad releefe;
And made Panthea elegant in griefe.
If these great Trophies of his noble Muse,
Cannot one humor 'gainst your Sex excuse
Which wee present to night; you'l finde a way
How to make good, the Libell in our Play:
So you are cruell to your selves; whilst he
(Safe in the fame of his integritie)
Will be a Prophet, not a Poet thought;
And this fine Web last long, though loosely wrought.

To Endimion Porter, passing to Court to him, by water.

ODE.

(1)
THe truth and wisdome of your Compasse boast
(Dull Men of th'Sea!) when you the flow'rie Coast
Have reach'd, to which you steere;
Thinke then, those Clouds are shrunke againe,
That swell'd, as if they hoorded Rayne
For all the Yeare.
Thinke then, those ruder Winds are dumbe,
That would endevour Stormes to come;
And that the Rocks no more
(As they were wont) shall hide themselves,
To practise mischiefe on the Shelves
So neere the shore.
(2)
Into the Silver Flood I launch'd; and fraught
My Bark with Hope, the Parasite of thought:
To Court my voyage tends;
But Hope grew sick, and wish'd me feare,
The Bark would split, that harbour'd there
To trade for Friends.
Wise Love, that sought a noble choyce,
To tune my Harp, and raise my Voyce,
Forbids my Pinnace rest;
'Till I had cur'd weake Hope agin,
By safely Anchoring within
Endimion's Brest.
(3)
Endimion! who, with Numbers sweet can move
Soules (though untun'd) to such degrees of love;
That Men shall sooner see,
Th'inticed Needle disobey
The tempting Adamant, than they
His Poesie:
[Page 102]And I (exalted now,) ne're minde
Their breath, who storm'd, t'increase the Winde
By which th'are overthrowne;
Their Stock of rage, and Lyrick skill,
They boast in vaine; the Poets Hill
Is all mine owne.

Elegie on B. Haselrick, slaine in's youth, in a Duell.

NOw in the blinde, and quiet age of Night,
So dark, as if the funerall of Light
Were celebrated here; whither with slow,
Unwilling feet, sad Virgins doe you goe?
Where have you left your reason, and your feare?
What meane those Violets that downe-ward weare
Their heads, as griev'd, since thus imploy'd they grew?
Lilies, scar'd by your lookes, to their pale how?
Roses, that lost their blushes on the Bough,
And Laurell stolne from some dead Poets Brow?
These, and your looser Haire, shew that you come
To scatter both, on that relenting Tombe.
But stay! by this moyst pavement it appeares,
Some Ladies have beene earli'r here with Teares
Than I, or you; and wee can gue [...]e no more,
Those that succeed, by these that drop'd before;
[Page 104]Than by the Dew, falne in a Cow [...]lips wombe,
Heav'n's Treasurie of Showrs that are to come.
The Curtain's drawne! looke there, and you shall spie
The faded God of your Idolatrie!
Cold as the feet of Rocks, silent in shade
As Chaos lay, before the Winds were made.
Yet this was once the Flow'r, on whom the Day
So smil'd, as if he never should decay:
Soft, as the hands of Love, smooth as her brow;
So young in shew, as if he still should grow;
Yet perfected with all the pride of strength,
Equall in Limbs, and square unto his length:
And though the jealous World hath understood,
Fates only Seal'd, the first creation good;
This moderne worke (sterne Fates!) rose up to prove
Your ancient skill retayn'd, but not your love:
Could you have lov'd, you had with carefull fight
Preserv'd, what you did frame with such delight.
O, let me summe his crimes, let me relate
Them strictly as his Judge, not Advocate;
And yet the greatest number you shall finde
Were errors of his youth, not of his minde:
[Page 105]For had his jealous courage bin so wise,
As to beleeve it selfe, not others Eyes;
Had he not thought his little patience tame
In suff'ring quiet Men, t'enjoy a Fame;
He might have liv'd [...]o so great use, that I
Had writ his Acts, and not his Elegie.
Goe, gentlest of your Sex! should I relate
With bolder truth, th'unkindnesse of his Fate,
(Too strict, to flesh and blood) I might infuse
A Schisme in your Religion, and my Muse:
Yet this would be excus'd, since all wee gaine
By griefe, is but the licence to complaine.

TO THE QVEENE, upon a New-yeares day.

YOu of the Guard make way! and you that keepe
The Presence warme, and quiet whilst you sleep,
Permit me passe! and then (if any where
Imploy'd) you Angels that are busi'st here,
And are the strongest Guard, although unseene,
Conduct me neere the Chamber of the Queene!
Where with such reverence as Hermits use
At richest Shrines, I may present my Muse:
Awake! salute, and satisfie thy sight,
Not with the fainting Sun's, but thine owne Light!
Let this Day breake from thine owne Silken spheare,
This Day, the birth, and Infant of the yeare!
Nor is there need of Purple, or of Lawne
To vest thee in, were but thy Curtaines drawne,
[Page 107]Men might securely say, that it is morne,
Thy Garments serve to hide, not to adorne!
Now she appeares, whilst ev'ry looke, and smile,
Dispences warmth, and beauty through our Isle:
Whilst from their wealthiest Caskets, Princes pay
Her gifts, as the glad tribute of this Day!
This Day; which Time shall owe to her, not Fate;
Because her early Eies, did it create.
But O! poore Poets! Where are you? why bring
You not your Goddesse now an Offering?
Who makes your Numbers Swift, when they mov'd slow,
And when they ebb'd, her influence made them flow.
Alas! I know your wealth: The Laurell bough,
Wreath'd into Circles, to adorne the Brow,
Is all you have: But goe; these strew, and spread,
In sacrifice, where ever shee shall tread,
And ere this day grow old, know you shall see
Each Leafe become a Sprig, each Sprig a Tree.

Elegie, On Francis, Earle of RUTLAND.

CAll not the Winds! nor bid the Rivers stay!
For though the sighs, the teares they could repay,
Which injur'd Lovers, Mourners for the Dead,
Captives, and Saints, have breath'd away, and shed;
Yet wee should want to make our sorrow fit
For such a cause, as now doth silence it.
Rutland! the noble, and the just! whose name
Already is, all History, all Fame!
Whom like brave Ancestors in Battaile lost,
Wee mention not in pitty, but in boast!
How did'st tho [...] smile, to see the solemne sport,
Which vexes busie greatnesse in the Court?
T'observe their lawes of faction, place, and Time,
Their precepts how, and where, and when to climbe?
Their rules, to know if the sage meaning lies,
In the deepe Breast, i'th shallow Brow, or Eyes?
[Page 109]Though Titles, and thy blood, made thee appeare,
(Oft'gainst thy ease) where these state-Rabbins were▪
Yet their philosophie thou knew'st was fit,
For thee to pitty, more than study it.
Safely thou valu'dst Cunning, as 'thad bin,
Wisdome, long since, distemper'd into Sin:
And knew'st, the actions of th'Ambitious are
But as the fal'se Al'armes in running warre,
Like forlorne Scowts (that raise the coyle) they keepe
Themselves awake, to hinder others sleepe:
And all they gaine, by vex'd expence of breath;
Unquietnesse, and guilt; is at their death,
Wonder, and mighty noyse; whilst things that be
Most deare, and pretious to Mortalitie
(Time, and thy Selfe) impatient here of stay,
With a grave silence, seeme to steale away;
Depart from us unheard, and wee still mourne
In vaine (though piously) for their returne.
Thy Bounties if I name; I'le not admit,
Kings, when they love, or wooe, to equall [...]:
It shew'd like Nature's selfe, when she doth bring
All she can promise by an early Spring;
[Page 110]Or when she payes that promise, where she best
Makes Summers for Mankind; in the rich East.
And as the wise Sunne, silently imployes
His lib'rall Beames, and ripens without Noyse;
As precious Dewes, doe undiscover'd fall,
And growth, insensibly doth steale on all;
So what he gave, conceal'd, in private came,
(As in the dark) from one that had no name;
Like Fayries wealth, not given to restore,
Or if reveal'd, it visited no more.
If these live, and be read (as who shall dare
Suspect, Truth, and thy Fame, immortall are?)
What need thy noble Brother, or faire She,
That is thy selfe, in purest imagrie;
Whose breath, and Eyes, the [...]un'rall-spice, and flame,
Continue still, of gentle Buckingham;
What need they send poore Pioners to grone,
In lower Quarries for Corinthian stone?
To dig in Parian Hills? since Statues must,
And Monuments, turne like our selves to dust:
Verse, to all ages can our deeds declare,
Tombs, but a while, shew where our Bodies are.

To Endimion Porter.

WOuld thou wert dead! so strictly dead to me,
That nor my sight, nor my vex'd memorie
Could reach thee more: so dead, that but to name
Thou wert, might give the sawcie▪ lie to Fame;
That the bold Sonnes of Honour, and the milde
Race of Lovers (both thy disciples stil'd)
Might aske; who could the first example bee
To all their good? yet none should mention thee▪
Knocking at my Brest, when this hou'r is come;
I hope, I once shall finde my heart at home.
Say, thou art dead; yet whisper't but to me;
For should thy so well-spent mortalitie,
End to the world, and that sad end be knowne;
I might (perhaps) still live, but live alone:
The better world would follow thee, and all
That I should gaine, by that large Funerall,
Would be, the wanton vanit [...]e to boast,
What they enjoy, was from my plenty lost.

To the Countesse of Carlile, on the death of the Earle her Husband.

THis Cypresse folded here, in steed of Lawne,
These Tapers winking, and these Curtaines drawne;
What may they meane? unlesse to qualifie
And check the lusture of your Eyes, you'll trie
To honour darknesse, and adorne the Night,
So strive, thus with your Lord, to bury Light.
Call back, your absent Beauties to your care,
Though clouded, and conceal'd, wee know you are
The Morning's early'st Beame, life of the Day,
The Ev'ns last comfort, and her parting Ray!
But why these Teares, that give him no reliefe,
For whom you waste the virtue of your griefe?
[Page 113]Such, as might be prescrib'd the Earth, to drinke
For cure of her old Curse; Teares, you would thinke
Too rich to water (if you knew their price)
The chiefest Plant deriv'd from Paradise.
But O! where is a Poets faith? how farre
We are miss-led? how false we Lords of Numbers are?
Our Love, is passion, our Religion, rage!
Since, to secure that mighty heritage
Entail'd upon the Bay, see, how I strive
To keepe the glory of your looks alive;
And to perswade your gloomy Sorrows thence;
As subt'ly knowing, your kind influence
Is all the pretious Stock, left us t'inspire,
And feed the flame, of our eternall fire.
But I recant: 'Tis fit you mourne a while,
And winke, untill you darken all this Isle;
More fit, the Bay should wither too, and be
Quite lost, than he depriv'd your obsequie:
He that was once your Lord; who strove to get
That title, cause nought else, could make him great;
A stile, by which his name he did preferre
To have a day, i'th Poets Kalender.
His youth was gentle, and dispos'd to win,
Had so much courtship in't, 'twas his chiefe sin;
Yet sure, although his courtship knew the way
To conquer Beauty; it did ne're betray.
When wise with yeares, these soft affaires did cease:
He whisper'd War abroad, then brought home Peace.
He was supreme Ambassador, and went
To be that Prince, whom Leigers but present;
And soone with easie ceremonies got,
What they did lose with care, and a deepe plot:
Cheerefull his age; not tedious or severe,
Like those, who being dull, would grave appeare;
Whose guilt, made them the soule of Mirth despise,
And being sullen, hope men thinke them wise:
Yet he that kept his Virtues from decay,
Had that about him needs must weare away:
The daily less'ning of our life, shews by
A little dying, how out-right to die:
Observe the Morning, Noone, and Evening Sunne:
Then (Madam) you that saw his Hou'r-gla [...]e runne,
In wiser faith, will not be more opprest
To see the last sand fall, than all the rest.

Epilogue, TO LOVE and HONOR, A Tragicomedy.

TRoth Gentlemen, you must vouchsafe awhile
T'excuse my Mirth; I cannot chuse but smile▪
And'tis to thinke, how like a subtle Spie,
Our Poet waits, to heare his destinie:
Just i'th pay'd-Entry as you passe; the place
Where first you mention your dislike, or gra [...]e.
Pray whisper softly, that he may not heare;
Or else, such words, as shall not blast his Eare.

Epilogue, To a Vacation Play at the Globe.

The speaker enter'd with a Sword drawne.

FOr your owne sakes (Poore Soules!) you had not best
Beleeve, my fury was so much supprest
I'th'heat of the last Scene, as now you may
Boldly, and safely too, cry downe our Play!
For if you dare, but Murmure one false Note,
Here in the House, or going to take Bot [...];
By Heav'n, I'le mowe you off, with my long Sword;
Ye [...]'man, and Squire, Knight, Lady, and her Lord!
With reason too; for since my whole part lies
I'th' Play, to Kill the King's chiefe Enemies;
How can you scape? (be your owne Judges) when
You lay sad plots, to begger the Kings-Men.

TO THE QVEENE, upon a New-yeares day.

THis day, old Time, doth turne his Annuall Glasse;
And shakes it, that the Yeare may swiftly passe:
This day; on which the formost leading-sand
Falls from that Glasse, shooke by his hasty Hand:
That Sand's th'exemplar Seed, by which wee know
How th'Hou'rs of the ensuing Yeare will grow.
Awake, great Queene! for as you hide, or cleere
Your Eyes, wee shall distrust, or like the Yeare.
Queenes set their Dialls by your beauties light;
By your Eyes learne, to make their owne move right:
Yet know, our expectation when you rise
Is not intirely furnish'd from your Eyes;
But wisely wee provide, how to rejoyce,
In the fruition of your Breath, and Voyce:
[Page 118]Your breath, which Nature the example meant,
From whence our early Blossomes take their scent;
Teaching our Infant-Flow'rs how to excell
(Ere strong upon their stalks) in fragrant smell:
Your voyce, which can allure, and charme the best
Most gawdy-feather'd Chaunter of the East,
To dwell about your Palace all the Spring,
And still preserve him silent whilst you sing.
Rise then! for I have heard Apollo sweare,
By that first lustre, which did fill his Spheare;
He will not mount, but make eternall Night,
Unlesse releev'd, and cherish'd by your Sight▪
Your sight; which is his warmth, now he is old,
His Horses weary, and his Chariot cold.

TO EDWARD Earle of Dorcet, after his Sicknesse, and happy recovery.

MY LORD,
I Find the Gentry so o're-joy'd i'th Towne,
As if all Prisons (safely) were rac'd downe:
As if, the Judges would no more resist
Wrongs with the Law, but each turne Duelist;
And not with Statutes, but with Rapiers fence,
At Mason's ward to succour Innocence.
As if some trusty Poet now had bin
Chosen with full voyce City-Chamberlin;
[Page 120]Their Treasure kept, and might dispose of it
And th'Orphans Goods, as his free Muse thought fit.
As if grave Benchers had been seene to weare
Loud German Spurres, tall Feathers, and long Haire.
Such wilde inversions, both of Men, and Lawes,
Amaz'd my Faith, untill I knew, the cause
Was your returne to health; which did destroy
All griefe in greater Minds, and swell their joy:
Which made me gladly vow to dedicate
Each Yeare, a solemne sacrifice to Fate;
Such as should please old Esculapius too,
More than dissected Cocks were wont to doe,
(If there be prophecie in Wine) and then
You shall be knowne to Altars, as to Men.

Written, When Collonell Goring Was beleev'd to be slaine, at the siege of BREDA.

His death lamented by ENDIMION, ARIGO.

The Scene, the Sea.

ENDIMION.
HO! Pilot [...] change your Course! for know we are
Not guided by the Sea-mans usuall Star [...]:
Storme-frighted-Foole! dull, wat'ry Officer!
Dost thou our Voyage by thy Compasse steere?
In all the Circle of thy Card, no Winde
Tame, or un [...]uly, thou wilt ever finde
Can bring us where the meanest on the Coast
Immortall is, and [...] renowned Ghost
ARIGO.
Let the assembled Winds in their next warre,
Blow out the light, of thy old guiding Starre;
Whilst on uncertaine Waves, thy Bark is tost,
Untill thy Card is rent, thy Rudder lost.
Nor Star, nor Card; though with choyce Winds you fill
Your Sayles (subdu'd by Navigators skill;)
Can teach thee rule thy Helme, 'till't waft us o're
Pacifique Seas, to the Elizian Shore.
ENDIMION.
Who to that flow'ry Land, shall search his way,
No mortall Pilots Compasse must obay;
Nor trust Columbu [...] art, although he can
Boast longer toyles, than he, or Magilan:
Thoug in Sea-perils, he could talke them dumbe,
And prove them lazy Criples; bred at home,
By's travailes, he could make the Sunne appeare,
A young, and unexperienc'd Travailer.
ARIGO.
If thou wilt Steere our course, thou must rely
On some majestick, Epick-History;
[Page 123](The Poet's Compasse) such as the blind Priest
In fury writ, when like an Exorcist,
His Numbers charm'd the Grecian Host; whose Pen,
The Scepter was, which rul'd the Soules of Men.
Survey his mystick Card; learne to what Coast,
He did transport, each brave unbody'd Ghost,
New shifted from his flesh, that valiant Crew,
Which fierce Achilles, and bold Hector slew?
ENDIMION.
Enquire, where these are now? beneath what Shade,
In deare-bought rest, their weary Limmes are laid,
That trod on rugged wayes? for Honor still
Leaves the smooth Plaine, t'ascend the rough, steepe Hill.
There seeke, the Macedonian Youth; who knew
No worke, so full of ease, as to subdue:
Who scarce beleev'd his Conquests worthy fame,
Since others thought, his fortune overcame.
ARIGO.
Neere him, the Epire-Quarreller doth lie;
Lookes, as he scorn'd his immortalitie,
Because of too much rest; seemes still at strife
With Fate, for losse of troubles, not of life:
[Page 124]Griev'd that to dye, hee made such certaine hast,
Since being dead, the noble Danger's past.
ENDIMION.
Neere these, goe seeke (with Mirtle over-growne)
The Carthaginian Victor's shady Throne;
Who there, with sullen thoughts, much troubled lies;
And chides, the over-carefull Destinies;
That these Ambitious Neighbours thither sent
So long before his birth; thus to prevent
Dishonour at their deaths; O fond surmise,
Of one, who when but mortall was so Wise!
As if betimes, they hastned to a Tombe,
Lest he b'ing borne, they had been overcome.
ARIGO.
Neere him, the wondrous Roman doth appeare,
Majestick, as if made Dictator there;
Where now, the philosophick Lord, would heale
The wound, he gave him for the Publique Weale:
Which he more strives to hide; as sham'd his Eye
Should finde, that any wound could make him die.
ENDIMION.
If thou, by the wise Poets Card, or Starre,
Canst bring us where these alter'd Monarchs are;
Shift all thy Sayles, to husband ev'ry Winde;
'Till by a short, swift passage we may finde,
Where Sidney's ever-blooming-Throne is spred;
For now, since one renown'd as he is dead;
( Goring, the still lamented, and belov'd!)
He hath enlarg'd his Bow'r, and farre remov'd
His lesse heroique Neighbours, that gave place
To him; the last of that soone number'd Race.
ARIGO.
Whom he must needs delight to celebrate,
Because himselfe, in manners, and in Fate,
Was his undoubted Type: Goring, whose name
Though early up, will stay the last with Fame:
ENDIMION.
Though Sidney was his Type, fulfill'd above
What he foretaught, of Valour, Bounty, Love:
Who dy'd like him, even there, where he mistooke
The People, and the Cause he undertooke:
Betray'd by Pitty then, to their defence,
Whose povertie was all their innocence:
[Page 126]And sure, if to their helpe a Third could come,
Beguild by Honour, to such Martyrdome;
Susficient like these Two, in braine, as blood;
The World in time would thinke, their cause is good.
ARIGO.
Thus he forsooke his glories being young:
The Warriour is unlucky, who lives long;
And brings his courage in suspect; for he
That aymes at honour, i'th supreme degree,
Permits his Valour' to be over-bold,
Which then, ne're keepes him safe, 'till he be old.
ENDIMION.
His Bounty, like his Valour, unconfin'd;
As if not borne to Treasure, but assign'd
The Rents of lucky Warre; each Day to be
Allow'd, the profits of a Victorie!
Not of poore Farmes, but of the World the Lord!
Heire, to intestate Nations by his Sword.
ARIGO.
In Valour thus, and bounty, rays'd above
The vulgar height, so in designes of Love;
[Page 127]For onely gentle Love could him subdue;
A noble crime, which snew'd his Valour, true:
It is the Souldier's test; for just so far
He yeelds to Love, he overcomes in War.
ENDIMION.
But why Arigo, doe wee strive to rayse
The Story of our l [...]sse, with helplesse praise?
Why to this Pilot mourne; whose Eares can reach
Nothing les [...] loud, than Winds, or Waters breach?
Or thinke, that he can guide us to a Coast,
Where wee may finde, what all the World hath lost?
ARIGO.
About then! Lee the Helme! Endimion [...]see,
Loose Wreaths (not of the Bay, but Cypresse Tree)
Our Poet weares, and on the Shore doth mourne,
Fearing, t' Elizium bound, wee can't returne.
Steere back! his Verse may make those Sorrowes last
Which here, wee 'mongst unhallow'd Sea-men waste.

TO THE LORD Cary of Lepington, upon his translation of MALVEZZI.

SO swift is Thought; this Morne I tooke my flight
To ruin'd Babell, and return'd to Night:
So strong, that Time (whose course no pow'r could slack)
I have enforc'd some Forty ages back:
To me, that great disorder, and decay,
Was both begun, and consummate to Day:
My selfe, some strong Chaldean Mason there,
Still sore, with massie Stones they made me beare:
Just now (me thinkes) I'm struck, for some command
Mistooke, in words I could not understand.
[Page 129]So lasting are great Griefes, wee still retaine
Remembrance of them, though wee lose the paine:
And that Confusion did a griefe comprise,
Greatest, in that in most concern'd the Wise:
For these (who best deserve the care of Fate)
The first great Curse, much lesse did penetrate,
Which makes us labour for our Food so long,
Than that which mix'd, or cancell'd ev'ry Tongue:
'Cause now wee toyle, and swet for knowledge more,
Than for the Body's nourishment before.
Knowledge; ere it did practise to controle,
No Weapon was, but Diet of the Soule;
Which as her nourishment, she might enjoy,
Not like Controverts, others to destroy:
And this her Food (like Milke) did nourish best,
'Cause it was safe, and easie to digest:
Which Milke, that Curse on Languages turn'd sowre,
For Men scarce taste, what they could erst devoure:
Since now, we are preparing to be dead,
Ere [...]we can holfe interpret what wee read.
Yet he, that for our Bodyes tooke such care,
That to each Wound, there sev'rall Me [...]'cins are;
[Page 130]In nobler pitty, surely hath assign'd
A cure, for ev'ry mischiefe of the Minde:
So this revenge (perhaps) was but to trie
Our patience first, and then our industrie.
Since hee ordain'd, that beautious Truth should still
Be overcast, and hid from humane skill;
Sure he affects that Warre, which Schoole-men wage;
When to know Truth, doth make their knowledge, rage:
So Truth, is much more precious than our peace;
Though some fond Politicks, esteeme her lesse:
Lazy obedience, is to them devout;
And those rebellious, that dispute, or doubt,
But you (my Lord) must Valiantly despise
Their threats, that would keep Knowledge in disguise;
And toyle with Languages to make her cleere;
Which is, to be a just Interpreter.
And this selected Peece, which you translate,
Foretells, your Studies may communicate,
From darker Dialects of a strange Land,
Wisdome, that here th'unlearn'd shall understand.
What noble wonders may in time appeare,
When all, that's forreigne, growes domestick here?
[Page 131]When all the scatt [...]'d World you reconcile,
Unto the Speech, and Idiom of this Isle:
How like a gen'rall Scepter rules that Pen,
Which Mankind makes, one kind of Country-men?

To Henry Jarmin.

HOw wicked am I now? no Man can grow
More wicked, till he swears, I am not so:
Since Wealth, which doth authorize Men to erre,
Since Hope, (that is the lawfull'st Flatterer)
Were never mine one houre: yet I am loth
To have lesse pride, than Men possess'd of both:
Fuller of glory, than old Victors be,
That thanke themselves, not Heav'n for Victorie:
Prouder than Kings first Mistresses, who thinke
Their Eies, gazing on Stars, would make Stars winke▪
That hope, they rule not by imperiall place,
But by some beautious Charter in the Face.
Yet this my pride, and glory, I thinke lost
Unlesse declar'd, and heightned with a boast,
[Page 133]Am I not bravely wicked then? and still
Shail worse appeare, in Nature, as in will;
When with my Malice (the grave Wit of Sinne)
T'excuse my selfe, I draw the whole World in;
Prove all in pride, in triviall glory share,
Though not so harmelesse in't, as Poets are.
When Battailes joyne, alas! what is't doth move
('Gainst all Celestiall harmony of Love)
The Gallant Warriour to assault his Foe?
Whose Vices, and whose Face, he ne're did know:
Why would he kill? or why, for Princes fight?
They quarrell more for glory, than for right:
The pride then he defends, he'ld punish too,
As if more Just in him, than in the Foe.
Th' Ambitious States-man not himselfe admires
For what he hath, but what his pride desires;
Doth inwardly confesse, he covets sway,
Because he is too haughty to obay:
Who yeeld to him, doe not their reason pl [...]se,
But hope, their patience may procure them ease.
How proudly glorious doth he then appeare,
Whom ev'n the Proud▪ enmy, the humble, feare▪
The Studious (that in Books so long have sought
What our Wise Fathers did, or what they thought)
Admit not Reason to be naturall,
But forc'd, harsh, and uneasie unto all:
Well may it be so, when from our Soul's Eyes,
With dark Schoole-Clouds, they keepe it in disguise:
They seeme to know, what they are loth t'impart;
Reason (our Nature once) is now their Art:
And by sophistick, uselesse-science, trie
T'ingage us still, to their false industrie;
T'untie that knot, which they themselves have ry'd,
And had been loose to all, but for their pride:
Their pride; who rule as chiefe on Earth, because
They only can expound, their owne hard Lawes.
Since thus, all that direct what others doe,
Are proud; why should not Poets be so too?
Although not good, tis prosperous at least
To imitate the greatest, not the best.
Know then, I must be proud! but when I tell
The cause that makes my nourish'd glory swell,
I shall (like lucky Pensils) have the fate
T'exceed the Patterns, which I imitate▪
[Page 135]This not implies, to be more proud than they,
But bravely to be proud, a better way:
And thus ( Arigo) I may safely climbe,
Rays'd with the boast, not loaden with the crime:
Those, with their glorious Vices taken be,
But I (most right'ously) am proud of thee.

To Tho: Carew.

(1)
VPon my conscience whenso e'rethou dy'st (Lent)
(Though in the black, the mourning time of
There will be seene, in Kings-street (where thou ly'st)
More triumphs, than in dayes of Parl'ament.
(2)
How glad, and gaudy then will Lovers be?
For ev'ry Lover that can Verses read,
Hath beene so injur'd by thy Muse, and thee,
Ten Thousand, Thousand times, he wish'd thee dead.
(3)
Not but thy Verses are as smooth, and high,
As Glory, Love, or Wine, from Wit can rayse;
[Page 137]But now the Devill take such destinie!
What should commend them, turnes to their disprayse.
(4)
Thy Wit's chiefe Virtue, is become its Vice;
For ev'ry Beauty thou hast rays'd so high,
That now course-Faces carry such a price,
As must undoe a Lover, if he buy.
(5)
Scarce any of the Sex, admits commerce;
It shames mee much to urge this in a Friend;
But more, that they should so mistake thy Verse,
Which meant to conquer, whom it did commend.

TO Doctor Duppa, Deane of Christ-Church, and Tutor to the Prince.

An acknowledgment for his col­lection, in Honour of Ben. Iohnson's memory.

HOw shall I sleepe to night, that am to pay
By a bold vow, a mighty Debt ere Day▪
Which all the Poets of this Island owe:
Like Palnea, neglected, it will greater grow.
How vainly from my single Stock of Wit,
(As small, as is my Art, to Husband it)▪
I have adventur'd what they durst not doe
With strong confed'rate Art, and Nature too.
This Debt hereditary is, and more
Than can be pay'd for such an Ancestor;
[Page 139]Who living, all the Muses Treasure spent,
As if they him, their Heire, not Steward meant.
Forrests of Mirtle, he disforrested,
That neere to Helicon their shades did spred;
Like Moderne Lords, w'are so of Rent bereft;
Poets, and they, have nought but Titles left:
He wasted all in Wreaths, for's conqu'ring Wit;
Which was so strong, as nought could conquer it
But's Judgment's force, and that more rul'd the sense
Of what he writ, than's F [...]y's vaste expence.
Of that hee still was lavishly profuse;
For joyne the remnant-Wealth of ev'ry Muse,
And t'will not pay the Debt wee owe to thee,
For honours done unto his Memory▪
Thus then, he brought th'Estate into decay,
With which, this Debt, wee as his Heires should pay.
As sullen Heires, when wastefull Fathers die,
Their old Debts leave for their Posteritie
To cleere; and the remaining Akers strive
T'enjoy, to keepe them pleasant whilst alive;
So I (alas!) were to my selfe unkinde,
If from that little Wit, he left behinde,
[Page 140]I simply should so great a debt defray;
I'le keepe it to maintaine mee, not to pay.
Yet, for my soul's last quiet when I die,
I will commend it to posteritie:
Although 'tis fear'd ('cause they are left so poore)
They'll but acknowledge, what they should restore:
However, since I now may erne my Bayes,
Without the taint of flatterie in prayse;
Since I've the luck, to make my prayses true.
I'le let them know, to whom this Debt is due:
Due unto you, whose learning can direct
Why Faith must trust, what Reason would suspect:
Teach Faith to rul1e, but with such temp'rate law,
As Reason not destroys, yet keeps't in awe:
Wise you; the living-Volume, which containes
All that industrious Art, from Nature gaines;
The usefull, open-Booke, to all unty'd;
That knowes more, than halfe-Knowers seeme to hide
And with an easie cheerefulnesse reveale,
What they, through want, not sullennesse conceale.
That, to great-faithlesse-Wits, can truth dispence
'Till't turne, their witty scorne, to reverence:
[Page 141]Make them confesse, their greatest error springs,
From curious gazing on the least of Things;
With reading smaller prints, they spoyle their Sight,
Darken themselves, then rave, for want of light:
Shew them, how full they are of subtle sinne,
When Faith's great Cable, they would nicely spinne
To Reason's slender Threads; then (falsely bold)
When they have weakned it, cry, t'wilt not hold!
To him, that so victorious still doth grow,
In knowledge, and t'enforce others to know;
Humble in's strength; not cunning, to beguile,
Nor strong, to overcome, but reconcile:
To Arts Milde Conqueror; that is, to you,
Our sadly mention'd Debt, is justly due:
And now Posteritie is taught to know,
Why, and to whom, this mighty Summe they owe,
I safely may goe sleep; for they will pay
It all at times, although I breake my Day.
FINIS.

This keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above is co-owned by the institutions providing financial support to the Text Creation Partnership. This Phase I text is available for reuse, according to the terms of Creative Commons 0 1.0 Universal. The text can be copied, modified, distributed and performed, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission.