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Why, as we pass, do those on Xanthus' shore,
It is not thou, but we are blind, And our corporeal eyes (we find) Dazzle the optics of our mind.
Love to our citadel resorts,
What subtle witchcraft man constrains,
May not a prison, or a grave,
How happy he that loves not lives! Him neither hope nor fear deceives, To Fortune who no hostage gives.
How unconcern'd in things to come! -
Secure from low and private ends,
Danger and honour are his joy;
Then he lays-by the public care, Thinks of providing for an heir ; Learns how to get, and how to spare.
Nor fire, nor foe, nor fate, nor night,
Though still his foes in number grew, Thicker their darts and arrows flew, Yet left alone, no fear he knew.
But Death in all her forms appears, From every thing he sees and hears, For whom he leads, and whom he bears".
Love, making all things else his foes, Like a fierce torrent, overflows Whatever doth his course oppose.
This was the cause the poets sung.
Her father mother son art thou :
Love is as old as place or time; Twas he the fatal tree did climb, Grandsire of father Adam's crime.
Well may’st thou keep this world in awe;
'Tis he commands the powers above; Phoebus resigns his darts, and Jove His thunder, to the god of Love.
* His father and son.
Next (like Aurora) Spenser rose, Whose purple blush the day foreshows; The other three, with his own fires, Phoebus, the poets' god, inspires; By Shakespear's, Jonson's, Fletcher's lines, Our stage's lustre Rome’s outshines: These poets near our princes sleep, And in one grave their mansion keep. They liv'd to see so many days, Till time had blasted all their bays: But cursed be the fatal hour That pluck'd the fairest, sweetest flower That in the Muses' garden grew, And amongst wither'd laurels threw. Time, which made then their fame outlive, To Cowley scarce did ripeness give. Old mother Wit, and Nature, gave Shakespeare and Fletcher all they have ; In Spenser, and in Jonson, Art Of slower Nature got the start; But both in him so equal are, None knows which bears the happiest share: To him no author was unknown, Yet what he wrote was all his own; He melted not the ancient gold, Nor, with Ben Jonson, did make bold
To Munic; all the Roman stores Of poets, and of orators: Horace's wit, and Virgil's state, He did not steal, but emulate And when he would like them appear, Their garb, but not their clothes, did wear: He not from Rome alone, but Greece, Like Jason brought the golden fleece; To him that language (though to none Of th' others) as his own was known. On a stiff gale (as Flaccus sings) The Theban swan extends his wings, When through th' etherial clouds he flies: To the same pitch our swan doth rise; Old Pindar's flights by him are reach'd When on that gale his wings are stretch'd; His fancy and his judgment such, Each to the other seem'd too much, His severe judgment (giving law) His modest fancy kept in awe : As rigid husbands, jealous are, When they believe their wives too fair. His English streams so pure did flow, As all that saw and tasted know : But for his Latin vein, so clear, Strong, full, and high it doth appear, That were immortal Virgil here, Him, for his judge, he would not fear: Of that great portraiture, so true A copy, pencil never drew. My Muse her song had ended here, But both their Genii straight appear: Joy and amazement her did strike, Two twins she never saw so like. 'Twas taught by wise Pythagoras, One soul might through more bodies pass. Seeing such transmigration there, She thought it not a fable here. Such a resemblance of all parts, Life, death, age, fortune, nature, arts ; Then lights her torch at theirs, to tell, And show the world this parallel : Fixt and contemplative their looks,
Still turning over Nature's books:
.4 SPEECH AGAINST PE.MCE At The
CLOSE COMMITTEE. To the tune of, “I went from England.”
But will you now to peace incline,
Is not the bishop's bill deny'd,
Did I for this bring in the Scot?
Though more our money than our cause
Did I for this my country bring
So many nights spent in the city In that invisible committee,
The wheel that governs all: From thence the change in church and state, And all the mischief bears the date
From Haberdashers' Hall.
Did we force Ireland to despair,
Then the same fire we kindled here
Have I so often past between
Did I for this take pains to teach
Sometimes to beg, sometimes to threaten,
And now the books, and now the bells,
And shall we kindle all this flame
Either the cause at first was ill,
But plague and famine will come in, For they and we are near of kin,
TO FIVE MEMBERS OF THE HOUSE OF COMMONS.
And cannot go asunder: But while the wicked starve, indeed The saints have ready at their need
God's providence, and plunder.
Princes we are if we prevail,
Then letus stay and fight, and vote,
TO THE FIPE JMEMBERS of The HONOURABLE HOUSE OF COMMONS, The huxible Petition or The Poets.
Arsen so many concurring petitions
us, Wethank you first for the ills you have broughtus: For the good we receive we thank him that gave And you for the confidence only to crave it. [it, Next in course, we complain of the great violaOf privilege (like the rest of our nation); [tion But 'tis none of yours of which we have spoken, Which never had being until they were broken ; But ours is a privilege ancient and native, Hangs not on an ordinance, or power legislative. And first, 'tis to speak whatever we please, Without fear of a prison or pursuivant's fees. Next, that we only may lye by authority; But in that also you have got the priority. Next, an old custom, our fathers did name it Poetical licence, and always did claim it. By this we have power to change age into youth, Turn nonsense to sense, and falsehood to truth; In brief, to make good whatsoever is faulty; This art some poet, or the Devil, has taught ye: And this our property you have invaded, And a privilege of both houses have made it. But that trust above all in poets reposed, That kings by them only are made and deposed, This though you cannot do, yet you are willing: But when we undertake deposing or killing, They're tyrants and monsters; and yet then the poet Takes full revenge on the villains that do it : And when we resume a sceptre or crown, We are modest, and seek not to make it our own. But is 't not presumption to write verses to you, Who make better poems by far of the two
For all those pretty knacks you compose,
4 mEster who woen.
Do you not know not a fortnight ago,
When a hundred and ten slew five thousand men,
There Hopton was slain again and again,
With a new Thanksgiving, for the dead who are
But now on which side was this miracle try'd,
For sir Ralph and his knaves are risen from their
And there Stamford came, for his honour was Of the gout three months together ; [lame But it prov’d when they fought, but a running For his heels were lighter than ever. [gout
For now he outruns his arms and his guns, And leaves all his money behind him ;
But they follow after; unless he takes water, At Plymouth again they will find him.
What Reading hath cost, and Stamford hath Goes deep in the sequestrations ! [lost, These wounds will not heal, with your new great Nor Jepson's declarations. [seal.
Now, Peters and Case, in your prayer and grace
Isaac and his wife, now dig for your life,
.4 SECOND WESTERN WOWDER.
You heard of that wonder, of the lightning and
O what a damp it struck through the camp !
It blew him to the Vies, without beard or eyes,