To his enſuing POEMS.
STand on your Feet now, Verſes, if you can,
And face the Critick, and Cenſorious man:
If theſe ſhall charge your Lines with empty blame,
Or falſly ſay they halt that are not lame,
Be ſure your Muſe do not confeſs a Bluſh,
Or yeeld to feel a Rod that's made of Ruſh.
But if the Juſt, or Great, to eaſe their leaſure,
Admit to read your Mirth and Verſe with pleaſure,
Be all Humility, I charge, to Them,
Nay, yeeld you have ſome Faults they may Condemn.
The worthy Critick Juſtice will you do,
And teach th'Injurious to be Modeſt too.
If by Illuſtrious Beauties you are read,
That gently tax ſome things too Wanton ſaid;
Ask Pardon for each Bluſh your Muſe did raiſe,
And ſhew 'um where ſhe ſings their Vertues praiſe.
Pay your Reſpects to all you find to be
Something indulg'd to Love's frail Liberty:
If not for yours, for their ſakes they'll admit
To Love a Licenſe, or at leaſt its Wit.
2
On Stella.
STella my Dove, her Dove delights;
And I no leſs the Soft Bird praiſe;
Whoſe am'rous Cooing Love invites,
And does to us new Pleaſures raiſe.
The Dove ſhe kiſs'd, and kiſs'd and ſtroak'd,
Whilſt Love was panting in her breſt.
This Metaphor ſoon me provok'd
Gently to kiſs, and do the reſt.
So Lesbia's ſoft white breaſt did warm
The Sparrow which Catullus ſung;
Whoſe Muſe from it receiv'd a Charm,
As in this Bird Love us'd his tongue.
Then be thou to thy Dove ſtill kinde,
And it ſhall prompt my Love and me;
As if a Bluſh betray'd thy minde,
And told how kinde thy Bloud would be.
3
On Lesbia.
LEsbia laments her Sparrow dead
More than her loſs of Maidenhead:
The Bird's death ſeem'd her tears to try;
The other thing with Joy did die:
She gladly there receiv'd a Wound,
That Love might frolick more profound.
So when the Teeming Earth men plow,
The ſullow under ground muſt go.
Each time her Chirping Bird did couch,
She ready was to do as much;
And with her eye had found a trick
To winde me up above my nick:
As none Love's Treaſure truly pay,
Unleſs they for its Coynage ſtay.
This Luſtful Bird's ſhort life doth ſhow
How ſwiftly Life and Love do flow;
Whoſe death I therefore leſs repine,
Since it provok'd her loſs with mine;
Though both to loſe muſt ſtill agree,
Love's gain is Prodigality.
The Repetition.
WIth ſome weak means, but ſtrong deſire,
We blew Loves Embers to a Fire:
4 Our Pantings did our Bellows joyn
Her Breath did fan one Flame with mines,
The welcome Heat we yet increaſe,
But ſoon it caus'd Delight to ceaſe,
I wiſh'd my Limbs conſum'd might be,
Then now Love's Taper leſs to ſee,
Which by her Limbeck's heat had been
Diſſolv'd into a ſmaller thing.
She ſmil'd, and ſaid it pity was
Love's Pomp in ſo much haſte ſhould paſs;
So proud to riſe, yet pleas'd to fall:
His States-man onely does them all.
Of a Servant to an Ancient Lady.
A Lady that wore Autumn in her face,
And had no lines that her decays could grace,
A certain Gallant did ſo courtly woo,
As if his Spring of Love could hers renew.
His Friends at length the Motive did eſpie;
He knew her Rich, and hop'd ſhe'd ſhortly die.
To Lesbia.
TOo much my Lesbia goes aſtray,
In Nature's wilde Laſcivious way.
The guardian-eyes upon thee ſet,
Have ſeen thee play at thy La-bet:
And now methinks thou doſt begin
To long for leave of me to ſin.
5Though thy hot guilt I do aſſigne
More to dame Nature's crime then thine,
Which has on thee beſtow'd more heat
Then unto vertue had been meet:
Or elſe by thee 'tis well agreed,
That unto love Mankind is freed;
Or that 'tis Charity to grant
Love, which in none ſhould be a want:
So little of the guilt's in thee,
Thou couldſt even bluſh at honeſty,
Which if in any thou doſt find,
Thou call'ſt it cruel, or unkind.
Thy eyes ſuch languiſhment do bear,
That vertue do's her beſt looks fear,
Or elſe do's warm her cold deſigne
By the brisk flame ſhe ſees in thine.
Perhaps thou wilt on me complain,
And ſay my love did thine Reſtrain;
Too ſtrictly would be underſtood
To make thee its peculiar good.
Then be thou free as light or air,
And as thou pleas't Embark thy fare:
But take a care thou doſt not load
Too much thy Veſſel with a crow'd,
When every Top-ſail it ſhall guide
Will prove thou ſink'ſt below thy pride;
Or ſuch calm ſtreams provide to ſteer,
As may thy dangers moſt beware:
Love's Triumph, and his Sun-ſhine's ſhown
Neer, but not in his Torrid Zone.
Howe're to ſweeten thy fair fate,
Thy Eclipſe I wiſh the lateſt date,
Since all the good to thee allow'd,
Is old; Retirement to a cloud.
6
To a Friend.
THou tell'ſt me, Friend, my Wit more gameſome was,
Than by the ſerious Schools is fit to paſs:
Fear•ng perhaps its liberty in Toys
Should bring Preceptors to Leap-frog with Boys,
When the ſmooth Breech does to the Rod ſo ply,
As firſt the Maſter taſtes it with his eye.
But this no more's our Crime than that before;
A many whip'd, as well as kiſs'd their Whore:
Luſt, was ſtill Nature's gayetie, and Jeſt;
On new and old, ſhe loves alike to feaſt.
The mirth of Epigrams does moſt invite,
When with its Salt we reliſh our delight;
Such as the longing Wife is pleas'd to read,
Or tempts Erection in her Husbands bed.
Verſe that's too ſober, ſavours of that ſenſe
That would commend our Nature's Impotence.
Who gelds my Wit, I wiſh him the diſgrace
To be diſabled in another place.
To Eunuchs, May poles are no pleaſant ſight;
Nor blame we ſuch, if they our Verſes ſpite.
Another.
WHoere reads mine with a Malicious Wit,
Or Carps or Rails becauſe he knows not it;
My Muſe againſt him no Revenge ſhall crave;
Enough I know him either Fool or Knave:
7 Or what is worſe, let it be ſtill his fate,
To have leſs Wit than that provokes his hate.
Such Cenſures beſt their Malice will condemn,
When Envie is above deſpiſing them.
On Fortitude.
I Love not Valour that too pronely bends
To raiſe a Trophee where life Raſhly ends.
The Wiſe and Valiant ſuch will moſt deride,
Who ſhew they have leſs Fortitude than Pride.
Give me the man that can arrive to Fame,
Yet ſo, as for it none his peril blame.
The Invitation.
EDila to embrace inviteth me;
My Wiſhes haſte my Love too faſt for me:
The Flame it ſelf conſumes, her Love awakes,
And in a ſmother almoſt me forſakes.
With ſhame I by her ſprightlier heat to ſtay,
Until my Poſt of Love be on his way.
She yeelds contented, and does me implore
To curb my Steed, if ſhe's too ſwift before.
By which ſmooth artifice our pleaſures joyn;
Hers in the Van retreat to meet with mine.
8
The Deceit.
WHil'ſt Chaſt, Levina had ſo flatter'd fame,
That her ſtrict Husband her reſtraint did blame:
Delights ſhe ſoon like other Ladies took,
Whoſe Husbands keep no Errata in their Book:
Or elſe at length the man perceiv'd it vain
Longer to keep his longing Wife in pain.
Bathing in a River.
HEr Breaſts like Swans upon the Billows move,
Like Leda there ſhe Sung, and charm'd her love.
A youthful Gallant ſwimming, kiſs'd theſe Streams,
Suſtain'd her Perſon, and reflect her beams:
Then dives into this waters pleaſing deep,
And thence upon Love's ſacred Iſle do's peep:
Next, rounds her Legs, betwixt them next do's glide,
Wiſhing he might another thing ſo guide.
The Stream ſhe ſwimming takes, and found a way
More Mermaid-like, with his deſires to play.
VVhat's done beſides, is hard to gueſs, or tell,
If cold Love's heat and moiſture could repell:
Or Love perhaps did here the act forbid,
Pleas'd by Antiperiſtaſis to be hid,
9
The Ruine.
TIme, the ſhadow of man's dayes,
VVith neither Youth or Age it ſtayes;
Cuts off the weak, decayes the ſtrong,
And moſt of all things Love do's wrong:
A Tyrant that do's Beauty raſe,
VVhich lives to dye in VVomans face:
Could'ſt thou not with our Loves ſo play,
That Beauties life might laſt decay?
The fair ones then would leſs repent
Thoſe dying Minutes thou haſt lent:
VVhil'ſt thou, alas, doſt bid them ſee
Their Spring and Autumns fate in thee,
Vext to remember they were Fair
Above what Art can now repair:
Or elſe their Dreſs, or Woman blame
For all thoſe miſchief's by thee came:
Who, after Beauties Flowers are ſpent,
Perhaps to Love would yet conſent:
Whil'ſt thou unkindly bid'ſt them know
What unto paſt delight they owe:
Which ſince they cannot now reſtore,
Their only hope is to Implore,
That they in t'other world renew
Such luſtre's here they once did ſhew.
10
Fricatrices: or, a She upon a She.
TWo Females meeting, found a ſportful way
Without Man's help a Tickling game to play.
They cozen'd Venus, yet conſented ſo,
That ſomething like it they reſolv'd to do.
What Nature to their aid did next preſent,
We muſt ſuppoſe was ſhort of their intent.
The Faireſt then lay down; the other ſtrove
Manhood to act with Female power and love.
Their nimble heat diſſolv'd the active dew,
Which from their Pearls within its moiſture drew.
But ſoon their pleaſures were deceiv'd, to finde
The-one Thing wanted to which both had minde.
Like Veſſels that no Rigging want, or Gale,
Ply here, and there, for want of a Top-ſail.
One ſaid ſhe was the Woman; t'other ſwore
She ought to be the Man, and ſhe the Whore.
Who upper lay, the under now would be;
But which ſhould be the Woman, can't agree:
At laſt, at their miſtake they yield to ſmile,
And grant Loves pleaſures nothing can beguile.
A Man they wanted, and a Man would have,
Since he the Dildo has which Nature gave.
11
On Clelia. SONG.
MOre white and ſoft than Swanny Down
My Clelia does to me appear;
Her Red beſides as much her own,
Which but in Paint ſo many wear.
2.
Her Beauties Winde and Sun endure;
Each Feature ſtill its Spring does ſhow:
Love does his Summer there ſecure,
And there his Cherries lively grow.
3.
Like ſome bright Nymph that joys much more
The healthful Looks in fields ſhe gains,
Than of Love's Captives in her power,
Or how ador'd by them ſhe Raigns.
4.
If Eden's Crime had never been,
I would have ſworn for thy fair ſake,
It had been for ſome mighty Sinne;
Few women like thee heaven does make.
5.
Though had I Adam been, thou Eve,
And had a Paradiſe withal;
The Forfeit firſt my Love ſhould give,
So I might but enjoy thy Fall.
12
The Conceited.
WHo can the value of thy Genius know,
That in conceit alone, do'ſt all things do?
With Storyes fram'd, thou entertain'ſt our Ear,
Though nothing but thy ſelf in them appear.
Good Poet thou art not, 'tis very plain,
Since thy Life's farce, thy Lines can beſt maintain.
From Wit, unto the Stars thy thoughts advance,
And talk'ſt of Letters, and of Heaven by chance:
If thus thou mock'ſt thy ſelf, who would mock thee?
My Pen, at leaſt, thy Mimick ſhall not be.
The Chaſte.
I'Le grant thee ſomething more than Fleſh and Blood,
If thou deſir'ſt to be ſo underſtood:
Or that an Angel did thy Form diſpenſe
From his Divine and brighteſt quinteſſence:
And that no more of Love thou own'ſt within,
Then to pronounce it Vanity or Sin;
Or like a flower, which when the Orb of light
Refreſheth with his Influence and ſight;
To ſhew its obligations from above
Yieldeth to bluſh for warmth, though not for Love.
But this being granted, what is it to be
Eſteem'd in Fleſh and Blood a Myſterie?
Canſt thou long hope thy Soul ſhould circling play
In all thy ſprightly Veins? yet never ſay
13 'Tis touch'd with ſenſe, or that thy Blood ſhould float
Through all Love's Channels, and not there promote
His Loadſtones uſe, more ſtrong effects do's feel
From thy ſoft Beams, then t'other do's from Steel.
To Live and Love is Natures higheſt right,
Who either do decline her Bleſſings ſpite:
Then ſtill be not ſo modeſt to deny,
Leſt moſt conceive thou giv'ſt thy ſelf the lye:
Or, If thou think'ſt no man can merit thee,
Thou but thy Image liv'ſt to all, and me.
The Interrogation.
TEll me, my Muſe, why thou deſir'ſt to be
So much Indulg'd to Love's ſoft Poeſie:
Oor do'ſt thou think thy Flames can kindle wit
Equal to what is on that Subject writ?
Love is a Theam too ancient to create
A Poet, other than of lateſt Date.
The Shepherd firſt on tender Reed could play,
His fellow-Rural's charm'd with Loves ſoft lay:
Diviner Orpheus Woods and Trees could move,
To us Records the wonders of his Love.
Eliza, in great Maro's laſting Lines,
Speaks her ſoft flames, and with Troys ruine ſhines.
Illuſtrious Muſes Verſe taught Love ſuch Art,
That Cupid ſtill from him beſt acts his Part.
If we aſcend from ours to Homer's time,
An take along our own beſt ſenſe and Rhime,
The witty Fletcher, and Elaborate Ben,
And Shakeſpeare, had the firſt Dramatique Pen:
14 In moſt of their admired Scenes we prove,
Their Buſines or their Paſſion turns to Love.
Cowly, no leſs good man than Poet too,
Bluſh'd not his Verſe ſhould us his Miſtreſs ſhow.
Beauty from Poets more than Painters lives;
He but their Lines in fading colours gives.
We can't now Helen from Apelles take;
But Homer's Pencil her fair Life did make.
So much oblig'd are all of Woman-kinde,
As they their Faireſt from the Muſes finde.
My Muſe no leſs ambitious, bids implore
Her for ſome Treaſure of Love's witty ſtore;
Which ſhe aſſur'd me never could decreaſe,
While Luſters were beheld in womens face;
Then repreſents her dams unto my eye,
Asking to which my thoughts did moſt comply;
Whether the Amorous Brown my Verſe ſhould praiſe,
Or if the Fair I'd more Celeſtial raiſe;
Or elſe, the lovely Black that Charms the ſight,
Should be my Theme, as ſhe's the Queen of Night.
This paſs'd, and in a Trance a while I lay,
Expecting what Love to my Muſe would ſay;
Which ſoon reſolv'd, that if ſhe'd finde me Wit,
Each handſome woman ſhould have Love, with it.
Love's Bow.
SUre Cupid has no other Bow,
Than what Heav'ns various Arch does ſhow;
From which he ſends his Amorous Darts,
And thence as many Wounds gives hearts;
If this Complexion of the Sky
Can Image Love's Variety.
2.
Some Shafts he colours like the cheeks
Of Lilies dy'd in Morning-ſtreaks;
Others he gives a deeper Ground,
Whence lovely Brown, or Black do wound:
Varying with theſe his Mothers eyes,
Adorn'd like Cryſtal of the skies.
3.
Thus count the Rays each heart do take
With all the mingles Love does make,
And Archimedes Art will prove
Deficient to proportion Love,
Though he could number every ſand
Suppos'd 'twixt heav'n and earth to ſtand.
4.
There's then no Rule can Love deſery,⟨ define,⟩
But as it ſuits thy Breſt, or mine,
Whether it be from taking Feature,
Or the Agreeable by Nature;
Though each of theſe alone, at beſt,
Renders the Lovers half in jeſt.
5.
Give me ſuch Looks may raiſe Deſire;
Next, Wit to quicken more my Fire:
Elſe, but too ſoon my Love may waſte,
As it on Luſt's ſwift wings does haſte;
Whilſt he rates onely Beauties flame,
Gives to a Blank a Prizes name.
6.
Yet might I chuſe, my Love ſhould be
Of Nature's beſt ſimplicity,
When Wit unartifi'd does grace
The Roſe and Lilies of the Face:
This muſt be Nature's onely ſhe,
And I declare her ſo to me.
16
SONG.
NOw having prov'd thy fond delays
With all thy pride and ſcorn,
No more my love ſhall make Eſſays,
Since to be ſtill forlorn;
What Soldier that would Honour win,
Will teach his Proweſſe ſuch a Sin?
2.
I'le find ſome eaſie thing to Love
Unpractis'd in diſdain:
Or elſe thy Sex throughout I'le prove,
And Hundreds for thee gain.
He limits too much Nature's power
That Courts the Spring but in one Flower.
3.
But if I thus thy charms can ſlight,
Well may ſome other too:
And then perhaps thou't quit thy height
As froward Haggards do,
That flye the watchful Faulconers call
Till their own Pride compells their fall.
17
The Banquet. SONG.
I Feaſted on her Eye and look
With every pretty grace,
And thought Love read his faireſt Book
As I beheld her Face.
2.
I ſuck'd a Cherry from her Lip
Where grow Ten thouſand more,
And my Tongue ſayes (without a ſlip)
None taſted ſo before.
3.
I drank ſuch Nectar from her Eyes
As ſparkl'd in my Veins;
She made my Love both drunk and wiſe,
So myſtical it raigns.
4.
In Wine ſhe drank a kiſs to me;
I kiſs'd, and drank another:
She vow'd with me ſhe'd equal be,
And kiſs'd, and ſo drank t'other.
5.
To Love and Wine ſaid I, this day
Shall by us two be given,
They both are God's, as ſome do ſay,
And wee'l enjoy their Heaven.
18
The Value.
AM I profuſe becauſe I give
Leave to my Soul with thine to live?
I'le take th' Enqueſt of all that know
What's fit bright Beauty to allow,
If I my Cloris farther prize
Then ſhe do's merit from my Eyes.
2.
Let Taylors Judge if her ſmooth Shape
Prompts not in them her ſecret Rape:
Or Shoo-makers, their works moſt prize
Becauſe it fits her foots neat ſize.
Nor leſs the Glover pleas'd has bin,
To ſee her ſoft Hand near his Skin:
Each tire about her has a grace,
Yet adds not to her Shape, or Face.
3.
Thou haſt ſuch charms can reconcile
The Prodigal and Miſers ſmile:
Audly, who had a thrifty Curſe
For thee would ſoon have op'd his Purſe:
Though ſcantly us'd for Cloaths and meat,
Some tell a Miſtreſs he could treat.
4.
What's then my Treaſure, that can kiſs
My ſelf unto the height of bliſs:
To warm my Soul at her Soul's fire,
And ſo exalt and quench deſire,
The wonders Love can only do,
Two Souls do's Joyn; yet keeps them two.
19Time for ſuch Joyes too ſmall is given,
Yet nothing more reſembles Heaven:
Had theſe Eternity to boot,
Love's Angels dwelt on Earth no doubt.
The Interval.
IF thou Love's pleaſures think'ſt too ſhort and ſweet,
And finiſh'd Venus canſt regret,
Let us deferre Embrace, and next permit
Th' Intervals of Love and Wit:
To Act, and not firſt Court thy amorous Flame,
Were more to make thee bluſh for ſhame.
2
A Lovers fire is ſooneſt ſo put out.
Its Element ſhould move about
Thy Lip, thy Cheeks, thy Brow, thy Noſe, and Eye,
And Judge how Naked thou wilt ply:
Love's Harmony, if well compos'd of theſe,
His ſecret touch will better pleaſe.
3.
The act in too much pleaſant haſte is done;
Its Zenith but arriv'd, 'tis gone:
Though Nature is pretending to new height
In ev'ry act of Love's Delight;
Yet all that our Enjoyments can explore,
Is what we knew, or did before.
20
The Enjoyment.
I Muſt and will Enjoy, 'tis Nature's ſenſe,
Which has on reaſon an Omnipotence:
The Leveller Love, 's her Miniſter of State,
And Prince and Peaſant's Joys alike makes great.
If Nature be no Fool, nor thou nor I
Can be thought ſuch, if with her we comply.
At this perhaps thou't ſtart, or elſe begin
To threaten both with that Big-word call'd Sin:
Whil'ſt reaſon's own Religion does ſubmit
To feaſt, where ſenſe more buſie is than wit:
If Nature Love deſigns to be her Farce,
Who can deny her mirth though near the —
The preciſe One.
THou Lov'ſt, and yet ſeem'ſt to deny
(A tender-Conſcienc'd way no doubt)
Who well the Spirit firſt will try
Before the Candle is put out.
2.
This, fair Enthuſiaſt, I'le permit,
Nay more, approve thy Hereſie:
Love's Zeal does all Religions fit,
And Luther ſo a Pope could be.
3.
He taught the Luſty Nanne her Sin,
That with her Dildo play'd alone:
21 An example like to which had bin
Found in Decretals of Pope Joan.
4.
Thy Zeal, thy Love does well deviſe,
Who for his Altars ſmiles to get
Such flames themſelves beſt Sacrifice,
And to that purpoſe we are met.
5.
At this ſhe yields, I know not how,
Her Eyes Phanatick-like up-caſt:
But I ſuppoſe to implore now
Love's inſpirations long might laſt.
The Promiſe.
THou promis'd me two tedious dayes ago
That I the pleaſing feat with thee ſhould do,
And now thou haſt deferr'd me unto three
The firſt odd Number's myſterie,
And ſuch a Root I have for thee.
2.
Thus far thy Arithmetick I can permit,
More to increaſe thy Sums of Love and Wit;
Some turns I grant may beautifie Love's Scene,
But if too long, 'tis kept in pain;
'Twill not endure one Female's Raign.
3.
22Love has too many Idols in his power,
One Superſtitious Beauty to adore:
Nay, ſpight of what thy haughty ſelf can do,
Thou haſt a Thing for me does woo,
The Proudeſt Fleſh about thee too.
4.
Yet, yield as ſtately as thou canſt deviſe,
More to be made Love's pomp and prize:
Like Lucrece, raviſh'd ſeem unto my eye,
But let thy thighs like Thaïs ply,
And as thy Dreams the Fact deny.
The Wife.
I'De have her Beauteous, gay as air,
Yet ſo my love to make her care,
That ſhe may ne'r of mine deſpair.
2.
I'de have her Lips like Cherries red,
But not the Hair upon her Head,
As 'twas of Plato's Miſtreſs ſed.
3.
Her Cheeks ſhould Roſe and Lillies ſhow,
Her Eye-brows drawn like Cupid's Bow,
Hair Tortoiſe-brown, and ſleeker too.
4.
Her Noſe I'de have a little high,
'Tis Love's delight and Majeſty;
Or Mahomet has told a lye.
5.
Her Mouth ſhould have no Auſtrian ſhape,
Leſt Something elſe do like it Gape,
Or her Lock there my Key eſcape.
6.
23To teach my Pen to paint her Breaſt,
The Balls which Love do's play with beſt,
I'de have 'um well compleat the reſt.
7.
Of a tall and ſlender race,
Naked beſt in every place,
Her Dreſs though neat, her meaneſt Grace.
8.
Her Luxury ſhould be to know
How Love has lent to me his Bow,
And ſo receive my ſhaft below.
9.
Next her Embrace, I'de have her wit
In every Joynt my reaſon fit;
Or from Minerva's Dart moſt hit.
10.
Penelope my Houſe to guide,
More wanton lying by my ſide,
And ſuch a She, I'de chuſe my Bride.
Of a Lady whoſe love was unknown to her Servant. SONG.
DO'ſt not perceive my Languiſhments and looks?
Or are my Eyes like Hieroglyphick Books,
Still to be read, and not diſcern
The Emblem 'tis I bid thee learn?
Although my Heart a bluſh to ſpare,
Treats thus at diſtance from thy Ear.
2.
Pitty that Mortal's Paſſions can't convey
As Stars do theirs, by mingling each a ray,
24 And not make uſe of duller Senſe,
When Love beſtows its Influence:
So might my kindl'd Eyes reveal,
What Stars leſs kind from thee conceal.
3.
But ſince my looks, Love's Engines, cannot make
Impreſſions on thy heart, I fain wou'd take,
Think't not Inglorious to prevail,
If by my Tongue I firſt aſſail:
Though all by it I can expreſs,
Is ſhort of what I bid thee gueſs.
Of Loving unadvis'd.
ASk not my Soul why 'tis I love,
No more than why our Heaven's above:
Love has its cauſes there conceal'd,
With myſteries to be reveal'd:
Then think bold Reaſon that thy Senſe
Diſputes but with Omnipotence.
Thou't ſay perhaps I yield too ſoon,
So doth our Lives to Death alone,
Which, if it lays on but a Hand,
Diſſolves us ſtraight at its command:
And ſhall not Love's immortal fire
Kindle more ſwift, then we expire?
Ask me no more, then why, or who:
I love becauſe I muſt do ſo;
Nor need I pity to my heart,
Pleas'd with Love's wounds alone to ſmart.
25
On a Lady walking in Grayes-Inne-Walks.
THrice Lovely Maid, as thou theſe Walks doſt grace,
Soft Birds ſalute thy coming hither
More than the Springs, whoſe Beautie's thine diſgrace,
That blooming May does ſeem to wither.
Vexatious Lawyers, that for Clients Gold,
Their wrangling Theams contemplate here:
Will wiſh their Tongues (at they ſhall thee behold,)
Had that ſoft quilt to bribe〈◊〉Ear.
Or elſe, perhaps unto thy beauteous fame
Theſe ſhades will henceforth Dedicate,
As once to Cyprus, Venus gave a Name,
Though not of ſuch Immortal date.
And thus amongſt bright Beauties thee I ſpy'd,
Such difference have the Stars and Sun,
As if thy Glories did the reſt ſo guide,
As they for Beams about him run.
Some, that thou art Brown or Black, perhaps will ſay,
Though that's to me (than fair) more bright,
And who'd not give ſome Bleſſings of the Day
To be the only Queen of Night?
Forgive me then, if charm'd with ſoft deſires,
And who but wiſh'd as well as I?
26Who more attempts, too boldly do's aſpire,
And by thy frowns deſerves to dye.
Yet I would Raviſh all thy pleaſing Dreams
Of Love, when it enjoy'd thy Breaſt,
So as my Sleeps might be its actual Theams,
And thus ſuppoſe thou art poſſeſt.
But thou wilt ſmile at this Platonick boaſt,
Thou art ſo much Woman I dare ſay,
As he that thinks to count without his Hoaſt
Will ſtill have ſomething left to pay.
SONG.
FAireſt Virgin, tell my Love but why
Thou art at once ſo Proud and Fair,
Since few deſerve a Victory
That can Inſult by making War.
Yet as thou play'ſt the Tyrant, know
In looks conſiſts thy greateſt might;
And thus their Charms can Serpents ſhow,
When they unkindly wound the ſight.
But 'tis my guilt, as well as thine,
That makes thee thus In-glorious great;
I did to Love my Heart reſigne,
And ſo Conſpir'd with my Defeat.
Whil'ſt thou, though glorying in thy Charms,
Perhaps at laſt may'ſt quit thy ſtrength:
27 As Honour treats to lay down Arms,
So let thy Vertue yield at length.
To one who ſlighted his Miſtreſs.
THou tell'ſt me that my Love is poor,
But thine has Land and Coyn,
I wiſh Friend ſo had mine.
And yet I envy not thy ſtore,
Though I love Money full well too,
And know the wonders it can do.
2.
It Spirits Love, and makes it Fine,
Give's us beſt Meat and Wine;
I ne'r Friend like it knew
I dare be ſworn, as well as you;
And yet I doat not to behold
A Briſtow-Stone, though ſet in Gold.
3.
Then prethee Jack be well advis'd,
Think not thou art more Wiſe
'Cauſe Money brib'd thy Eyes,
While mine could not be ſo ſurpris'd:
And 'tis thy Judgment leſs than ſpight,
Since thou'dſt give boot to change a Night.
Ʋpon a Lady.
AS ſome bold Pencil do's attempt to draw
Such bright perfections his frail Skill o're-awe,
28 And Nature but preſents, to let us know,
We are to wonder, and pay duty ſo,
Thus is my Pen, Ambitiouſly at ſtrife,
How to Admire, and yet Expreſs the Life
Of your fair Vertues, which to all appear
Pure as the Light, Harmonious as the Sphear.
So great an all, as like the Sun, you move,
Quickning at once Divinity and Love;
But were I Perſian and ador'd him too,
I'de quit my Faith, ſo I might worſhip you.
Your Vertues ſo dilate, as thence mankinde,
Sum thoſe bright Glories, in your Sex they find;
Such taking greatneſs, and ſuch winning eaſe,
That where you ſcarce will look, you more then pleaſe;
As if you gently fear'd our hearts ſurprize
By beaming luſtres, from your conquering eyes:
How happy may you make a wounded Breaſt,
When Love in all, does for your ſake conteſt,
And Rival wonders, which your graces raiſe,
In Tongues and Hearts, that muſt adore their praiſe.
The Enjoyment, or Corinne Concubitus, Tranſlated out of Ovid's Elegies.
WHen Sol's bright Orb gave middle time to day,
Retir'd from heat, ſtretch'd on my Bed I lay,
One Window ſhut, the other open ſtood,
As light here ſhadowing paſs'd, as in a Wood:
Or Evening twi-lights gentle beams convey,
Or that ſoft Inſtant night ſalutes the day,
29 Such tender glimmerings, bluſhing Virgins Steal,
Who fear that•ight will ſcarce their ſhame conceal.
And thus Corinna gently does appear
With Robes ungirt, in tender folds her hair,
Such fair Semiramis in Bed does ſhew,
Or Laïs dreſs'd, who many Lovers knew;
Her Robes I ſever with a tender hand,
While ſhe reſiſts that Love ſhe wou'd command.
Seeming to ſtrive wiſh'd freedom to reſtrain;
But ſoon betrayes the Conqueſt Love muſt gain:
Thus interpoſing vailes, being now lay'd by,
How did ſhe raviſh both my Heart and Eye?
What beauteous Limbs and Parts, I view and touch,
Breaſts to Impreſs even Gods might wiſh for ſuch:
As ſmooth a Belly under theſe did lye,
'Twixt ſpacious Sides; next them, her youthful Thigh.
What ſhould I more Re-count, that all muſt praiſe?
Then on her Body mine I gently raiſe:
Who cannot gueſs the reſt as thus we lay?
So let Meridians paſs with me each day.
Ʋpon an Inn that Lodged me on a Journey.
BEing come to Lodge, where night oblig'd my Reſt,
I found an Inn that welcom'd me a Gueſt;
But ſuch a one, as ſcarce Arabian Thief
Would ſhelter in, though for his Lifes Reprieve:
Or wilder Scythian, but muſt ſoon conclude
Himſelf leſs barbarous, than this place was rude;
30 And next, A ſurly Sir, the Hoaſt call'd here,
Drinks Cap't, to ſhew me he dares vouch his Beer,
Worſe far, than ever Joyful Barly named,
As even our Iſland its vile taſte defamed:
My Courſe firſt Serv'd was Mutton, but ſo poor,
That it might well have ban'd ſeven years before:
Then next a Hen, with wonder I behold,
Shrunk into Bones, and like the Hoſteſs, old;
What fancy could have fed, when every Senſe
Far'd worſe than Pilgrim, ſent on Penitence?
Theſe mis-Chiefs to Reprieve, to Bed call I,
Hoping ſome Damoſel with her by and by,
VVas yet Reſerv'd, to ſweeten my Courſe fare,
And make my Bed more ſoft, while ſhe lay there.
But ſoon my hopes did wither, while appears
A Thing for Age, might date Chineſes years.
Eve would have bluſh'd, t' have ſeen a Grandchild prove
So Curs'd by Nature, and forſook by Love:
Her Eyes ſeem'd beg'd of Death; her Noſe, and Chin
Kiſſed, and ſo clos'd her famiſh'd Lips between:
I thought at firſt had been Death come to call,
Me by this Herald, to my Funeral;
Or borrowed Shape of Witch, that did appear,
To vex ſad Gueſts, by ſome Inchantments here.
Then I diſpatch'd to Bed, in hope Sleep might
Reprieve the Ills ſeem'd threatned me this Night;
But there ſcarce Luke-warm lay'd, but in a trice
I felt worſe Vermin than Curs'd Egypts Lice;
Fleas they call here; this vexful nimble brood
That long had ſuck'd the painful Carriers blood,
And now from this bold Cuſtom, dare maintain
No blood ſo generous, but their Lips may ſtain:
Thus in a moment, did this active Crew
Aſſault each Vein, and from each, loaded flew,
31 More ſwift than labouring Bees, as if that I
Had been all Honey, for this nimble fly;
Sometimes I fear'd they would have made their prey
On Soul, and Body, by this ſubtle way:
And as bold Epicurus once did call
Atoms the VVorld's and Man's Original,
So ſeem'd theſe Particles of Life to try
To ſuck mine too, a like ſubſiſtency.
In this Amaze, my Bed I ſoon forſake,
And from my Thoughts, the ſwifteſt Counſel take;
Which as I did, the Sun in pitty ſhows
Such chearful Beams, as from glad Morning flowes:
I wiſh'd my Horſe as ſwift as his, that I
From Night's worſt Manſions this vile Inn might fly:
And that all Gueſts which next have Lodging here
Might fewer Fleas there finde, and better Cheer.
Love's Sympathy.
FRom Love the Loadſtone Sympathy do's feel,
To which do's gently yield the hardn'd ſteel;
The Marble do's its hidden flames lament,
As on its ſmootheſt Face Love's tears are ſpent.
For Love, there's nothing that do's want a ſenſe;
What grows, or lives, partakes its Influence.
Each metals pond'rous Soul it's like do's move,
And what's not Gold, partakes the Gold of Love.
The Diamond then more beaming Luſtre wears,
When her tranſparent Male his flame prepares.
How Nature could thus Love and Life diſperſe,
Is too tranſcendent for my Thought, or Verſe.
Enough, we know it is her kinder care
That all ſubſiſtencies her Lovers are.
32To every Sex ſhe has a Sex aſſign'd,
Not as Men are by Hymen's Laws confin'd:
Nature do's not her limits ſo contract,
Love claims from her a larger Scope to act.
Man's Reaſon, though the higheſt Lord of Senſe,
Is forc'd to yield to its Omnipotence:
And thus we ſee its powerful Charms compel,
VVhen Mothers ſomtimes Love their Sons too well;
And Daughters can with Fathers do the ſame,
And ſo the Brother Courts the Siſters flame.
VVhether Venus then do's bluſh, we cannot know,
Though near ally'd, ſome tell her feat beſt do:
Laws may ſeverely call it Nature's Sin,
Yet ſhe has made for Love each Sex a Kin.
On a Ladies little Dog.
THe gentle favours I perceive
You oft this little Creature give,
With thoſe Embraces, and thoſe kiſſes
So many Mortals make their wiſhes:
My Muſe is willing to record
Since you are pleas'd to ſay the word.
2.
All that quaint Martial's Pen could raiſe
To offer to ſmooth
Catella Publii, Epig. 110. lib. 1.
Iſſa's praiſe, Is ſhort of this you ſtroke and Love:
Yours though a Dog, was meant a Dove.
Whil'ſt Nature pleas'd with her miſtake,
Thus ſhap'd it chiefly for your ſake.
3.
No Virgin in your Bed does lye,
But there does keep it Company,
33 On whom perhaps 'twill fawn, or creep,
But does your boſom chuſe for ſleep,
Though Cupid envy there its reſt,
Who 'twixt your Breaſts deſigns his Neſt.
4.
Sometimes perhaps it farther gets,
Under your Smock as well as Sheets,
And ſo your Belly licks, and Thighs,
I do not ſay what 'twixt them lyes:
Though Tongues polluted oft have bin,
This could not be a licking Sin.
5.
And as you thus Indulge its ſleep,
Or wou'd with yours its ſlumbers keep:
This little Sentinel's awake
T' defend the quiet which you take;
The Mouſe it frighteth to her hold,
Leſt her ſmall noiſe be then too bold.
6.
No Joy or Sorrow is your own,
But by this Creature too is known:
So ſtrangely taught by Nature's Book,
That it diſcerns your thought, or look:
A Tongue it wants not much to ſpeak,
Yet one does wiſh too for your ſake.
Love Defined.
LOve is a Dwarf in Gyants Cloath,
Wearing the Robes which Luſt beſtows:
Loaded with vice, yet nimbleſt ſo,
And by its power can wonders do.
34Moſt ſurely purchas'd though moſt dear,
And yet more common far than rare.
A Spiritual being in a Humane Soul,
The Boy of Age, and Fool of Youth;
Vertue its Lye, and Luſt its Truth.
This, the nice Widows early know,
As they digeſt a Second Vow;
Though it provoke their Childrens Tears,
The Itch of Love takes up their cares.
The Virgin at Fourteen can grieve
So long her Maiden-head ſhould live.
Though hearts and looks, Love's Language tell,
The pleaſure is in Luſt's ſmall Cell,
Where Womans Love with Mans does meet,
And from their Tongues receive no cheat.
For this each Sex their Courtſhips ſhow,
And all that Both the Thing may do.
If dull Platonicks will rejoyce
In calling Love their Vertues choice,
Their dry deſires, ſuch need not blame
That can enjoy the Liquid flame.
Whoe're for Vertue Love would Paint,
Muſt partly make of Luſt the Saint:
The Fair and Honeſt ask no more,
Then what's illegal in a Whore.
The old One.
A Lady Old would needs a Loving go,
Which ſoon her long deſire comply'd unto;
Her fancy ſhe found young, and bold, her Luſt,
H•r outward form ſhe next to Wit does truſt.
35Wants ſhe found ſome in every place but one,
Where Nature keeps deſire when her part's done:
So when the Earth cannot its teeming ſhow,
It is refreſh'd at leaſt, where Soil men throw.
The furrows in her Face, her Womans Hand
Neatly fill'd up, and ſeem'd to Countermand
Nature's decayes, with her falſe Red and White,
Seeming by Day what ſhe'd be thought at Night.
Thus ſhe adulterates her Teeth and Hairs,
And in deſpite of Nature, young appears.
A flatt'ring Gallant feigns no fault to finde,
For we'l ſuppoſe his ends oblig'd him kinde,
Through Love's own Region he attempts his way,
But finds he cannot Plough ſo deep in clay:
Her ſtiffneſs his oppos'd, but fain would plye,
Though that was clos'd ſo long did open lye.
A Maiden-head he knew ſhe could not have;
Yet more then Virgin did his entrance crave:
But ſuch the Riddle is of Women old,
Their Luſt is warm when Nature is moſt cold.
The Witty.
WIt in a Woman I deſire;
With it ſhe quickens beſt Love's fire:
A Whetſtone ſharpens moſt the Tool,
That ſomething blunts when ſhe's a Fool.
Dull if ſhe be, ſhe'l not ſoon know
The heights belong to what we do:
And ſhe that has in Love no trick
Will hardly reach her Lover's nick.
But give me ſtill a handſom Face,
I'le fancy Wit in t'other place:
36 So well to man that part does fit,
She needs muſt feel ſhe has there ſome wit.
For Love what VVoman wants a Soul,
Or can be call'd Dame-Nature's Fool.
VVhere Beauty can't with VVit agree,
Give me the firſt, it ſhall pleaſe me:
Nay, ſo far ſhe ſhall prove my Art
As to like well with mine her part.
The Farewel.
FArewel my Muſe, a Hundred times I've ſaid,
And ſhe as willing ſeem'd to go,
Yet to this time has with me ſtay'd
In ſpite of all my reaſon too:
Reſolv'd that to me ſhe would be
An airy fondling of my thoughts and me.
2.
I urg'd ſeverely what concern'd her more,
Told her how rigid Criticks were,
And how we had of VVits ſuch ſtore,
No Poets e're did like beware:
All which ſhe ſlights, and bid me know
VVit was to ſuch a Farce, and would be ſo.
3.
37She farther told how Homer was deſpis'd,
And mock'd and envy'd in his time.
Nor mighty Maro Deify'd,
Till Rome had underſtood her crime:
Then what is't if my Fate I blame,
Since thoſe great Poets live by future fame?
4.
Next theſe ſhe reckons our eternal Be•,
Beaumont and Fletcher's noble vein,
Who liv'd in our yet Age of men,
And did as much their faults complain:
Happy ſhe ſaid in being gone,
Whil'ſt now mean VVit's receiv'd above their own.
5.
She ſtop'd, and thus to her I did addreſs:
Think not vain Miſtreſs, but I ſee
How meanly your charms Poets bleſs:
Though unto many more than me
You promis'd as fine things the while,
And bid'ſt 'um write, that thou and men might ſmile.
6.
But lovely Guilt, ſince Wit thy Beauty is,
'Twere dull thy attractions to forſake:
As Lovers pardon things amiſs,
So Poets thy excuſe ſhould make:
Though worſt of Miſtreſs in their Fate,
Since of all others thou do'ſt longeſt cheat.
7.
Then couſen me a while, I'le give thee leave,
My thoughts have yet ſome time to play,
But take a care I don't deceive
Thy Love with Love another way:
A real Miſtreſs may be mine,
Whoſe Song ſhall better pleaſe my Ear than thine.
38
The Wiſh.
NOt too much of the Court or City,
Not too rank of my own Country,
Not too long living in one place;
The Countreys Spring, the Cities Winter.
Some Mirth and Wine to give my Friends,
More food then they and I can ſpend.
Wit enough, yet no Play-wright,
Or Farce-Tranſcriber out of French.
No B•g to which ſmall Poets bow,
Or ſuch fright Women with Lampoon.
Not drink more Wine than fits my health,
Or does a little raiſe my Wit.
Not feel too many Darts of Love,
And none from her already hit.
No ſlave to Venus for Eſta•e,
Or Joyntur'd Widows barren place.
Money enough to need no Friend,
And to oblige a wanting one.
Cloaths may ſhew me neat, not proud:
Diſcourſe my own, and not my Books.
No Muſe that's Lame with borrow'd Wings,
Or Language ſtoln from Romance.
Not to Love Rhime inſtead of ſenſe,
No more than Paint when on a Wench;
Nor long with repartees to baſte,
Or draw Wits Cudgels when well cas'd.
To all below my ſelf to be
Who don't preſume above my place;
To yield where I can overcome,
39 And ſpare Law-Suits where I have wrong.
If this be not enough to wiſh,
Or that my Reader thinks of more;
Let him but ſend them to the Shop
That's right againſt the Temple-Gate,
And they ſhall find my thanks and me.
But leſt I hold him now too long,
Or dull his Ear without ſome Song:
Like other Poets, I think time
To cloſe this Copy in pure Rhime.
His Giving.
I Gave and gave, what coſt me dear,
And thought I gave unto my Friends,
But found my Love was not their ends;
No more than Luſt for Love does care.
2.
Some I beheld prefer'd and great,
Nay, prouder than their buſineſs too;
As if their fortune's Pageant-ſhow
Was o're my merit to keep ſtate.
3.
At this my cautious thoughts repin'd;
As from the Purſe ſome VVit does riſe,
Bidding me learn to be more wiſe
Then to expect th' obliged kind.
4.
40What thus was urg'd, I partly grant:
So ſeldom knew I friendſhip made,
That did not of it ſelf prove bad,
Or worſt, when moſt confeſs'd a want.
5.
Anill proportion to man's fate,
Since none their friendſhips ſurely know
But when proud Fortune caſts them low,
Or Ruine makes approve too late.
6.
If this not bids me to beware,
So far at leaſt I will refrain,
As not my Purſe I'le henceforth pain
To buy Ingratitude ſo dear.
The Ingrateful.
DEvil of Man thou art, or worſe thy Name,
The blackeſt word pronounc'd by men or fame:
An early Curſe continuing ſtill the ſame.
2.
Eva's ſoft temptation no effect had ſeen,
Had not man's Soul 'gainſt Heaven ingrateful been
Before allur'd t' enjoy Earth's thankleſs Queen.
3.
So much below man's Vertue thou doſt fall,
That undiſtinguiſh'd Evil men thee call:
Th' Ancients did thee right, who nam'd thee all.
4.
Ill Natur'd men to Heaven and Earth do live
Alike unthankful for what either give,
VVhil'ſt Beaſts their wretched ſenſe both feel and grieve.
5.
41No leſs a private than a publick Sin,
Th' occult Invention of a Snare or Gin.
That falſhood hides till Love it tempteth in.
6.
Thus Leagues ingrateful States and Monarchs have,
To raiſe their Body-politicks more brave,
And by it repreſent the mightieſt Knave.
A Dialogue betwixt Wit and Money.
Wit.
CAnſt thou not yet adore me? I the pride
Of all that Mankinde ever ſaid or did:
The general Heir of the illuſtrious Nine,
Whoſe fancies, from my ſtamp, are made their Coin.
I give to Wine its mirth, to Love renew
All thoſe obtractions which ſmart Beauties ſhew:
Cupid from me inflame's his winged Dart,
And fixeth it above his Mothers Art.
Each thought of mine's a Gem beyond thy price,
Whil'ſt Fools gain thee as Fortune flings the Dice.
Princes and Senates my quick thoughts admire:
Thy gain advanceth moſt a mean deſire.
'Twas I embelliſh'd Cicero's Tongue and Pen,
And Caeſar's, writ as great as he liv'd then.
I, hearts of men with my ſwift power controul:
The Star of Reaſon in a Humane Soul.
Poets implor'd me ſomething more Divine,
And ſpiritual ſeats above, call'd Jove's and mine.
Thou with fuliginous vapors liv'ſt below,
Where neither Plants or Flowers their bleſſings ſhow:
Or elſe by Seas produc'd, and ſpew'd on ſhoars,
No fiſh ſo rav'nous that thy Spawn devours.
Heaven's moſt unkind to man where breeds thy race,
For thy ſake Affrick has a blacker Face.
42The Indian can't rejoyce, his looks and ſoil,
Curs'd by the Sun to thy dark Mines and toil.
Thy Coyn 'tis true, does Kings and Scepters ſhow,
Who ſet thy price e're thou haſt worth to go.
How much more rich is my Diviner ſenſe
Than all the Motto's put upon thy pence?
Thou for Man's uſe a common drudge doſt paſs,
And Man thy burthen feels when he's thy Aſs:
The wiſe depreſs thy value, and min•raffe,
VVho (though not rich) am ſtill above thy praiſe.
Yet after all, dar'ſt thou preſume to be
Compar'd unto the matchleſs worth of me.
Money.
1.
Any Phantaſtick Madam, you may be
As jocund as you pleaſe with〈…〉
Thy Mocks what are they; but to many•oys
Fit for the Brain of Youth and〈◊〉
That Judgment want my power〈◊〉wor••to prize,
Thy Creature's ſeldom rich〈◊〉wiſe.
I, at thy needy Tribe and bablings ſmile;
No Money'd Aſs of mine,
But has more VVit than thou claim'ſt thine:
Thou call'ſt them ſuch, who fell Eſtates the while.
2.
I, by the young, the old, the rich ador'd,
The Beggars curſe yet moſt by them implor'd.
I have no Tongue, no Pen, no Arms to fight,
Yet theſe command too by my might;
Compare, and thou't ſubmit thy higheſt ſenſe
Unto my dumb Omnipotence.
3.
Thou tell'ſt of thy great Nine, diſtreſſed thing,
And of Pernaſſus Treaſures where they ſing,
But ſure they nothing there can Sow, or Reap,
So poor they here their Poets keep:
43 Not all the fine things they can Write, or ſay,
Allures the Seller to receive leſs pay:
VVhil'ſt Wit above all things I buy moſt cheap.
4.
I purchaſe Earth with all mankind can do;
The graces from thee I remove:
They own thee Queen; whil'ſt I am made their Love,
The wiſeſt Pens do on my errands go:
For me the Orators Charming Tongue beſt ſpeaks,
My Bribe's the wary Judge in ſecret takes,
Man ſcarce a Conſcience has that me forſakes.
5.
Doſt not behold the Courtiers ſupple knee
Bow leſs unto the Throne than me?
I am the Politicians God,
At thee perhaps he'l ſmile, or Gravely nod:
I am his endleſs and his ſerious ſenſe;
Unto Divines their Heavenly pence,
And few of them ſo Orthodox men know,
But to my Altars more than Heaven's will bow.
6.
Dully thou argu'ſt for thy ſelf, to tell
That I in Earth's deep boſome dwell,
Since ſhe her kindneſs does impart
To place me next her heart:
Form'd by her own internal flames,
VVhence Phoebus took his Golden beams:
My Kingdoms there employ my ſlaves,
My charms alike command both Fools and Knaves.
7.
'Tis I, continue Man's long-living name
And his Inheritance convey
Unto poſterities antient day.
VVith me the Daughter purchaſeth the Heir,
44 Love's price is mine, though ne'r ſo dear:
Nor Vertue holds out, where I War declare.
Whil'ſt in deſpight of all thy Creatures claim,
Detraction leſſens, or ſupplants their fame.
Wit.
Accurſed thing, 'tis time I make thee feel
Some laſhes from my Satyr's pointed ſteel,
That on thy hardned Ribs ſuch VVit may Coin,
As makes more vile the Metal thou call'ſt thine:
Were all thy Bowels Gold, thy Heart a Pearl,
Thy Face a Diamond, and thy hair a Curl
Of Silver Locks; each Breaſt an Agat Ball
Of richeſt value to receive their fall;
And had thy Limbs with every outward part
A golden form, the Idol of thy heart;
What were all this? but to be more contemn'd,
If nothing to thy inward worth be deem'd.
Heaven ſo rich Midas curs'd, which thou ſhouldſt fear,
Since for thy ſake he wore the Aſſes Ear.
Or elſe remember from great Maro's Lines
How King Evander's poverty out-ſhines
All Money'd Hero's thou could'ſt e're create,
When for his more Imperial ſtate,
The Trojan Prince a Precept from him took,
On thy mean Treaſures with contempt to look;
And as a King, ſo like a God to be,
In ſhewing chiefly he deſpiſed thee.
Can'ſt thou like this a Royal Theorem finde,
Or an Exchequer worth ſo great a minde.
Wit is a Gift can never be entail'd,
Though of Illuſtrious Heirs has never fail'd:
Thy ſtrength can buy but what men vainly ſpend,
The Riches of the VViſe a Fool can end.
45By Nature's Law, men have no need of thee,
Who art the Miſer's wealth and poverty.
With thy dumb Senſe thou doſt man's reaſon blinde,
And mak'ſt him rate thy value by his mind:
Who has enough, thou giv'ſt not leave to ſpare,
Whil'ſt I my Treaſures ſpend, but no want fear.
The Reader will judge that Madam-Money was ſufficiently provoked to make another Replication to the domineering Lady Wit; but my Muſe, (by whom I am here to be govern'd) finding her Lines not able enough to decide the Controverſie, has left it to the arbitrement of wiſer Heads than her own, at leaſt ſhe does not conceive it neceſſary to furniſh the world with more arguments on the part of Money, than it has already: As likewiſe ſhe believes that ſhe has done enough for the credit of her admir'd Madam Wit, in allowing her lines the laſt Bum-ſtroke, which ſhe ſuppoſes Money is able enough to endure, without crying out for more Verſe to revenge her quarrel.
Of one who would live by his Wits.
WHo thus adviſes with his Friend,
His Money firſt well ne'r an end:
What ſhall I do ſomewhere to live
My VVit is left me ſtill to thrive.
Shall I unto the Court repair?
In hope my fate will better there.
I have a Petition all in Verſe,
Which to the King I can Rehearſe.
Or ſhall I credit get in Town,
To be a ſtart-up Poet known?
46And next a New-Play-wright ſet forth,
Since Rhiming now is ſo much worth.
Or for a Farce, inſtead of Play,
Apply my wit, that taking way.
Wi•s I can drink withal, and VVhore;
Of ſome 'tis ſaid they ask no more;
And yet have Poets dub'd moſt able,
No better had King Arthur's Table,
When Lord, Knight, Squire, drank a Round,
And VVine and VVit together ſound.
Or ſhall I turn a common ſnap,
And Wenches cheat, as well as Clap?
Or in the Law ſome knowledge have?
Some think it may compleat a Knave.
Divinity I cannot teach,
Yet told I have ſenſe enough to Preach:
If not with Orthodoxal Wit,
The Presbyterians I may fit,
Of whom I have heard a many ſay
They are inſpir'd the Bag-pipe way:
A bleſſing Heaven breaths on their Lungs
Which through the Noſe comes off their Tongues,
Thus Calamy inſpir'd did paſs
With Caſe and Manton, Cromwell's Aſs;
Who firſt on knee did for him Bray
The Protectorian powerful way:
No Aſs before the like had done
But Balaam's, had a Holy Tongue.
Then whether ſhall my Genius Chuſe
The Temp'ral or the Spiritual Muſe?
When here my Friend a while had ſtop't,
And from his thoughts the beſt had lop't,
He thus reply'd: 'Tis hard to tell
How wit un-money'd ſhould do well.
47That Comedy a many know
Where wit to Money gives the blow;
Though I ſuppoſe what made the Jeſt,
The Poets Money then was leaſt.
The Brains exceſs may pain the Muſes feet,
VVhen Poets cannot have the Gout from meat:
VVherefore I'de have thee to be able
For Repartees at ſome good Table,
Or where a Madam does ſo quaintly treat,
That VVit and Love diſgeſt her meat:
Let thy VVit think her thy beſt Muſe,
Or be her Comedy to Chuſe.
No matter for the Stages clap,
Or for a Poets Feather-cap,
In which we ſee ſome Laureats paſs,
And yet not all diſcern the Aſs.
If Taylors to one man go Three-times-three,
How many Botching Poets then may be
Allow'd each Muſe? but Stich 'um as they can,
There are far better wayes to make a man.
VVit ſome does raiſe, but Fortune many more;
She has both VVit and folly in her power.
VVho nothing has, muſt Riches get by chance,
And Fortune ſo perhaps may thee advance:
VVho's poor and good, let him this Motto give,
That he (above all) muſt have luck to live.
48
On one who had Good Meat, and leſs Wit
I Like thy VVine and Meat, would'ſt thou excuſe
My Entertainment with thy tedious Muſe:
I have had her Portage and her Fricacy,
Her larded Chick and Fowl to welcome me.
But doſt thou think I can allow thy VVit
As I do Diſhes from thy Pot and Spit,
VVhen after Din'd thou bring'ſt thy Rhimes in place
As Presbyterians do their whining grace?
Or that thy Muſe might Heaven be thanked ſay
For tuning of her Verſe ſo wrong a way.
Of high Pernaſſus gifts, I'le hear thee ſpeak,
So it may not thy froward Muſe awake,
Leſt ſhe be peeviſh to recite a Play
VVould laſt both Noons of Sixteen-hour'd day:
Although my Body would be eas'd the while
Both of thy Dinner, and thy Muſes toile.
Since then 'tis ſo, when next I take thy Dyet,
I'le make thee promiſe me thy Muſes quiet.
Wit and Beauty.
A Lady to whom late I prais'd her Face
VVith all her Movements as attractive too,
Beauty more than enough in every place,
That Natures Maſter-piece in her did ſhow:
Her Language ſmart, yet pleaſing as her Eye,
So Wit and Love in her Conſpir'd to vye.
2.
If theſe thy Rivals and thy Graces are,
What Bleſſings may ſome worthy Lover hope
When thou ſhalt yield, and next thy aid prepare
To give his longing wiſhes their full ſcope?
Love without VVit may yield a dull conſent;
What's given, ſhould ſeem his Theft and Raviſhment.
3.
She ſmiling, ſaid, my fancy ſo ſhould paſs:
Nay did advance it by expreſſing more:
Woman ſhe yields was but Love's pleaſant aſs,
If joyn'd no quickneſs to her Rider's power:
Beauty and VVit attractions can beſtow,
But more the hope what both at night can do.
A Blank for Rhime.
RHime is Pernaſſus Ballad-curſe:
The Muſes dream when Senſe does wink.
The Stages Dwarf in Gyant's clothes,
Or Verſe too weak to walk in Proſe:
Fit to ſtrain Lungs, and make men hoarſe.
Or Cure, like ſomething, a ſore Throat.
A Cittern that moſt Quills can touch,
An ancient Chime in Monkiſh Verſe:
Chaucer's Grave-beard in it is ſeen,
And Gower driv'ling his Prick-ſong.
And old Pluſh Cloak the inſide outward,
Or high-crown'd Hat ſtuck with new Feathers,
Fit for ſome Lawrel'd Gallants now,
As well as Rhimers heretofore.
50
On a certain Rhimer.
THy Verſes Lacker is thy Rhime,
And ſo thy Lines may laſt a time;
But leſt their dye ſhould prove the worſt,
Expunge what thou haſt written firſt.
Being in the Countrey.
ADvance my Muſe, and teach my thoughts to look
From thy Pernaſſus on great Nature's Book;
See how ſhe hither does Invite thy Song
From Courts and Cities buſie toyls and throng:
VVhere thou with peril ſmall applauſe could'ſt get,
At leaſt more ſafe wil't be in thy retreat:
Or if thou can'ſt in thy retirement ſhow,
Thou Roſe and Lillies planteth yet may grow:
Moiſten thy Verſe in thy Caſtalion ſtream,
Caſting ſome drops on Envy's barren flame.
Thy Critick Nature, will more wiſely be,
And ſhew thee her admir'd ſimplicity:
Bring thee from Stars unto her humble height,
No act of hers for wonder is too light.
VVhiſper from whence that Dame call'd Nature came,
Since from her Iſſue ſhe conceals her name:
How men that Title to her greatneſs give,
Yet know not by what order ſhe does live.
Acquainted be with Tillage, Beaſts, and trees,
And keep ſome Honey of thy VVit for Bees.
51Search out great Maro in th' Elizian field,
And ſee what wonders there his Georgicks yield:
His Verſe ſuch mighty things on Earth did ſhow,
'Twill teach thee there what Heaven is doing too.
Then Horace in his Sabine fields find there,
And with his Lyricks next amaze thy Ear.
Next take a turn with our great Cowly's Muſe,
And hear what Songs of Plants and Herbs ſhe'l chuſe:
Mark how the Lyrick's wonder at his layes,
As lofty Pindar Crowns his head with Bayes:
See him in Maro's ſtately Buskin go,
VVhil'ſt David's Harp his meaſures ſoundeth too.
Or if thou can'ſt not ſo inſtruct thy thought,
Think that Immortal here their Pens have taught:
Diſcern how much their Vertues do Invite
Home-bred contentments wiſely to delight,
And how they growing Fields and Gardens dreſs,
Heaven with the Muſes did conſpire to bleſs.
Obſerve how Nature does with fruitful chance
Scatter her good, and here and there advance
Tall Trees and Plants without man's art or toil,
Yet does ſubmit them to his uſe and ſpoil:
Though furrows in her Face the Plough does tear,
She feels no blemiſh, or Black-patch does wear.
She Diſciplines the Ploughman's rougheſt pain,
And like vaſt Legions ſtands her cloſer grain.
In each ſmall home ſhe Crowns her Queen and King,
That undiſturb'd with cares may ſleep and Sing:
Content ſpeaks moſt her Gayetie and Feaſt;
A little feeds the Bird that ſingeth beſt.
The Dove does flye from Courts and Cities air,
Neer Fields and Rivers with her Mate to pair:
The Mean-man's Houſe their amorous billings ſhow,
Their deareſt young his wholſome food made too.
52The Herds will chuſe to fatten near his home,
To whoſe Retir'ment they in winter come.
The Plough his healthful knowledge does delight,
Nor is he ignorant of the Hare's ſwift flight,
Or of the Chaſe the nimble Dear does take
When griev'd his fatning paſture to forſake.
His Nets delicious Birds can gently ſeize,
And knows ſuch baits the foodful fiſhes pleaſe:
His limbs their ſwifteſt fins can overtake,
And under water ſwimming Chaſes make:
He true refreſhment finds in cooleſt ſtreams,
No after-Ague fear'd, or Feavers flames:
Nor leſs his wonder Scurvey's loathſome pains,
Or what's man's ſinful eaſe the Gout obtains.
Unto exceſs his health does ne're commit;
His food and labour his found temper fit.
No Homicide has Nature by his will,
Whil'ſt Luxury by Art does others kill.
Long life is leſs his wiſh than his command,
Which others piece up with the Doctors hand.
In Woods〈◊〉Sorrel for his Sauce does finde,
And Betony, the bodies health and minde.
His Garden (though not great) affords him Sage,
With Parſley, Savory, Time; adds time to age:
Theſe eaſie bleſſings his ſmall borders ſhow,
Which, (though at Nature's coſt) man's pride terms low.
Nor wants he Arbors planted by his care,
That for his ſhade the flowry Woodbine bear:
Or Nature's larger bounty to admire,
Takes cool Enjoyments where vaſt Trees aſpire:
So Virgil's Muſe did Rural Tityrus finde,
And made her Song unto his Pipe ſo kinde:
With him ſhe Amarillis Love could play,
Joyning lifes pleaſures to his humble lay.
53Thus man did firſt his Life and Love begin
More wiſe, than to enjoy Luxurious ſin,
Or puft up with Ambition to be great,
His quiet and his ſafety moſt does cheat:
But humble pleaſures with contentment joyn'd,
And thus the world unto himſelf confin'd:
His Feaſt was then of Herbs and fruits from trees,
His Sweet-meat Honey from the cells of Bees.
The Flocks his early Murders did not ſhow,
Sheep, Goats and Cows were milk'd, and long liv'd ſo
No mournful Voyces for their tender breed,
Or Gods ador'd did cruel victims need.
Man of his Crimes had made himſelf afraid,
When firſt to Heaven the Lamb and Kid were paid:
His board the Altar was where theſe were due,
Whil'ſt, but himſelf, no Houſhold-God he knew.
Luſt has no bounds, nor avarice limit knows,
Taught ſtill to want, as they too much propoſe:
Exceſs the Darling is of frail mankinde,
Though but the painted Peacock of the minde.
Give me content, my reaſon calls me rich,
Whil'ſt paſſion to no purpoſe feeds an Itch.
Men for their thoughts may large Commiſſions chuſe,
But ſtill their quantum is, how much they uſe:
Enough, deſerves the name of Nature's Feaſt,
To which the wiſe invites himſelf her Gueſt.
What's humbly good, let me think highly great;
Who Lives ſuffic'd, enjoys a large eſtate.
Let Fortune and her Squint-ey'd merit paſs
Without a grudge when ſhe exalts an Aſs:
Or that his Pomp, the world ſtrikes blinde with praiſe,
To cheat the eyes that can ſuch Idols raiſe.
In Woods and Fields my Muſe can bid me dream,
And whiſper verſe where glides the Silver ſtream:
54 I'le call it Nobleſt Idleneſs to be
Buſied with Natures ſtate expreſs'd by thee:
Her Courts are ever open unto all,
And of her States-men none lament their fall.
Her Science beſt Ambition does Invite;
Shewing us ſteps that lead unto her height.
O Contemplation ſo Divinely great
As are the acts of Nature's high eſtate!
Whoſe Courts the Countreys ſolitude can raiſe
Above what Paraſites to Thrones can praiſe:
Men beſt retir'd, her good with theirs may ſee,
The world's not underſtood felicity:
Who Rural bleſſings wiſely make their own,
Live ſo, at leaſt will pawn no Land in Town.
The World.
I Write not now for Bayes, nor would I bring
Theſe Verſe like drones to buzze without a ſting:
A Satyrs Lawrel muſt have Pricks, and Briars,
Some to ſcratch Gowns, ſome Robes, or Silken tires.
The world's Broad-back, although it do not ply,
May feel ſome briny ſtripes in Verſe do lye.
Satyrs are by Pernaſſus roughly taught
To ſpeak their uſeful Truths with plaineſt thought.
From Woods and Mountains they convey their Song
Unto mens ſoft abodes, and Cities throng.
A bold and piercing Eye on what's amiſs,
And moſt does frown where Luxury does kiſs;
Which vice can moſt be tax'd in this our time,
When every one is heightn'd by its crime.
A Civil War, Plague, Fire, have had their courſe,
Yet none of theſe abate our Vices force.
55Can men no ſurfeit take in being bad,
But muſt in War and Peace be equal mad?
It's not enough to think on Forty one,
And all thoſe miſeries were then begun?
Or what preceded that Leap-year of grace
Which ſanctified the Scoth-man's Oat-meal face?
How ſacred was the Northern Bag-pipe then,
Reſembl'd in our ſnoching Pulpit-men:
Till Independants wore the longeſt Sword,
And in their Caſſock'd-buff did Preach the Word.
'Twere Sin almoſt to mention what they did;
Would it might in Anathema's be hid:
If fame no further curſe that Zeal and Pride
By which our beſt of Kings and Martyrs dy'd,
His Subjects ruine he could have forgiven,
Had their revenge not gone with his to Heaven.
Could Regicides at Tyburn not relent,
And can we hope their living Sects repent?
What but ſuch Canting Zeal could e're deviſe
To make its Impudence a Sacrifice?
Cromwell may ſmile to meet ſuch Imps in hell,
Did ſuit his miſchiefs, and his death excell.
Or did they hope ſucceeding times might be
Pos'd to define bold guilt from Piety?
Already, which is which but few diſcern,
And teach poſterity new Creeds to learn.
So roundly yet the Presbyterians pray,
As if they'd once more Cov'nant the Scotch way.
In paſt time, Prick-ear'd-Presbyters did ſhow
Quaint Owen would not ſo at Oxford go:
Thus Prieſts of Priapus did Court the fair,
When more than Cod-piece long they wore their hair.
Moſt Sects have pay'd enough, their Zeal and Luſt,
Whil'ſt Piety's reward was Heaven to truſt.
56Might but our manners, (if not zeal) yet mend,
And not like that from worſe to worſe extend.
The Moral light of reaſon ſuch put out,
Whom firſt Phanatick Meteors led about:
A giddy Luxury will have its grace,
As well as that which keeps a ſtately pace.
Thus Conventiclers by Intrigue can pray,
Whil'ſt others raiſe amours another way.
All will have modes that beſt themſelves befit;
Vice were too dully form'd, that us'd no wit:
Some muſt keep ſtate, whil'ſt others ſolely trot
With a Link-Boy, or Page, to hide their plot.
A thouſand wayes to falſe embrace men go;
As many arts for theirs can Women ſhew,
When brisk to exerciſe that vicious feat,
Which with ſtoln pleaſure Luſt does beſt repeat.
Such men, whoſe manners, moſt refuſe to truſt,
To Luxury and Vice continue juſt.
What mighty ſhame is't to him more does prize
His vain delights, than to be good, or wiſe?
I envy none their kiſs, or ſoft embrace,
Or wench that uſeth varniſh to her face;
No more than ſuch whoſe greaſie mode's to eat
A Larded diſh, inſtead of well-fed meat:
Or that a gilting-ſhe keeps up her price
With Whoring fops, as Gameſters live by Dice.
Others there are (ſome tell) of Wit refin'd,
Will Court a Girl ingeniouſly aſſign'd:
No loathing do ſuch aſſignations make,
Which by a pleaſing raillery they partake.
How airy notion'd may we judge all thoſe,
When ſuch Mercurial leavings fume their Noſe?
Or is it but the quaintneſs of our age,
To raiſe thence wit for our declining ſtage?
57Where unwaſh'd Bawdry with applauſe may paſs,
Like Actreſs in her Poets Looking-glaſs.
Nor can the witleſs Writer want a Muſe,
Whil'ſt moſt of either Sex their turns will chuſe.
But what is it to me who have beſt writ,
Or Tom Thumb's ſtile, or Jack Straw's paſs for Wit?
A Satyr's buſineſs is not to explore
What Wit men have, or how much they want more:
Its reprehenſions beſt on manners light,
Lines muſt be Whips, if bad men they affright.
For outward parts and Wit a many go,
VVhil'ſt few good deeds or worth of theirs men know.
Vertue with Pageant-ſhows is darkn'd moſt,
Though for its ſake Vice ſometimes is at coſt.
To praiſe good men, the bad will ſoon comply
And with ſmooth fronts thus give themſelves the lye.
VVho has a friend, go ask him that does know,
Of whether Apes and Monkeys have none too.
The world's too airy now for ſolid truſt;
Friendſhip muſt have its ſlips, as well as Luſt.
Fancy Aſtraea come from Heaven again,
Or new Star ſeen without a Tail or Main:
Some ſuch kinde cauſe may well precede the year
VVhen men may ſafely truſt, and drink ſmall bear.
Our times God-wot are ſo transformed now,
That Flints and Pebbles muſt for Diamonds go.
Be ſure take care how deep you view the heart,
Leſt you a Monſter finde will make you ſtart.
Study the Moral wiſe Ʋlyſſes taught,
You'l prove the Centaure in man's Breaſt he ſought.
Half way a man in Vertue would excel;
Now moſt all over beaſt are known too well.
Long has been Vertue ſtarving with her praiſe,
Few Body-politicks her Ethicks raiſe.
58The good have ever kept the longeſt Lent,
Or mock'd, if they bid Luxury repent.
To Preach down ſin, is more a uſe, or Trade:
Too oft with Pulpits Vice has Traffick made.
O, that we could not ſay our Paths to Heaven
Were by our Sacred guides trod more uneven!
Or that it was not made a pious Curſe,
To yield ſuch ſuperſtition to the Purſe.
But men are men, and ever will be ſo,
Both Coats and Caſſocks can one inſide ſhow:
In ſpite of forms, man by himſelf is lin'd,
And in all Churches have their motly kind.
If Spiritual goodneſs ſomewhat over-weigh
Our Temp'ral Crimes, who need for more to pray?
Much of ſtrict honeſty were taxe on Heaven;
Rome ſeem'd content two Cato's her were given.
Others (her Members) like the worlds prov'd juſt
Unto their Int'reſt, if not to their truſt.
Why ſhould we then complain that many now
Byaſs themſelves unto the publick ſo?
Patriots enough are to be cheaply bought;
Or bluſh not if they ask before they are ſought.
Men muſt do ſomething to be more of note,
Crimes are oft paid when Honeſty's forgot.
All ages can't alike themſelves refine;
Some moſt for Vertue, ſome for Riches ſhine.
What's ours, I'le not aſſert, that were to bid
My Muſe in ſuch courſe Lines as theſe be chid;
'Tis rude in Satyrs, if to Courts they ſtray,
With ſuch ſoft leiſure they muſt fear to play:
Men of their Brain more wiſe effects may ſhow,
Than to ſend Cenſure where they ought to bow.
Shall I believe that giddily men feel
Their weights, told ſo by Tongues miſtake, or reel?
59Who ſeeks a place, or who for truſt is fit,
Is too much the Impertinence of Wit:
Or whether craft, or merit makes ſome great,
Suits not our ſearch, if an Intrigue of State.
To be well govern'd, or to think we are ſo,
Does beſt become us and our Prayers too.
In Subjects wiſe and modeſt ſenſe is ſhown,
When they ſubmit their cares unto the Throne:
For their ſakes Princes are with Rule oppreſs'd;
T' Obey's the eaſieſt part, if not the beſt:
Which thought well ponder'd, admiration brings,
That the World has not Crowns to ſpare for Kings.
May we believe all thoſe who boldly tell
They would amend what others do not well?
Or is't becauſe their Vertue is in pain,
Untill well humour'd, or employ'd with gain?
Such Mountebanks enough Receipts proclaim;
And moſt men halt becauſe they'd have them lame?
But O, the buſie Politicks of theſe dayes!
State-Counſel's no leſs cenſur'd than our Plays:
Whence is't ſuch modern Prudence does ariſe?
Can Antichriſtian-Coffee make more wiſe
Than their Fore-fathers; ſoberly could think
On States or Turkiſh Kings without their drink?
Good Beer and Beef with them could well agree,
Or for Twelve pence had better Sack than we.
Judicious men ought for ſuch times to pray,
No leſs than Poets, who have leaſt to pay.
60
Of Change and Death.
THis Theam, without my Muſe, my thoughts can reach,
My Soul and Nature do enough me teach
To know my end; 'tis but Death's certain night
To which Life's Taper muſt reſign its light.
Man's breadth and height his Bodies ſhade can ſhow;
Death's Metaphor attends on all we do:
Our reſt, and ſleep, nay Love's eſpous'd charms,
Yield to the pale embrace of his cold arms.
His Sickle of the young a Harveſt makes,
Or old, before their ſtrength Life's ague ſhakes.
'Tis Nature's kindneſs, if our wrinckl'd brow
Shews firſt the furrows of Death's ſecret Plough.
Teaching our Souls and Bodies to prepare
For other being when disjoyned here:
VVhere, man's long Love of Luxury and eaſe
Has Nature's cure, as 'tis her worſt Diſeaſe.
How ready men Supinely bad will hope
(Though undeſerv'd of Heaven) Life's longeſt ſcope:
As if that Death, ſo buſie is withall
Would Vice forget, or ſtill reprieve its fall.
The greateſt Monarchs ſpreading thoughts and might,
Purſu'd by Death and Time, confeſs their flight.
Could now great Julius his paſt Conqueſts ſee,
And no place his to ſeat his Majeſty;
Or Rome's Auguſtus to the world appear,
And walk a ſtately Lord of nothing here:
How would they mourn their Empires early fall,
Rais'd to aſpire till Nature's Funeral.
61 How〈◊〉their greatneſs bluſh, were to them read
The••••neſt thoughts and deeds, their Empire dead.
Th•〈◊〉with Caeſar now might weep,
N•for more worlds, but this no power can keep:
T••ir meaneſt Slave as well himſelf might bring
To Rome, or Babylon, and be their King.
Man's glories here are like a Stages Scene,
Beheld, but till the next does Intervene.
If ſuch great acts of men their periods have,
How ſoon for others does fame finde a grave?
So much ſhe Articles againſt men here,
They ought not long to hope her future care.
Man covets future fame himſelf to cheat,
Death kills to him what merit Life can get.
Man's end has moſt complyance from his will,
VVhen Conſcience keeps no black Records of ill:
'Tis not the dark (like Children) that men fear,
But leſt their Impious deeds purſue them there.
This certain honour does by Death accrew,
If when it comes 'tis bravely welcom'd too.
Death's muſt is only man's fit time to end;
'Tis vain to wiſh it when it can't attend.
Not our deſire or fear ſhould it procure;
VVho is on purpoſe Sick, deſerves no Cure.
Heaven grant my end may ſo my ſoul comply,
That leaſt it fear it ſelf when I muſt dye.
I could not forbear to annex unto this Contemplation the ſoft and Pathetick Verſe of Ovid, which ſince relating to Age that walks almoſt hand in hand with Death, I finde no leſs proper for my ſelf, than others, who have any long acquaintance with Life. 62
Jam mihi deterior canis aſpergitur aetas
Jamque meos vultus ruga ſenilis arat:
Jam vigor, & quaſſo languent in corpore vires
Nec Juveni luſus que placuere Juvant.
Nec me ſi ſubito videas cognoſcere poſſes
Aetatis facta eſt tanta ruina meae,
Confiteor, facere hoc annos, &c.
I think I could add another complaint of his Age; which could not but more tenderly concern the Soul of ſo excellent a Poet.
Impetus ille ſacer, qui vatum pectora nutrit,
Qui prius in nobis eſſe ſolebat, abeſt.
In Spheram Archimedes: Tranſlated out of Claudian.
WHen Jove this Chryſtal Sphear did firſt behold,
He ſmil'd, and to Olympus Court thus told:
Can Mortal powers arrive unto this height,
That we ſhould take in Humane art Delight?
The Sacred mov'ment which our Heaven does ſhow,
This Syracuſian wonder tells below:
Each various order of our Starry Sphear,
His ſhining Globe Epitomizeth there.
The Sun's bright eye there ſees his dayes and years,
And what a various brow his Phebe wears.
63How was this Artiſt pleas'd this Globe to make,
Spangl'd with Stars like ours, their Progreſs take.
Salmoneas may his feigned Thunder boaſt,
Archimedes Skill Heaven's power reſembleth moſt.
Of Time: A Pindaricque Ode.
FIrſt great of Nature thou muſt ſurely be,
Yet never from her Womb did'ſt ſpring;
Thou wert full grown ſoon as the world, and ſhe
Waiting to ſpread thy Immaterial wing,
And ſide by ſide with her to move,
Before ſhe would her ſelf improve.
Of thee, ſhe Mathematick Counſel took,
E're ſhe ſet forward to purſue
The mighty meaſures in her Book,
Or did one act of wonder do:
Nor had men known without thy night and day,
Whether Nature did for ever work or play.
2.
To all things elſe ſhe Life and Bodies gave,
But thou her Incorporeal Childe
Myſteriouſly muſt neither have,
Whil'ſt Death, her every individual's Grave,
Of nothing but thy ſelf's beguil'd;
That with her thou might'ſt live to ſee
Thy life continue her Eternity.
3.
Through all Horizons of the Univerſe,
Thou doſt at once thy wondrous ſelf diſperſe,
Each Star his Circle by thy Rule does guide.
Nay, who can chuſe but think,
Should'ſt thou ſtand ſtill, or ſtep aſide,
64 But that the Sun would leave his Zodiack too,
And bid his bounteous Eye for ſorrow wink,
If for the worlds ſake he no more might know,
The bleſſing of his Dayes and Hours,
And ſee his Heaven on Earth, in Spring and Summer-flowers?
4.
So far above our Reaſons ſearch thou art,
That all the Idea of thy ſelf men frame,
Does like ſome mighty nothing ſeem:
Thou motion guid'ſt, and yet no motion art,
Thy being, yet, thou never did'ſt impart
So much as in aſpiring Poets dream.
Their buſie Pencils can't thy figure take.
Thou ſteal'ſt away, both as we ſleep and wake,
Yet thy flight never was too ſwift, or ſlow,
In Heaven, or Earth, one Minute's ſpace;
Thy unerring Dyals under ground can go;
Thy ſilent feet 'twixt Life and Death ſtill trace,
Keeping account how both Live and Deceaſe;
Which contraries ſo far agree,
That Life and Death alike converſions be
Of thine and Nature's living equally.
5.
65VVhen learned Antiquaries ſearch thy Rolls,
They Ages finde, but can't thy Age compute;
From thy Epocha early thou ſet'ſt out,
E're man could read his being in thy Scrolls:
VVhil'ſt he laments thy too profound neglect,
Since he might have from thee more ſurely known
VVhat did thy being and his own effect;
VVhether God's fiat man produc'd of clay,
Or that he ſtarted out of Earth ſome unknown way,
VVhich Nature by deſign, or chance does ovvn.
6.
From what ſtupendious center firſt was took
The point from whence began thy mighty round?
No Line or Character, in Nature's Book,
Does ſhew us where thy ſelf is found:
No more than how this world, alas,
To our ſenſe firſt produced was;
Or whence light did proceed to be
Guided by the Sun and thee,
When thy Clocks told the world 'twas day,
Before he durſt the morning wake,
Or wiſely could direct his way:
Who, then of men, his height did take,
Or ſaw his ſteeds their flaming ſteps firſt make?
7.
We uſe thee moſt of things, yet know thee not;
Thou ſeem'ſt to us, to have thy ſelf forgot;
Yet beſt of faculties in the Worlds great Soul,
Whoſe Memory does far ſurmount
All, but thine own Account,
The ſum of that vaſt Circles ſquare,
Which cannot be computed here,
Unleſs our meaſures ſcale that endleſs Rule
That's more eternal than the world is old,
To moſt Prophetick Reaſon never yet was told.
On former Poets.
THough Death's pale Scepter men obey,
Their written Wit does laſt decay:
Surviving that reſiſtleſs fate
Does Soul and Body ſeparate;
66 And of all mortal acts we ſee,
Comes neareſt Immortality.
Thus Johnſon's Wit we ſtill admire,
With Beaumont, Fletcher's laſting ſire:
And mighty Shakeſpear's nimble vein,
Whoſe haſte we only now complain.
His Muſe firſt poſt was fain to go,
That firſt from him we Plays might know,
Though in each Muſe of theirs we finde
VVhat's now above all humane kinde:
Our greateſt Wit is to allow
We cannot write as they could do;
Which time ſucceeding proves ſo good,
That 'tis not yet well underſtood:
As if it were our fate to be
In Wits perpetual Infancy.
Strong plots like theirs we can't diſgeſt,
But like to Children think that beſt
Which trifles with our appetite,
And judge as ill as now we write.
Though long our Story boaſts great Kings,
Not every Raign good Poet ſings:
Nature is pleas'd not to permit
A propagation of their Wit,
Confeſſing that her mighty ſtore
Is not ſo rich as 'twas before.
Poets are Prodigies of men,
And ſuch ſhe gives but now and then.
To Gyant-Wit 'tis only given
T'aſpire unto the Muſes Heaven:
If ſo inſpir'd had been the bold,
We read Olympus ſtorm'd of old,
Jove would have lay'd his Thunder by,
And welcom'd their Society.
67
To his Muſe.
ENough my Muſe thou haſt play'd, 'tis time to reſt;
Now I grow old, thou art paſt, or at thy beſt:
Thy Wit (like Beauty) moſt ſhould Youth inſpire;
With me thou may'ſt take cold by thy own fire.
Too much thy Gameſome thoughts I have obey'd,
Too tart for ſome thy Salt my Verſe has made.
What Beauty will be Charm'd with what I ſay,
Or write of Love, if it's no Part I play?
Naſo's ſoft Arts his fair Corinna knew,
And what he Sung, 'tis thought did practiſe too.
Thalia bluſheth moſt in woods to ſing,
When Poets from her Verſe receive no ſpring.
Terſicore Heroickly does hate
The loftieſt Muſe that Love Invites too late.
Here pauſing, thus to me my Muſe begun,
Would'ſt thou be peeviſh with my cheerful Song,
On which the youthful will beſtow a ſmile,
And to this froward Age commend thy toyle,
Thy Salt may pleaſe th' Ingenious Criticks taſte,
And ſleight th' unſeaſon'd jeers which others waſte.
Is't not enough I do rejoyce thy Song,
And call thy Love and Verſe for ever young?
My Bays to future time appear moſt green,
When nought of Poets but their Souls are ſeen:
My pleaſing charms the ſerious entertain,
And in the Aged youthful Wit maintain.
From my Records men beſt their manners read
The Comick good which now the Stage does need.
Waſte not thy ſelf, or make more tedious Night
With high and labour'd Songs; I can delight
68 The ſmooth-writ Elegy, or ſhort way,
The witty Martial with the world did play:
Rome's Empire's greatneſs, and its crimes are known
From that full ſenſe, his nimble Line's have ſhown.
The Muſes value all proportions fit,
And what's call'd little, may have much of VVit.
She ended thus, and next preſents my Pen,
VVhich if I finde inſpir'd, I'll write agen.