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Since it equally doth flee,
Let the motion pleasant be.
Why do we precious ointments fhower?
Nobler wines why do we pour?
Beauteous flowers why do we spread,
Upon the monuments of the dead?
Nothing they but dust can show,
Or bones that hasten to be so.
Crown me with roses whilft I live,
Now your wines and ointments give;
After death I nothing crave,
Let me alive my pleasures have,
All are Stoics in the grave.

In thy undiscover'd nest
Thou dost all the winter reft,
And dreamest o'er thy summer joys,
Free from the stormy feasons' noise :
Free from th' ill thou 'st done to me;
Who disturbs or feeks-out thee?
Hadlt thou all the charming notes
Of the wood's poetic throats,
All thy art could never pay
What thou 'ít ta'en from me away.
Cruel bird! thou 'lt ta'en away
A dream out of my arms to-day;
A áream, that ne'er must equal'd be
By all that waking eyes may fee.
Thou, this damage to repair,
Nothing half so sweet or fair,
Nothing half so good, capst bring,
Though men say thou bring'st the spring.



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HOW helt servant, and my friend ?

CAPPY inse&! what can be

'n happiness compar'd to thee?
Fed with nouriflament divine,
The dewy morning's gentle wine !
Nature waits upon thee ftill,
And thy verdant cup docs fill;
'Tis fill'd wherever thou dost trcad,
Nature's self's thy Ganymede.
Thou doft drink; and dance, and sing;
Happier than the happiest king!
All the fieids which thou doft see,
All the plants, belong to thee:
All that summer-hours produce,
Fertile made with early juice.
Man for thee does sow and plow;
Farmer he, and landlord thou !
Thou doft innocently joy;
Nor does thy luxury destroy ;
The Aepherd gladly heareth thee,
More harmonious than he.
Thee country hinds with gladness hear,
Prophet of the ripen'd year!
Thee Phæbus loves, and dues inspire;
Phæbus is himself thy fire.
To thee, of all things upon earth,
J.ife is no longer than thy mirth.
Happy insea, happy thou!
Dot neither age nor winter know;
But, when thou 't drunk, and danc'd, and sung
Thy fill, the flowery lcaves among
(Volupenous, and wife withal,
Epicurcan animal!)
Sated with thy summer feast,
Thou retir'it to endless reft.

Nay, and, if from a Deity
So much deificd as I,
It sound not too profane and odd,
Oh, my master and my god!
For 'tis true, most mighty poct!
(Though I like not men should know it)
I am in naked nature less,
Less by much, than in thy dress.
All thy verse is fofter far
Than the downy feathers are
Of my wings, or of my arrows,
Of my mother's doves or sparrows.
Sweet as lovers' freshest kisses,
Or their riper following blilles,
Graceful, cleanly, smooth, and round,
All with Venus' girdle bound;
And thy life was all the while
Kind and gentle as thy ftyle.
The smooth-pac'd hours of every day
Glided numerously away.
Like thy verse each hour did pass;
Sweet and short, like that, it was.

Some do but their youth allow me,
Just what they by nature owe me,
The time that 's mine, and not their own,
The certain tribute of my crown:
When they grow old, they grow to be
Too busy, or too wise, for nie.
Thou wert wiser, and didst know
None too wise for Love can grow ;
Love was with thy life entwin'd,
'Close as heat with fire is join'd;
A powerful brand prescrib'd the date
of thine, like Micheager's fate.
Th’ antiperiitasis of age
More enflana'd thy amorous rage;
Thy silver hairs yielded me inore
Than even golden curls before,

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THE SWALLOW. TOOLISH prater, what doft thou With thy tuneless fcrenade? wd': had been had Tereus made Thee as dumb as Philomel; Tacre his knife liad done but well.


E ! ff y things,

Had I the power of creation,

Poets or lovers let them be, As I have of generation,

'Tis neither love nor poesy Where I the matter must obey,

Can arm, against death's smallest dart, And cannot work plate out of clay,

The poet's head or lover's heart ; My creatures should be all like thee,

But when their life, in its decline, "Tis thou shouldst their idea be:

Touches th' inevitable line, They, like thee, should throughly hate

All the world 's mortal to them then, Business, honour, title, ftate ;

And wine is aconite to men ; Other wealth they should not know,

Nay, in death's hand, the grape-stone proves
But what my living nines bestow ;

As strong as thunder is in Jove's.
The pomp of Kings, they should confess,
At their crownings, to be less
Than a lover's humblest guise,
When at his mistress' feet he lies.
Rumour they no more should mind

Than men safe-landed do the wind;
Wisdom itself they should not hear,
When it prcsumes to be fevere :

Beauty alone they should admire,
Nor look at Fortune's vain attire,-
Nor aik what parents it can shew;
With dead or old 't has nought to do.

They should not love yet all or any,
But very much and very many :

TAKEN OUT OF A GREEK ODE, WRITTEN BY All thcir life should gilded be

MR. MASTERS, OF NEW-COLLEGE IN OXFORD. With mirth, and wit, and gaiety ; Well remembering and applying The necessity of dying.

And inspirations but of wind; Their cheerful heads should always wear

Take up thy lute, and to it bind All that crowns the flowery year :

Loud and everlasting strings; They Should always laugh, and fing,

And on them play, and to them fing, And dance, and strike tn' harnionious fring;

'The happy mournful stories, Verse should from their tongue so flow,

The lamentable glories, As if it in the mouth did grow,

Of the great crucified King, As swiftly answering their command,

Mountainous heap of wonders! which doft rise As tunes obey the artful hand.

Till earth thou joinett with the skies! And whilst I do thus discover

Too large at bottom, and at top too high, Th’ingredients of a happy lover,

To be half seen by mortal eye! 'Tis, my Anacreon! for thy fake

How shall I grasp this boundlefs thing? I of the grape no mention make.

What shall I play? what shall I sing? Till my Anacreon by thee sell,

I'll sing the mighty riddle of mysterious love, Cursed plant! I lov'd thee well;

Which neither wretched men below, nor blefied And 'twas oft my wanton use

fpirits above, To dip my arrows in thy juice.

With all their comments can explain ;

How all the whole world's life to die did not Curled plant ! 'tis true, I sce,

disdain ! Th' old report that goes of thee That, with giants' blood the earth

I'll ling the searchless depths of the compassion Stain'd and poison'd, gave thee birth;

Divine, And now thou wreak'st thy ancient spite

The depths unfathom'd yet On men in whom the gods delight.

By reason's plummet and the line of wit; Thy patron Bacchus, 'tis no wonder,

Too light the plummet, and too short the line ! Was brought forth in flames and thurder;

How the etcrnal Father did bestow in rage, in quarrels and in fights,

His own eternal Son as ransom for his foe, Worse than his tigers, he delights;

I'll sing aloud, that all the world may heas in all our heaven I think there ne

The triumph of the buried Conqueror. No such ill-natur'd God as he.

How hell was by its prisoner captive led, Thou pretendeft, traiterous Wine !

And the great slayer, Death, slain by the dead. To be the Muses' friend and mine : With love and wit thou doft bogin,

Methinks I hear of murdered men the voice, Falle fires, alas ! to draw us in ;

Mixt with the murderers' confused noise,
Which, if our course we by them keep,
Misguide to madness or to sleep :

* These verscs were not included among those Sleep were well; thou 'af learnt a way

which Mr. Cowley himself styled “ Miscellanies;” To death itself now to betray.

but were clafled by Bishop Sprat under the title It gricves me when I see what fate

by which they are here diftinguilhed. N. Does on th: bcft of mankind wait.

41 Sound from the top of Calvary;

Orinda first did a bold sally make,
My greedy eyes fly up the hill, and see

Our stronge quarter take,
Who 'tis hangs there the midmost of the three; And to fuccessfuiyrov'd, that she
Oh, how unlike the others he!

Turn'd upon Love himself his own artillery. Look, how he bends his gentle head with blellings from the tree!

Women, as if the body were their whole,
His gracious hands, ne'er stretch'd but to do good,

Did that, and not the foul,
Are nail'd to the infamous wood!

Transnit to their pofterity;
And finful man does fondly bind

If in it sometime they conceiv'd,
The arms which he extends t'embrace all human-

'Th' abortive issue never liv'd. kind.

"Twere thame and pity', Orioda, if in thee Unhappy man! canst thou stand by and see A spirit so rich, fo noble, and so high, All this as patient as he?

Should unnianur'd or barren lie. Since he thy fins does bear,

But thou industriously hall fow'd and tillid Make thou his sufferings thine own

The fair ard fruitful field; And weep, and figh, and groan,

And 't is a strange increafe that it does yield, And beat thy breat, and tear

As, when the happy Gnds above Thy garments and thy hair,

Meet all together at a feaft, And lee thy grief, and let thy love,

A secret joy unspeakable does move Through all thy bleeding bowels move.

In their great mother Cybele's contented breast : Doft thou not see thy prince in purple clad all o'er,

With no lefs pleafure thou, methinks, Mould see, Not purple brought from the sidonian shore,

This, thy no leis immortal progeny ; But made at home with richer gore?

And in their birth thou no one touch doft find, Duft thou not see the roles which acorn

Of th' anciunt curse to woman-kind : The thorny garland by him worn?

Thou bring it not forth wita pain ; Doit thou not see the livid traces

It neither travail is nor labour of the brain : Of the sharp fcourges' rude embraces?

So easily tlis y from thee come,

And there is į much room
If yet thou feelest not the smart
Of thorns and scourges in thy heart;

In th' unexhausted and unfathem'd womb,
If that be yet not crucify'd;

That, like the Holland Countess, thou may'lt

bear Look on his hands, look on his feet, look on his fide!

A child fur every day of all the fertile year. Open, oh! open wide the fountains of thine eyes, Thou dost niy wonder, wouldit my envy,

raise And let them call

If to be prais'd I lov'd more than to praise :
Their stuck of moisture forth where'er it lies! Where'er I fee an excellence,
For his will alk it all.

I must admire to fce thy well-knit furse, 'Twouli all, alas! too little be,

Thy numbers gentle, and thy farcies high; Though thy falt tears come from a sea. Those as thy forehead smouth, thcic sparkling as

Canid thou deny him this, when he Has open'd all his vital springs for thee?

"Tis ielid, and 'tis manly all, Take heed; for by his fide's mysterious flood

Or rather 'tis angelical;
May well be understood,

For, as in angels, we
That he will stiil require some watersto his blood. Do ii thy vericite

Both improv'd fixes e minently meet;
They are than min more itrong, and more than

wonan iwlet.

They talk di Nile, I know not who,

female chincras that o'er poets reign;

Ire'er could find that funcy true,

But have invok'd them oit, l’ın fare, in vain :
To all the tyrannies of it;

They talk of Sapho; but, alas! the fame!
Ah! cruel sex, will you depofe us too in wit?

lll-manners foil the luftre of her same; Orinda • does in that too reign ;

Orinda's inwand virtue is so briglit, Dies man behind her is proud triumph draw,

That, like a lantern's feir inclusid light, And cancel great Apollo's Salique law.

It through the paper shin: 3 where the dous write, We our old title plead in vain,

Honour and friendftip, and the ger«Toni 16 Man may be head, but woman's now the brain.

Of things for which we were not hill Verse was Lov's fire-arms heretofore,

(Things that can only by a fond difal, la Beauty's camp it was not known;

Like that of girls, our vicious itcma dis pleate) Too many arms besides that conqueror bore: Are the instructive subjects of her pen; 'Twas the great cannon we brought down

And, as the Roman vi&ory T'affault a stubborn town:

Taught our rude land arts and civility,

At once she overcomes, enflaves, and betters, men * Mrs. Catharine Philips.


thine (ye.

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But Rome with all her arts could ne'er inspire When (see the subtle ways which Fate does A female breast with such a fire :

Rebellious man to bind ! The warlike Amazonian train,

Just to the work for which he is assign'd) Who in Elysium now do peaceful reign,

The Mufe came in more cheerful than befor And Wit's mild cmpire before arms prefer, And bade me quarrel with her now no mar Hope 'twill be settled in their sex by her.

“ Lo! thy reward ! look here, and see Merlin the seer (and sure he would not lye,

“ What I have made" (said she) In such a sacred company)

My lover and belov'd, my Broghill, do for Does prophecies of learn'd Orinda show, Though thy own versi no lasting fame can Which he had darkly spoke so long ago;

" Thou shalt at least in his for ever live. Ev'n Boadicia's angry ghost

“ What critics, the great Hectors now in Forgets her own misfortune and disgrace, “ Who rant and challenge all men that have

And to her injur'd daughters now does boast, Will dare toppose thee, when That Rome 's o'ercome at last, by a woman of Broghill in thy defence has drawn his her race.

“ quering pen?"

I rofe, and bow'd my head,
And pardon alk'd for all that I had said :

Well satisfy'd and proud,

I strait resolv'd, and folemnly I vow'd,

'That from her fcrvice now I ne'er would p PON OCCASION OF A COPY OF VERSES OF MY

So strongly large rewards work on a gra


Nothing so soon the drooping spirits can rai E gone (said I) ingrateful Muse! and see

As praises from the men whom all men praisi

'Tis the best cordial, and which only those Since I grew man, and wiser ought to be, Who have at home th' ingredients can compo

My business and my hopes I left for thee : A cordial that restores our fainting breath,
For thee (which was more hardly given away) And keeps up life e'en after death !
I left, even when a boy, my play.

The only danger is, left it should be
But say, ingrateful mistress! fay,

Too strong a remedy;
What for all this, what didit thou ever pay? Left, in removing cold, it should beget
Thou'lt say, perhaps, that riches are

Too violent a heat;
Not of the growth of lands where thou dost trade, And into madness turn the lethargy.
And I as well my country might upbraid

Ah! gracious God! that I might see
Because I have no vineyard there.

A time when it were dangerous for me Well: but in love thou doit pretend to reign ; To be o'er-heat with praise !

There thine the power and lordship is; But I within me bear, alas! too great allays. Thou bad'st me write, and write, and write again; "Tis faid, Apelles, when he Venus drew,

'Twas such a way as could not miss.
I, like a fool, did thce obey :

Did naked women for his pattern view,
I wrote, and wrote, but still I wrote in vain;

And with his powerful fancy did refine For, after all my expence of wit and pain,

Their human shapes into a form divine; A rich, unwriting hand, carried the prize away.

None who had fat could her own picture sce,

Or say, ore part was drawn for me : Thus I complain'd, and strait the Muse reply'd, So, though this nobler painter, when he writ, That she hath given me fame.

Was pleas’d to think it fit Bounty immenfe! and that too must be try'd

That my book should before him fit, When I myself am nothing but a name.

Not as a cause, but an occasion, to his wit; Who now, what reader does not strive Yet what have I to boaft, or to apply T'invalidate the gift whilft we're alive?

To my advantage out of it; since 1, For, when a poct now himself doth show, Instead of my own likeness, only find As if he were a common foe,

The bright idea there of the great writer's min All draw upon him, all around,

And every part of him they wound, Happy the man that gives the deepest blow : And this is all, kind Muse! to thee we owe. Then in rage I took,

ODE. And out at window threw,

MR. COWLEY'S BOOK PRESENTING ITSELF Ovid and Horace, all the chiming crew;

THE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY OF OXFORD. Homer himself went with them too; Hardly escap'd the sacred Mantuan book :

AII, Learning's Pantheon! Hail, the laer I my own offspring, like Agave, tore, And I resolv’d, nay, and I think I swore, Where all the world of science does embark ! That I no more the ground would till and sow, Which ever shall withstand, and halt so lor Where only flowery weeds instead of corn did withstood, grow.

Insatiate Time's devouring flood.

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CHEER.wp, my mates, the wind docs fairly

- Fate do, trce of knowledge! thy leaves fruit ! which 'T had happier been for him, as well as me; well

For when all, alas! is done, alliga'd in the midst of paradise arise,

We books, I mean, You books, will prove to be than be Oxford! the Muse's paradise,

The best and noblest conversation: m which may never sword the bless'd expel ! For, though some errors will get in, il, bank of all past ages! where they lie

Like tinctures of original sin;
enrich with interest pofterity!

Yet sure we from our fathers' wit
Hail, Wit's illuitrious Galaxy!

Draw all the strength and spirit of it, - famc

here thousand lights into one brightness spread; Leaving the gresser parts for conversation,
, living University of the dead?

As the best blood of man's employ'd in generation, that enconfuz'd Babel of all tongues! which e'er when he mighty linguist Fame, or Time, the mighty traveler,

ODE. That could speak, or this could hear. Kajestic monument and pyramid ! laid: here fill the iha des of parted souls abide mbalm'd in verse ; exalted souls which now

DRAKE'S SHIP. ri'd, njoy those arts they woo'd so well below;

Which now all wonders plainly sce,
That have been, are, or are to be,

In the mysterious library,

Clap on more fail, and never spare; The beatific Bodley of the Deity;

Farewell all lands, for now we are Fits *** Fill you into your sacred throng admit

In the wide fea of drink, and merrily we go. The meinelt British Wit?

Bless me, 'tis hot! another bowl of wine, ser lou, general council of the priests of Fame,

And we shall cut the burning Line :
Will you not murmur and disdain,

Hey, boys! fhe scuds away, and by my head i
That I a place among you claim,

know The humblert deacon of her train ?

We round the world are failing now. you allow me th' honourable chain?

What dull men are those that tarry at home,
The chain of ornament, which here

When abroad they might wantonly roam,
Your noble prisoners proudly wear;

And gain such experience, and spy too
chain which will more pleasant seem to me

Such countries and wonders, as I do! Than all my own Pindaric liberty!

But pr’ythee, good pilot, take heed what you do, h Will ye to bind me with those mighty names

And fail not to touch at Peru!

With gold there the vessel we'll store,
Like an Apocrypha with holy Writ?

And never, and never be poor, -:- Whatever happy book is chained here,

No, never be poor any more. No other place or people need to fear;

What do I mean? What thoughts do me misguide? His chain’s a passport to go every where,

As well upon a staff may witches ride
As when a seat in heaven

Their fancy'd journeys in the air, pe: Is to an unmalicious finner given,

As I fail round the ocean in this chair !
Who, casting round his wondering eye,

"I'is true; but yet this chair which here Does none but patriarchs and apostles there cfpy; Martyrs who did their lives bestow,

For all its quiet now, and gravity, And faints, who martyrs liv'd below; Has wander'd and has travel'd more With trembling and amazement he begins

Than ever beast, or fish, or bird, or ever tree, $" To recollect his frailties past and fins;

before : He doubts almost his station there;

In every air and every sea 't has been, His foul says to itself, “ How came I here ?" "T has compass'd all the earth, and all the heavens It fares no otherwise with me,

't has seen.
When I myself with conscious wonder see Let not the Pope's itself with this compare,
Amidst this purify'd elected company.

This is the only universal chair.
With hardship they, and pain,
Did to this happiness attain :

The pious wanderer's fect, fav’d from the fame No labour I, nor mirits, can pretend;

(Which still the relics did of Troy pursue,

And took them for its due), I think predestination only was my friend.

A squadron of inmortal nymphs became : Ah, that my author had been ty'd like me

Still with their armıs they row about the seas, To such a place and such a company!

And still make new and greater voyages :
Instead of several countries, several men,

Nor has the first poetic ship of Greece
And business, which the Muses hate,

(Though now a star she so triumphant show, He mighe have then improv'd that small estate And guide her sailing successors below, Which Nature sparingly did to him give;

Bright as her ancient freight the shining fleece) He might perhaps have thriven then, Yet to this day a quiet harbour found; And fetcled upon, me, his child, somewhat to live. The tide of heaven still carries her around.

you fee,


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