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I'm glad that city, t'whom I ow'd before
| His learning had out-run the rest of heirs, (But, ah me! Fate hath crost that willing score) Stol'n beard from Time, anil leapt to tucnty years, A father, gave me a godfather too;
And, as the Sun, though in full glory bright,
Whom I may rightly think, and term, to be And a good-morrow to the beggar brings
With as full ravs as to the mightiest kings:
So he, although his worth just state might claim, (When Nature had not licensed my tongue
And give to pride an honourable name, Farther than cries) who should my office do;
With courtesy to all, cloath'd virtue so, I thank her more, because she found out you :
That 'twas not higher than his thoughts were low. In whose each look I may a sentence see;
In 's body tou no critique eye could find In whose each deed, a teaching homily,
The smallest blemish, to belye his mind;
He was all pureness, and his outward part How shali I pay this debt to you? My fate
But represents the picture of his heart. Denies me Indian pearl or Persian plate;
When waters swallow'd mankind, and did cheat Which though it did not, to requite you thus, The hungry worm of its expected mcat; Were to send apples to Alcinous,
When gems, plucht from the shore by ruder hands, And sell the cunning'st way.-No! when I can, 1 Returu'd again into their native sands;
In every luz., in every verse, write Man; I'Mongst all those spoils, there was not any prey When my quill relisheth a school no more;
Could equal whai this brook bath stul'n away. When my pen-feather' Muse hath learnt to soar,
Weep then, sad Flood; and, though thou’rt innocent, And gotten wings as well as feet; look then
Weep because Fate made thee her instrument : For equal thanks from my unwearied pen :
And, when long grief hath drunk up all thy store, Till future ages say, 'twas you did give
Coine to our eyes, ard we will lend thee more.
A TRANSLATION OF
VERSES UPON THE BLESSED VIRGIN,
WRITTEN IN LATIN BY THE RIGHT WORSHIPFUL DR. A.
Once thou rejoiced'st, and rejoi e for ever,
Whose time of joy shall be expired never : About the shore, as they did yesterday?
Who in her womb the hive of comfort bears, Will the Sun court them still? and shall they show
Let her driok comfort's honey with her ears. No conscious wrinkie furrow'd on their brow,
You brought the word of jov, in which was born That to the thirsty traveller may say,
An ha il to all ! let us an hail return ! “I am accurst; goturn some other way?".
From you “God save" into the world there cames It is unjust: black Flood ! thy guilt is more,
| Our echo hail is but an empty naine. Sprung from his loss, than all thy watery store Can give thee tears to mourn for: birds shall be,
GRATIA PLENA. And beasts, henceforth afraid to drink of thee.
What have I said ? my pious rage hath been How loaded hives are with their honey 6ll'd, Too hut, and acts, whilst it accuseth, sin.
From divers flowers by chymic bees distill'd! Thou'rt innocent, I know, still clear and bright, How full the collet with his jewel is, Fit u hence so pure a soul should take its flight. Which, that it cannot take by love, doth kiss : How is angry zeal contin'd! for he
How full the Moon is with her brother's ray, Must quarrel with his love and picty,
When she drinks-up with thirsty orb the day! That would revenge his death. Oh, I shall sin, How full of grace the Graces' dances are ! And wish anon he had less virtuous been.
So full doth Mary of God's light appear.
It is no wonder if with Graces she
The fall of mankind under Death's extent “ Live with me, brother, or I'U die with thee;"
| The quire of blessed angels did lament, And so he did ! Had he been thine, O Rome!
And wish'd a reparation to see Thou would'st hare call'd this death a martyrolom,
By him, who manhood join'd with deity. And sainted him. My conscience give me leave,
How grateful should man's safety then appear I'll do so too: if Fate will us bereave
Thimself, whose safety can the angels cheer ! Of him we honour'd living, there must be A kind of reverence to his memory, After his death; and where more just than here,
BENEDICTA TU IN MULIERIBUS, Where life and end were both so singular?
Deatu came, and troops of sad Diseases led He that had only talk'd with him, might find
To th' Earth, by woman's hand solioited : A little academy in his mind;
Life came so too, and troops of Graces led Where Wisdom master was, and fellows all
To th’ Earth, by woman's faith solicited. Which we can good, which we can virtuous, call: | As our life's springs came from thy blessed womb, Reason, and Holy Fear, the proctors were,
So from our mouths springs of thy praise shal To apprehend those words, those thoughts, that err. come:
Who did life's blessing give, 'tis fit that she, | The laurel to the poet's hand did bow,
Craving the honour of his brow;
And every loving arm embrac d, and made ET BENEDICTUS FRUCTUS VENTRIS TUI.
With their oflicious leaves a shade. Wira mouth divine the father doth protest,
| The beasts too strove his au litors to be,
Forgetting their old tyranny. He a good word sent from bis stored breast;
| The fearful hart next to the lion came, 'Twas Christ : which Mary, without carnal tionght, From theu nfathom'd depth of goodness brought :
And wolf was shepherd to the lamb. The word of blessing a just cause aitor's
Nightingales, harmless Syreas of the air,
And Muses of the place, were there;
Unequal to so strange a sound,
O’ercome by art and griet' they did expire,
Happy, O happy they, whose tomb might be, The breath gives sparing kisses, nor with power
Mausolus! envied by thee! Unlocks the virgin-bosom of the flower:
BEFORE DISCONTENTED RICHES.
WHY, O! doth gaudy Tagus ravish thee,
Though Neptune's treasure-house it be? So from ur.bruiseu bark the odours come.
Why doth Pactolus thee bewitch, ET VIRTUS ALTISSIMI OBUWBRABIT TIBI.
Infected yet with Midas' glorious itch? God his great Son begot ere time begin;
| Their dull and sleepy streams are not at all, Mary in time bruught forth her litle son,
. Like other floods, poetical; Of double sutsuance One; life he legan,
They have no dance, no wanton sport, God without mother, without father, man.
No gentle murmur, the lov'd shore to court. Great is the birth; and 'tis a stranger deed
No fish inhabit the adulterate flood, That she no man, thau Ged po wie, should need;
Nor can it feed the neighbouring wood; A shade delighted the child-bearing maid,
No flower or herb is near it found, And God himself became to her a shade.
But a perpetual winter starves the ground. O strange descent! who is light's anthur, he | Give me a river which doth scorn to show Will to his creature thus a shadow be.
An added beauty; whose clear brow
May be my looking-glass to see
What my face is, and what my mind should be! The father's shade was Christ the Deity.
Here waves call waves, and glide along in rank, Let's seek for day, we darkress, whilst our sight
And prattle to the smiling bank; .
Here said king-fishers tell their tales,
Daisies, the first-born of the teeming spring,
On each side their embroidery bring;
Here lilies wash, and grow more white,
And daffodils, to see themselves, delight. 'Tis not a pyramid of marble s.one,
Here a fresh arbour gires her amorous shade, Though high as our ambition ;
Which Nature, the best gardener, made. 'Tis not a tomb cut out in brass, which can
Here I would sit and sing rude lays, Give life to th’ ashes of a man ;
Such as the nymphs and me myseif should please. But verses only: they shall fresh appear, Whilst there are men to read or hear.
Thus I would waste, thus end, my careless days; When Time shall make the lasting brass decay,
And robin-red-breasts, whom men praise And eat the pyramid away ;
For pious birds, should, when I die,
Make both my monument and elegy.
. ODE INI. New-graven in eternity.
TO HIS MISTRESS,
Tyrian dye why do you wear,
You whose cheeks best scarlet are? took
Why do you fondly pin His lyre, and gently on it strook,
Pure linen o'er your skin, The learned stones came Jancing all along,
(Your skin that's whiter far) And kept tiine to the charming song.
Casting a dusky cloud before a star. With artificial pace the wariike pine,
| Why bears your neck a golden chain? The elin and his wife the ivy twine,
Did Nature make your hair in vain, With all the better trees, which erst had stood
Of gold most pure and fine? Unmov'd, forsook their native wood.
With gems why do you shine ? TOL. VII.
chbouretion or . They, neighbours to your eyes,
, Tion Powongo morri
| Then Revenge, married to Ambition, Show but iike Phosphor when the Sun doth rise. Begat black War; then Avarice crept on; I would have all my mistress' parts
Then limits to each field were strain'd, One more to Natuje than to arts;
And Terminus a god-head gain'd,
To men before was found,
Besides the sea, no bound.
In what plain, or what river, hath not heen She's fair, whose beauty only makes her gay. War's story writ in blood (sad story!) seen ?
This truth too well our England knows : For 'tis not buildings make a court,
'Twas civil slaughter dy’a her rose ; Or pomp, but 'tis the king's resort:
Nay, then her lily too
With blood's loss paler grew.
Such griefs, nay worse than these, we now should le than a golden one it cannot be,
Did not just Charles silence the rage of steel ; ODE IV.
He to our land best l'eace doth bring,
Ali neighbour cointries envying.
Happy who did ri main
Unborn till Charles's reign!
Where dreaming chymics! is your pain and cost !
Huw is your oil, how is your labour lost! Frum sighs your breast, and from black clouds
Our Charles, blest alchymist! (though strange, your brow, When the Sun shines not with his wonted cheer,
Believe it, future times !) did change
The iron-age of old
Into an age of gold.
UPON THE SHORTNESS OF MAN'S LIFE,
| Mark that switt arrow! how it cuts the air, Return and tears sport's nearest neighbours are.
Hoa it out-runs thy tollowing eye! "Tis by the gods appointed so,
U se all persuasions now, and try That g d fare should with ming.ed dangers flow. | If thou canst all it back, or stay it there. Why drave his oxen yesterday,
That way it went ; but thou shalt find Do', u (over the noblest Romans reign,
Ny tract is left behind. And the Gabi and the Cures lay
| Fool! 'tis thy lite, and the fond archer thou. The yo! e which from his oxen he had ta'en:
Oi all the time thou 'st shot away,
I'll b.d thee ieich but yesterday,
Besides repentance, what canst find
That it hach left behind ? But ser ousness, he shall again go home
Our life is carried with too strong a tide; To his old couniry-farm of yesterday,
A doubtful cloud our substance bears, To scoffing people no mean jest become;
And is the horse of all our years,
| Each day doth on a winged whirlwind ride. Nay, it le want the fuel cold requires,
We and our glass run out, and must
Both render up our dust. With his own fasces he shall make him fires.
But his past lite who withou grief can see ;
Who never thinks his end too near,
But says to Fame, “Thou art mine heir ;
That man extends life's natural brevity-
This is, this is the only way
To out-live Nestor in a day.
Curst be that wretch (Death's factor sure) who
| AN ANSWER TO AN INVITATION TO brought Dire sa: ords into the peaceful world, and taught
CAMBRIDGE. Smiths (who before could only make
Nichols, my better self! forbear; The spade, the plough-share, and the rake)
For, if thou tellist what Cambridge pleasures Arts, in most cru I wise
The schoolboy's sin will light on me,
Tell me not how you feed your mind
With dainties of philosophy; save ; Then Charon sweated at his trade,
In Ovid's nut I shall not find
The taste once pleased me.
| O tell ne not of logic's diverse cheer!
| I shall begin to loathe our crambo here, Frequent before, grew rare.
Tell me not how the waves appear
Why do I stay then? I would meet of Cam, or how it cuts the learned shire;
Thee there, but plummets hang upon my feet; I shall contemn the troubled Thames
"Tis my chief wish to live with thee,
Till then, we'll scorn to let that toy,
Some forty miles, divide our hearts:
Write to me, and I shall enjoy
Friendship and wit, thy better parts. When th' city shines with fags and pageants there, | Though envious Fortune larger bindrance brings, Apd satin doublets, seen not twice a year.
We'll easily see each other; Love hath wings.
| And, whilst with wearied steps we upwards go,
See us, and clouds, below.
ODE. OF WIT.
Tell me, O tell, what kind of thing is Wit, Unless you write my elegy;
'Thou who master art of it? Whilst others great, by being born, are grown;
For the first matter loves variety less; Their mothers' labour, not their own.
Less women love 't, either in love or dress. In this scale gold, in th’ other fame does lie,
A thousand different shapes it bears, The weight of that mounts this so high.
Comely in thousand shapes appears. These men are Fortune's jewels, moulded bright; l'Yonder we saw it plain; and here 'tis wow,
Brought forth with their own fire and light: Like spirits, in a place we know not how. If I, her vulgar stone, for either look,
London, that vents of false ware so much store, Out of myself it must be strook.
In no ware deceives us more; Yet I must on. What sound is 't strikes mine ear? | For men, led by the colour and the shape, Sure I Fame's trumpet hear:
Like Zeuxis' birds, fly to the painted grape. It sounds like the last trumpet ; for it can
Some things do through our judgment Raise up the buried man.
pass [npast Alps stop me; but I'll cut them all,
As through a multiplying-glass; And march, the Muses' Hannibal.
And sometimes, if the object be too far, Hence, all the flattering vanities that lay
We take a falling meteor for a star. Nets of roses in the way!
Hence 'tis, a Wit, that greatest word of fame, Hence, the desire of honours or estate,
Grows such a common name; And all that is not above Fate !
And Wits by our creation they become, Hence, Love himself, that tyrant of my days!
Just so as titular bishops made at Rome. Which intercepts my coming praise.
'Tis not a tale, 'tis not a jest Come, my best friends, my books! and lead me
Almir'd with laughter at a feast, on;
Nor florid talk, which can that title gain; 'Tis time that I were gone.
The proofs of Wit for ever must remain.
'Tis not to force some lifeless verses meet Thy scholar's victories thou dost far out-do;
With their five gouty feet. He conquer'd th' earth. the whole world you. | All, every where, like man's, must be the soul. Welcome, learn'd Cicero ! whose blest tongue and
And Reason the inferior powers controul. wit
Such were the numbers which could call Preserves Rome's greatness yet:
The stones into the Theban wall. Thou art the first of orators; only he
Such miracles are ceas'd; and now we see Who best can praise thee, next must be.
No towns or houses rais'd by poetry, Welcome the Mantuan swan, Virgil the wise! Yet 'tis not to adorn and gild each part; Whose verse walks highest, but not flies;
That shows more cost than art. Who brought green Poesy to her perfect age, Jewels at nose and lips but ill appear; And made that art which was a rage.
Ratner than all things Wit, let none be there, Tell me, ye mighty Three! what shall I do
Several lights will not be seen,
If there be nothing else between.
• If those be stars which pai t the galaxy.
Whilst we, like younger brothers, get at best
Such is the man whom we require the same
Tis not when two like words make up one noise
. (Jests for Dutch men and English boys); In which who finds out Wit, the same may see In an'grams and acrostic poetry:
Much less can that have any place
At which a virgin hides her face. 'Such dross the fire must purge away: 'tis just The author blush there, where the reader must. Tis not such lines as almost crack the stage
. When Bajazet begins to rage; Nor a tall metaphor in the bombast way; Nor the dry chips of short-lung'd Seneca ;
Nor upon all things to obtrude
And force some odd similitude.
Yet all things there agree;
Or, as the primitive forins of all
(If we compare great things with small) Which, without discord, or confusion, lie In that strange mirror of the Deity. But Love, that moulds one man up out of two,
Makes me forget, and injure you : I took you for myself, sure, when I thought That you in any thing were to be taught.
Correct my errour with thy pen;
. And, if apy ask me then What thing right Wit and height of genius is, I'll only show your lines, and say, "Tis this.
OX THE DEATH OF
SIR HENRY WOOTTON. What shall we say, since sileut now is be Who when he spoke, all things would silent be? Who had so many languages in store, That only Fame shall speak of him in more; Whom England now no more return'd must see ; He's gone to Heaven on his fourth embassy. On Earth he travell’d often ; not to say H' had.been abroad, or pass loose time away. In whatsoever land he chanc'd to come, He read the men and manuers, bringing home Their wisdom, learning, and their piety, As if he went to conquer, not too see. So well he understood the most and best Of tongues, that Babel sent into the W'est; Spoke them so truly, that he had (you'd swear) Not only liv'd, but been born every where. Justly each nation's speech to him was known, Who for the world was made, not us alone ; Nor onght the language of that inan be less, Who in his breast had all things to express. We say, that learning's endless, and blame Fate For not allowing life a longer date : He did the utmost bounds of knowledge find, He found them not so large as was his mind; But, like the brave Pellæan youth, did moan Because that'art had no more worlds than one; And, when he saw that he through all had past, He dy'd, lest he should idle grow at last.
TO THE LORD FALKLAND,
EXPEDITION AGAINST THE scors.
. And this great prince of knowledge is by Fate
ON THE DEATH OF MR. JORDAN,
SECOND MASTER AT WESTMINSTER SCHOOL. Hence, and make room for me, all you who come Only to read the epitaph on this tomb ! Here lies the master of my tender years, The guardian of my parents' hope and fears; Whose government ne'er stood me in a tear ; All weeping was reserv'd to spend it here. Come hither, all who his rare virtues knew, And mourn with me: he was your tutor too. Let's join our sighs, till they fly far, and shew His native Belgia wbat she's now to do. The league of grief bids her with us lament; By her he was brought forth, and bither sent In payment of all men we there had lost, And all the English blood those wars have cost. Wise!y did Nature this learn'd man divide; His birth was theirs, his death the mournful pride Of England ; and, t'avoid the envious strife of other lands, all Europe had his life,