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For, though a firmly settled-peace May shortly make your public labour cease, The grateful nation will with joy consent, That in this sense you should be said, (Though yet the name sounds with some dread) To be the long, the endless, parliament.

ow the overy's Repairi.wc SO, MERSET HOUSE.

When God (the cause to me and men unknown)
Forsook the royal houses, and his own,
And both abandon'd to the common foe,
How near to ruin "d my glories go!
Nothing remain'd to adorm this princely place
Which * hands could take, or rude de-
ace.
In all my rooms and galleries I found
The richest figures torm, and all around
Dismember'd statues of great heroes lay;
Such Naseby's field seem'd on the fatal day !
And me, when nought for robbery was left,
They starv'd to death : the gasping walls were
cleft,
The pillars sunk, the roofs above me wept,
No sign of spring, orjov, my garden kept;
Nothing was seen which could content the eye,
Till dead the impious tyrant here did lie.
See how my face is chang'd, and what I am
Since my true mistress, and now foundress,
came !
It does not fill her bounty to restore
Me as I was (nor was I sinall before):
She imitates the kindness to her shown ;
She does, like Heaven, (which the dejected throne
At once restores, fixes, and higher rears)
Strengthen, enlarge, exalt, what she repairs.
And now I dare, (though proud I must not be,
Whilst my great mistress I so humble see
In all her various glories) now I dare
Ev’n with the proudest palaces compare.
My beauty and convenience will, I’m sure,
Sojust a boast with modesty endure;
And all must to me yield, when I shall tell
How I am plac'd, and who does in me dwell.
Before my gate a street's broad channel goes,
Which still with waves of crowding people flows;
And every day there passes by my side,
Up to its western reach, the Iondon tide,
The spring-tides of the term ; my front looks
down
On all the pride and business of the town;
My other front (for, as in kings we see
The liveliest image of the Deity,
We in their houses should Heaven's likeness find,
Where nothing can be said to be behind)
My other fair and more majestic face
o can the fair to more advantage place :)
or ever gazes on itself below,
In the best mirror that the world can show.
And here behold, in a long bending row,
How two joint-cities make one glorious bow
The midst, the noblest place, possess'd by me,
Best to be seen by all, and all o'er-see 1.
Which way soe'er I turn my joyful eye,
Here the great court, there the rich town I spy;

On either side dwells Safety and Delight;
Wealth on the left, and Power upon the right.
To assure yet my defence on either hand,
Like mighty forts, in equal distance stand
Two of the best and stateliest piles which e'er
Man's liberal piety of old did rear;
Where the two princes of th’ apostles' band,

My neighbours and my guards, watch and com

mand * My warlike guard of ships, which farther lie,

Might be my object too, were not the eye
Stopt by the houses of that wondrous street,
Which rides o'er the broad river like a fleet.
The stream's eternal siege they fixt abide,
And the swoln stream's auxiliary tide,
Though both their ruin with joint power conspire,
Both to out-brave, they nothing dread but fire.
And here my Thames, though it more gentle

be -
Than any flood so strengthen’d by the sea,
Finding by art his matural forces broke,
And bearing, captive-like, the arched yoke,
Does roar, and foam, and rage, at the disgrace,
But re-composes straight, and calms his face;
Is into reverence and submission strook,
As soon as from afar he does but look
Tow'rds the white palace where that king does

reign, Who lays his laws and bridges o'er the main. Amidst these louder honours of my seat; And two vast cities, troublesomely great, In a large various plain the country too Opens her gentler blessings to my view: In me the active and the quiet mind, By different ways, equal content may find. If any prouder virtuoso's sense At that part of my prospect take offence, By which the meaner cabbins are descry’d, Of my imperial river's humbler side— lf they call that a blemish—let them know, God, and my godlike mistress, think not so; For the distress'd and the afflicted lie Most in their care, and always in their eye. . And thou, fair River! who still pay'st to me Just homage, in thy passage to the sea, Take here this one instruction as thou go'st— When thy mix’t waves shall visit every coast; When round the world their voyage they shall make, And back to thee some secret channels take; Ask them what nobler sight they e'er did meet, Except thy mighty master's sovereign fleet, Which now triumphant o'er the main does ride, The terrour of all lands, the ocean's pride. From hence his kingdoms, happy now at last, (Happy, if wise by their misfortunes past !) From hence may omens take of that success Which both their future wars and peace shall bless. The peaceful mother on mild Thames does build; With her son's fabrics the rough sea is fill d.

THE COMPLAINT

In a deep vision's intellectual scene,
Beneath a bower for sorrow made,
Th'uncomfortable shade -
Of the black yew's unlucky green, *

Mixt with the mourning willow's careful grey,

Where reverend Cham cuts out his famous way,
The melancholy Cowley lay:
And lo! a Muse appear'd to 's closed sight,
(The Muses oft in lands of vision play)
Body'd, array'd, and seen, by an internal light.
A golden harp with silver strings she bore;
A wondrous hieroglyphic robe she wore,
In which all colours and all figures were,
That Nature or that Fancy can create,
That Art can never imitate;
And with loose pride it wanton'd in the air.
In such a dress, in such a well-cloth'd dream,
She us'd, of old, near fair Ismenus’ stream,
Pindar, her Theban favourite, to meet;
A o on her head, and wings were on her
eet.

She touch'd him with her harp, and rais'd him
from the ground; -
The shaken strings melodiously resound.
“Art thou return’d at last,” said she,
“To this forsaken place and me?
Thou prodigal' who didst so loosely waste
Of all thy youthful years the good estate;
Art thou return'd here, to repent too late,
And gather husks of learning up at last,
Now the rich harvest time of life is past,
And Winter marches on so fast 2
But, when I meant t'adopt thee for my son,
And did as learn'd a portion assign,
As ever any of the mighty Nine
Had to their dearest children done;
When I resolv'd t”exalt thy anointed name,
Among the spiritual lords of peaceful fame;
Thou, changeling! thou, bewitch'd with noise and
show,
Would'st into courts and cities from me go;
Would'st see the world abroad, and have a share
In all the follies and the tumults there:
Thou would'st, forsooth, be something in a state,
And business thou would'st find, and would'st
create ;
Business! the frivolous pretence
Of human lusts, to shake off innocence;
Business! the grave impertinence;
Business! the thing which I of all things hate;
Business I the contradiction of thy fate.

“Go, renegado' cast up thy account,
JAnd see to what amount
Thy foolish gains by quitting me:
The sale of knowledge, fame, and liberty,
The fruits of thy unlearn'd apostacy.
Thou thought'st, if once the public storm were
t, -
All domaining life should sunshine be:
Behold! the public storm is spent at last,
The sovereign's tost at sea no more,
And thou, with all the noble company,
Art got at last to shore.
But, whilst thy fellow voyagers I see
All march'd up to possess the promis'd land,
Thou, still alone, alas! dost gaping stand
Upon the naked beach, upon the barren sand!

“As a fair morning of the blessed spring,
After a tedious stormy night,
Such was the glorious entry of our king;
Enriching moisture drop'd on every thing:
Plenty he sow'd below, and cast about him light!
Wol. VII.

But ther, alas ! to thee alone, One of old Gideon's miracles was shown; For every tree and every herb around With pearly dew was crown'd, And upon all the quicken'd ground The fruitful seed of Heaven did brooding lie, And nothing but the Muse's fleece was dry. It did all other threats surpass, When God to his own people said (The men whom through long wanderings he had led) That he would give them ev’n a heaven of brass: They look'd up to that Heaven in vain, That bounteous Heaven, which God did not restrain Upon the most unjust to shine and rain.

“The Rachel,for which twiceseven years and more
Thou didst with faith and labour serve,
And didst (if faith and labour can) deserve,
Though she contracted was to thee,
Given to another thou didst see ;
Given to another, who had store
Offairer and of richer wives before,
And not a Leah left, thy recompense to be!
Go on; twice seven years more thy fortune try;
Twice seven years more God in his bounty may
Give thee, to fling away
Into the court's deceitful lottery:
But think how likely 'tis that thon,
With the dull work of thy unwieldy plough,
Should'st in a hard and barren season thrive,
Should'st even able be to live;
Thou, to whose share so little bread did fall,
In that miraculous year, when manna rain'd on
all.”

Thus spake the Muse, and spake it with a smiles
That seem'd at once to pity and revile.
And to her thus, raising his thoughtful head,
The melancholy Cowley said—
“Ah, wanton foe! dost thou upbraid
The ills which thou thyself hast made 2
When in the cradle innocent I lay,
Thou, wicked spirit ! stolest me away,
And my abused soul didst bear
Into thy new-found worlds, I know not where,
Thy golden Indies in the air;
And ever since I strive in vain
My ravish'd freedom to regain;
Still I rebel, still thou dost reign;
Lo! still in verse against thee I complaim,
There is a sort of stubborn weeds,
Which, if the earth but once, it ever, breeds;
No wholesome herb can near them thrive,
No useful plant can keep alive:
The foolish sports I did on thee bestow,
Make all my art and labour fruitless now;
Where once such fairies dance, no grass doth ever
grow.

“When my new mind had no infusion known,

Thou gav'st so deep a tincture of thine own,
That ever since I vainly try
To wash away th’ inherent dye:

Long work perhaps may spoil thy colours quite,

But never will reduce the native white:
To all the ports of honour and of gain,

I often steer my course in vain; Thy gale comes cross, and drives me back again, h

Thou slack'nest all my nerves of industry,
By making them so oft to be
The tinkling strings of thy lose minstrelsy.
Whoever this world's happiness would see,
Must as entirely cast off thee,
As they who only Heaven desire.
Do from the world retire.
This was my errour, this my gross mistake,
Myself a demi-votary to make.
Thus, with Sapphira and her husband's fate,
(A fault which I, like them, am taught too late)
For all that I gave up I nothing gain,
And perish for the part which I retain.

“Teach me not then, O thou fallacious Muse ! The court, and better king, to accuse : The heaven under which I live is fair, "The fertile soil will a full harvest bear : . Thine, thine is all the barrenness; if thou Mak'st me sit still and sing, when I should plough. When l but think how many a tedious year Our patient sovereign did attend His long misfortunes' fatal end; How cheerfully, and how exempt from fear, On the Great Sovereign's will he did depend; I ought to be accurst, if I refuse To wait on his, Gothou fallacious Muse! Kings have long hands, they say; and, though I be z

So distant, they may reach at length to me.
However, of all the princes, thou
Should'st not reproach rewards for being small
or slow;
Thou! who rewardest but with popular breath,
And that too after death.”

on COLONEL TUKE’S TRAGI-COMEDY. THE ADVENTURES OF FI/E HOURS.

As wher our kings (lords of the spacious main)
Take in just wars a rich plate-fleet of Spain,
The rude unshapen ingots they reduce
Into a form of beauty and of use;
On which the conqueror's image now does shine,
Not his whom it belong'd to in the mine:
So, in the mild contentions of the Muse,
(The war which Peace itself loves and pursues)
So have you home to us in triumph brought
This cargazon of Spain with treasures fraught.
You have not basely gotten it by stealth,
Nor by translation borrow'd all its wealth;
But by a powerful spirit made it your own;
Metal before, money by you 'tis grown.
'Tis current now, by your adorning it
With the fair stamp of your victorious wit,
But, though we praise this voyage of your

mind, And though ourselves enrich'd by it we find; We're not contented yet, because we know What greater stores at home within it grow, We’ve seen how well you foreign ores refine; Produce the gold of your own nobler mine: . The world shall then our native plenty view, And fetch materials for their wit from you; They all shall watch the travails of your pen, And Spain on you shall make reprisals then,

on the death or

MRS. KATHARINE PHILIPS.

Cavel Disease! ah, could not it suffice
Thy old and constant spite to exercise
Against the gentlest and the fairest sex,
Which still thy depredations most do vex}
Where still thy malice most of all
(Thy malice or thy lust) does on the fairestfall?
And in them most assault the fairest place,
The throne of empress Beauty, ev'n the face?
There was enough of that here to assuage,
(One would have thought) either thy lust of

rage. Was’t not enough, when thou, prophane Disease Didst on this glorious temple seize Was’t not enough, like a wild zealot, there, All the rich outward ornaments to tear, Deface the innocent pride of beauteous images? Was't not enough thus rudely to defile, But thou must quite destroy, the goodly pile? And thy unbounded sacrilege commit On th' inward holiest holy of her wit? Cruel Disease ! there thou mistook'st thy power, No mine of Death can that devour; On her embalmed name it will abide An everlasting pyramid, As high as Heaven the top, as Earth the basis wide.

All ages past record, all countries now,
In various kinds such equal beauties show,
That ev'n judge Paris would not know
On whom the golden apple to bestow;
Though goddesses to his sentence did submit,
Women and lovers would appeal from it:
Nor durst he say, of all the female race,
This is the sovereign face.
And some (though these be of a kind that's rare,
That's much, ah, much less frequent than the
fair)
So equally renown'd for virtue are,
That it the mother of the gods might pose,
When the best woman for her guide she chose
But if Apollo should design
A woman laureat to make,
Without dispute he would Orinda take,
Though Sappho and the famous Nine
Stood by, and did repine.
To be a princess, or a queen,
Is great; but 'tis a greatness always seen:
The world did never but two women know,
Who, one by fraud, th' other by wit, did rise
To the two tops of spiritual dignities;
One female pope of old, one female poet now.

Of female poets, who had names of old,
Nothing is shown, but only told,
And all we hear of them perhaps may be
Male-flattery only, and male-poetry. . .
Few minutes did their beauty's lightning wast&
The thunder of their voice did longer last,
But that too soon was past.
The certain proofs of our Orinda's wit
In her own lasting characters are writ, .
And they will long my praise of them survivo.
Though long perhaps, too, that may live.
The trade of glory, manag’d by the pen,
Though great it be, and every where is found,
Does bring in but small profit to us men;
'Tis, by the number of the slarers, drown'd,

Orinda, on the female coasts of Fame,
Engrosses all the goods of a poetic name;
She does no partner with her see;
Does all the business there alone, which we
Are forc'd to carry on by a whole company.

But wit’s like a luxuriant vine; Unless to virtue's prop it join, Firm and erect towards Heaven bound ; Though it with beauteous leaves and pleasant fruit be crown'd, It lies, deform'd and rotting, on the ground. Now shame and blushes on us all, Who our own sex superior call ! Orinda does our boasting sex out-do, Not in wit only, but in virtue too: She does above our best examples rise, In hate of vice and scorn of vanities. Never did spirit of the manly make, And dip'd all o'er in Learning's sacred lake, A temper more invulnerable take. No violent passion could an entrance find Into the tender goodness of her mind: Through walls of stone those furious bullets may Force their impetuous way; When her soft breast they hit, powerless and dead they lay! The Fame of Friendship, which so long had told Of three or four illustrious names of old, Till hoarse and weary with the tale she grew, Rejoices now to have got a new, A new and more surprizing story, Of fair Lucasia's and Orinda's glory. As when a prudent man does once perceive That in some foreign country he must live, The language and the manners he does strive To understand and practise here, That he may come no stranger there: So well Orinda did herself prepare, In this much different clime, for her remove To the glad world of Poetry and Love.

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And skill in painting, dost bestow, Upon thy ancient arms, the gaudy heavenly bow.

Swift as light thoughts their empty career run,
Thy race is finish'd when begun;
Let a post-angel start with thee,
And thou the goal of Earth shalt reach as soon as
he.

Thou in the Moon's bright chariot, proud and gay,
Dost thy bright wood of stars survey;
And all the year dost with thee bring
Of thousand flowery lights thine own nocturnal
spring.
Thou, Scythian-like, dost round thy lands above
The Sun's gilt tents for ever move,
And still, as thou in pomp dost go,
The shining pageants of the world attend thy
show.

Nor amidst all these triumphs dost thou scorn
The humble glow-worms to adorn,
And with those living spangles gild

(O greatness without pride') the bushes of the field.

Night, and her ugly subjects, thou dost fright,
And Sleep, the lazy owl of night;
Asham'd, and fearful to appear, -

They screen their horrid shapes with the black hemisphere.

With them there hastes, and wildly takes th’
alarm,
Of painted dreams a busy swarm :
At the first opening of thine eye
The various clusters break, the antic atoms fly.

The guilty serpents, and obscener beasts,
Creep, conscious, to their secret rests:
Nature to thee does reverence pay,

Illomens and ill sights removes out of thy way.

At thy appearance, Grief itself is said
To shake his wings, and rouse his head:
And cloudy Care has often took

Agentle beamy smile, reflected from thy look.

At thy appearance, Fear itself grows bold;
Thy sun-shine melts away his cold.
Encourag’d at the sight of thee,
To the check colour comes, and firmness to the
knee.

Ev’n Lust, the master of a harden'd face,
Blushes, if thou be'st in the place,
To Darkness’ curtains he retires;
In sympathizing night he rolls his smoky fires.
When, goddess! thou lift'st up thy waken'd
head,
Out of the morming's purple bed,
Thy quire of birds about thee play
And all the joyful world salutes the rising day.

The ghosts, and monster-spirits, that did presume
A body's privilege to assume,
Vanish again invisibly,

And bodies gain again their visibility.

All the world's bravery, that deligh's our eyes,
Is but thy several liveries;
Thou the rich dye on them bestow'st,

Thy nimble pencil paints this laudscape as thou

go'st.

A crimson garment in the rose thou wear'st;
A crown of studded gold thou bear'st;
The virgin-lilies, in their white,

Are clad but with the lawn of almost maked light.

The violet, Spring's little infant, stands
Girt in thy purple swaddling-bands
On the fair tulip thou dost doat;

Thou cloth st it in a gay and party-colour’d coat

w th flame condens'd thou do'st thyjewels fix, And solid colours in it mix: Flora herself envies to see

Flowers fairer than her own, and durable as she.

Ah, goddess! would thoucould'st thy hand withhold, And be less liberal to gold' Didst thou less value to it give, Of how much care, alas ! might'st thou poor man relieve To me the Sun is more delightful far, And all fair days much fairer are: But few, ah wondrous few, there be, who do not gold prefer, O goddess' ev'n to thee.

Through the soft ways of Heaven, and air,and sea, which open all their pores to thee, Like a clear river thou dost glide, And with thy living stream through the close channels slide.

But, where firm bodies thy free course oppose,
Gently thy source the land o'erflows;
Takes there possession, and does make,
Of colours mingled light, a thick and standing
lake.

But the vast ocean of unbounded day,
In th' empyraean Heaven does stay.
Thy rivers, lakes, and springs, below,
From thence took first their rise, thither at last
must flow.

--TO THE ROYAL SOCIETY.

Philosophy, the great and only heir
of all that human knowledge which has been
Unforfeited by man's rebellious sin,
Though full of years he do appear,
(Philosophy, I say, and call it he,
For, whatsoe'er the painter's fancy be,
It a male-virtue seems to me)
Has still been kept in nonage till of late,
Nor manag'd or enjoy'd his vast estate.
Three or four thousand years, one would have
thought,
To ripeness and perfection might have brought
A scient e so well bred and nurst,
And of such hopeful parts too at the first:
But, oh! the guardians and the tutors, then
(Some negligent and some ambitious men)
would neer consent to set him free,
Or his own natural powers to let him see,
Lest that should put an end to their authority.

That his own business he might quite forget,

They amus'd him with the sports of wanton wit:

with the deserts of poetry they fed him,

Instead of solid meats to increase his force;

Instead of vigorous exercise, they led him

Into the pleasant labyrinths of ever-fresh discourse;

Instead of carrying him to see The riches which do hoarded for him lie In Nature's endless treasury, They chose his eye to entertain (His curious but not covetous eye) with painted scenes and pageants of the brain. Some few exalted spirits this latter age has shown, That labour'd to assert the liberty (From guardians who were now usurper grown) of this old minor still, captiv'd Philosophy; But 'twas rebellion call'd, to fight For such a long-oppressed right. Bacon at last, a mighty man, arose, (whom a wise king, and Nature, chose, iord chancellor of both their laws) And boldly undertook the injur’d pupil's cause.

Authority—which did a body boast,
Though 'twas but air condens'd, and stalk'd
about,
Like some old giant's more gigantic ghost,
To terrify the learned rout -
with the plain magic of true Reason's light-
He chas'd out of our sight;
Nor suffer'd living men to be misled
By the vain shadows of the dead:
To graves, from whence it rose, the conquer'd
phantom fled.
He broke that monstrous god which stood
In midst of th' orchard, and the whole did claim;
which w th a useless scythe of wood,
And something else not worth a name,
(Both vast for show, yet neither fit
Or to defend, or to beget;
Ridiculous and senseless terrours!) made
Children and superstitious men afraid. -
The orchard's open now, and free,
Bacon has broke the scare-crow deity :
Come, enter, all that will,
Behold the ripen'd fruit, come gather now your
fill -
Yet still, methinks, we fain would be
Catching at the forbidden tree—
We wouid be like the Deity—
When truth and falsehood, good and evil, we,
without the senses' aid, within ourselves would
see;
For 'tis God only who can find
All Nature in his mind.

From words, which are but pictures of the
thought, -
(Though we our thoughts from them perversey
drew)
To things, the mind's right object, he it brought:
Like foolish birds, to painted grapes we flew;
He sought and gather'd for our use the true;
And, when on heaps the chosen bunches lay,
He prest them wisely the mechanic way,
Till all their juice did in one vessel join,
Ferment into a nourishment divine,
The thirsty soul's refreshing wine.
Who to the life an exact piece would make,
Must not from others' work a copy take;
No, not from Rubens or Vandyke ;
Much less content himself to make it like
Th’ ideas and the images which lie -
In his own fancy or his memory.
No, he before his sight must place
The natural and living face;

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