Ály thoughts awhile, like you, imprison'd lay;

We'll write whate'er from you we hear; Great joys, as well as sorrows, make a stay ;

For that's the posy of the year. They binder one another in the crowd,

This difference only will remainAnd none are heard, whilst all would speak aloud.

That Time his former face does shew, Should every man's officious gladness haste,

Winding into himself again ; And be afraid to show itself the last,

But your unweary'd wit is always new. The throng of gratulations now would be

"Tis said, that conjurers have an art found out Another loss to you of liberty.

To carry spirits confin'd in rings about : When of your freedom men the news did hear,

The wonder now will less appear, Where it was wish'd-for, that is every where,

When we behold your magic here. 'Twas like the speech which from your lips does

You, by your rings, do prisoners take, fall;

And chain them with your mystic spells, As soon as it was heard, it ravish'd al).

And, the strong witchcraft full to make, So eloquent Tully did from exile come;

Love, the great Devil, charm’d to those circle, 'Thus long'd for he return'd, and cherish'd Rome;

dwells. Which could no more his tongue and counsels miss; Rome, the world's head, was nothing without his.

They, who above do various circles find, Wrong to those sacred ashes, I should do,

Say, like a ring, th' equator Heaven does bind. Should I compare any to him but you ;

When Heaven shall be adorn'd by thee You, to whom Art and Nature did dispense

(Which then more Heaven than 'tis will be) The consulship of wit and eloquence.

"Tis thou must write the posy there, Nor did your fate differ from his at all,

For it wanteth one as yet, Because the doom of exile was his fall;

Though the Sun pass through’t twice a year For the whole world, without a native home,

The Sun, who is esteem'd the god of wit. Is nothing but a prison of larger room.

Happy the hands which wear thy sacred rings, But like a melting woman suffer'd he,

They'll teach those hands to write mysterious He who before out-did humanity;

things. Nor could his spirit constant and stedfast prove.

Let other rings, with jewels bright, Whose art 't had been, and greatest end, to move.

Cast around their costly light; You put ill-fortune in so good a dress,

Let them want no noble stone, That it out-shone other men's happiness :

By nature rich and art refin'd; Had your prosperity always clearly gone,

Yet shall thy rings give place to none, As your high merits would have laid it on,

But only that which must thy marriage bind.
You'ad half been lost, and an example then
But for the happy—the least part of men.
Your very sufferings did so graceful shew,

PROLOGUE TO THE GUARDIAN:
That some strait envy'd your affiction too;
For a clear conscience and heroic mind
In ills their business and their glory find.

W
So, though less worthy stones are drown'd in night, Tis false ; 'twas never honour'd so as now.

ho says the times do learning disallow? The faithful diamond keeps his native light,

When you appear, great prince ! our night is done ; And is oblig'd to darkness for a ray,

You are our morning-star, and shall be our sun. That would be more oppress'd than help'd by day. But our scene's London now ; and by the rout Your soul then most show'd her unconquer'd pow

We perish, if the Round-heads be about: er,

For now no ornament the head must wear, Was stronger and more armed than the Tower.

No bays, no mitre, not so much as hair.
Sure unkind Fate will tempt your spirit no more;

How can a play pass safely, when we know
Sh has try'd her weakness and your strength Cheapside-cross falls for making but a show ?

before.
Toppose him still, who once has conquer'd so,

Our only hope is this, that it may be Were now to be your rebel, not your foe;

A play may pass too, made extempore.

Though other arts poor and neglected grow, Fortune henceforth will more of providence have,

They'll admit poesy, which was always so.
And rather be your friend than be your slave.

But we contemn the fury of these days,
And scorn no less their censure than their praise :

Our Muse, blest prince ! does only on you rely ;
TO A LADY

Would gladly live, but not refuse to die.
Accept our hasty zeal! a thing that's play'd
Ere 'tis a play, and acted ere 'tis made.

Our ignorance, but our duty too, we show; 1 LITTLE thought the time would ever be,

I would all ignorant people would do so!
That I should wit in dwarfish posies see.

At other times expect our wit or art;
As all words in few letters live,

This comedy is acted by the heart,
Thou to few words all sense dost give.
'Twas Nature taught you this rare art,
In such a little much to shew;

TAE EPILOGUE.
Who, all the good she did impart

The play, great sir ! is done ; yet needs must fear, To womankind, epitomiz'd in you.

Though you brought all your father's mercies here, If, as the ancients did not doubt to sing,

It may offend your highness; and we ’ave now The turning years be well compar'd ta ring, Three bours done treason here, for aught we know,

BEFORE THE PRINCE.

WHO MADE POSIES FOR RINGS.

ON THE DEATH OP

No tuneful birds play with their wonted cheer, But power your grace can above Nature give, It can give power to make abortives live;

And call the learned youths to hear; In which, if our bold wishes should be crost, No whistling winds through the glad branches fly: 'Tis but the life of one poor week 't has lost :

But all, with sad solemnity, Though it should fall beneath your mortal scorn,

Mute and unmoved be,
Scarce could it die more quickly than't was born. Mute as the grave wherein my friend does lie.

To him iny Muse made haste with every strain,
Whilst it was new and warm yet from the braio :

He lor'd my worthless rhymes, and, like a friend,
MR. WILLIAM HERVEY.

Would find out something to commend.

Hence now, iny Muse! thou canst not me delight: IMMODICIS BREVIS EST ETAS, & RARA SENECTUS.

Mart.

Be this my latest verse,

With which I now adorn his hearse ; It was a dismal and a fearful night,

And this my grief, without thy help, shall write. Scarce could the Morn drive on th' unwilling Had I a wreath of bays about my brow, Light,

I should contemn that flourishing honour pow; When Sleep, Death's imagc, left my troubled Condemn it to the fire, and joy to hear breast,

It rage and crackle there. By something liker death possest.

Instead of bays, crown with sad cypress me ; My eyes with tears did uncommanded fow,

Cypress, which tombs does beautify: And on my soul hung the dull wciglit

Not Phæbus griev'd, so much as I, Of some intolerable fate.

For him who first was made that mournful tree. What bell was that? ah me! too much I know.

Large was his soul; as large a soul as e'er My sweet companion, and my gentle peer, Submitted to inforin a body here; Why hast thou left me thus unkindly here, High as the place 'twas shortly in Heaven to Thy end for ever, and my life, to moan?

have, 0, thou hast left me all alone!

But low and humble as his grave: Thy soul and body, when death's agony

So high, that all the Virtues there did come. Besieg'd around thy noble heart,

As to their chiefest seat
Did not with more reluctance part,

Conspicuous and great;
Than I, my dearest friend ! do part from thee. So low, that for me too it made a room.
My dearest friend, would I bad dy'd for thec! He scorn'd this busy world below, and all
Life and this world henceforth will tedious be. That we, mistaken mortals! pleasure call;
Nor shall I know hereafter what to do,

Was fill'd with innocent gallantry and truth, If once my griefs prove tedious too.

Triumphant o'er the sins of youth. Silent and sad I walk about all day,

He, like the stars, to which he now is gone, As sullen ghosts stalk speechless by

That shine with beains like flame, Where their hid treasures lie;

Yet burn not with the same,
Alas ! my treasure's gone! why do I stay? Had all the light of youth, of the fire none.
Ile was my friend, the truest friend on Earth ; Knowledge he only sought, and so soon caught,
A strong and mighty influence join'd our birth; As if for hinn Knowlerige had rather sought:
Nor did we envy the most sounding name

Nor did more learning crer crowded lie
By friendship given of old to Fame.

In such a short mortality.
None but his brethren he, and sisters, knew,

Whene'er the skilful youth discours'd or writo
Whom the kind youth preferrd to me;

Still did the notions throng
And ev'n in that we did agree,

About his cloqnent tongue,
For much above myself I lov'd them too.

Nor could his ink flow faster than his wit, Say, for you saw us, ye immortal lights,

So strong a wit did Nature to him frame, How oft unweary'd have we spent the nights, As all things but his judgment overcame; Till thé Ledæan stars, so fam'd for love,

His judgment like the heavenly moon did show, Wonder'd at us from above!

Tempering tha: inighty sea below.
We spent them not in toys, in lusts, or wine ; Oh! had he liv'd in Leaming's world, what bound
But scarch of deep philosophy,

Would have been able to control
Wit, eloquence, and poetry,

His over-powering soul; Arts which I lov'd, for they, my friend, were We ’ave lost in him arts that not yet are found. thine.

His mirth was the pure spirits of various wit, Ye fields of Cambridge, our dear Cambridge, say Yct never did his God or friends forget; Have ye not seen us walking every day?

And, when deep talk and wisdom came in view, Was there a tree about which did not know

Retir'd, and gave to them their due:
The love betwixt us two ?

For the rich help of books he always took,
Henceforth, ye gentle trees, for ever fade;

Though his own searching mind before
Or your sad branches thicker join,

Was so with notions written o'er
And into darksome shades combine,

As if wise Nature had made that her book.
Dark as the grave wherein my friend is laid !

So many virtues join'd in him, as we Henceforth, no learned youths beneath you sing, Can scarce pick here and there in history; Till all the tuneful birds t your boughs they More than old writers' practice e'er could reach; bring i

As much as they could ever teach.

IN IMITATION OF

RAM,

These did Religion, queen of Mrtues ! sway;

He sees thee gentle, fair, and gay,
And all their sacred motions steer,

And trusts the faithless April of thy May.
Just like the first and highest sphere,
Which wheels about, and túrns all Heaven one way. Unhappy, thrice unhappy, he,

T whom thou untry'd dost shine!
With as much zeal, devotion, piety,

But there's no danger now for me, He always livd, as other saints do die.

Since o'er Loretto's shrine,
Still with his soul severe account he kept,

In witness of the shipwreck past,
Weeping all debts out ere he slept ;

My consecrated vessel hangs at lasts
Then down in peace and innocence he lay,

Like the Sun's laborious light,

Which still in water sets at night,
Unsullied with his journey of the day.

MARTIAL'S EPIGRAM,
Wondrous young man!why wert thou made so good,
To be snatch'd hence ere better understood ?

Si tecum mihi, chare Martialis, &c.
Snatch'd before half of thee enough was seen!

L. v. Ep. xx.
Thou ripe, and yet thy life but green!

IF, dearest friend, it my good fate might be
Nor could thy friends take their last sad farewell ; T' enjoy at onee a quiet life and thee ;
But danger and infectious death

If we for happiness could leisure find,
Maliciously seiz'd on that breath

And wandering Time into a method bird; Where life, spirit, pleasure, always us'd to dwell. We should not sure the great-men's favour need, But happy thou, ta'en from this frantic age,

Nor on long hopes, the court's thin diet, feed; Where ignorance and hypocrisy does rage!

We should not patience find daily to hear · A fitter time for Heaven no soul ere chose,

The calumnies and flatteries spoken there ;

We sbould not the lords' tables humbly use,
The place now only free from those.

Or talk in ladies' charnbers love and news;
There'mong the blest thou dost for ever shine,
And, wheresoe'er thou casts thy view,

But books, and wise discourse, gardens and fields, Upon that white and radiant crew,

And all the joys that unmixt Nature yields; See'st not a soul cloth'd with more light than thine. Thick summer shades, where winter still does lie,

Bright winter fires, that summer's part supply: And, if the glorious saints cease not to know Sleep, not control'd by cares, confin'd to night, Their wretched friends who fight with life below, Or bound in any rule but appetite : Thy fame to me does still the same abide, Free, but not savage or ungracious mirth, Only more pure and rarefy'd.

Rich wines, to give it quick and easy birth; There, whilst immortal hymns thou dost rehearse, A few companions, which ourselves should uhuse, Thou dost with holy pity see

A gentle mistress, and a gentler Muse. Our dull and earthy poesy,

Such dearest friend ! such, without doubt, should Where grief and misery can be join'd with verse. be

Our place, our business, and our company.
Now to himself, alas ! does neither live.

But sees good suns, of which we are to give
ODE.

A strict account, set and march thick away:

Knows a man how to live, and does he stay?
IN IMITATION OF VORACE'S ODE,
Quis multâ gracilis te puer in rosa
Perfusus, &c.

Lib. I. Od. v.

THE CHRONICLE.
To whom now, Pyrrha, art thou kind ?
To what heart-ravish'd lover

MARGARITA first possest,
Dost thou they golden locks unbind,
Thy hidden sweets discover,

If I remember well, my breast,
And with large bounty open set

Margarita first of all;
All the bright stores of thy rich cabinet ?

But when awhile the tanton maid

With my restless heart had play'd,
Ah, simple youth ! how oft will he

Martha took the flying ball.
Of thy chang'd faith complain?
And his own fortunes find to be

Martha soon did it resign
So airy and so vain,

To the beauteous Catharine.
Of so cameleon-like an hue,

Beauteous Catharine gave place
That still their colour changes with it too! (Though loth and angry she to part

With the possession of my heart)
How oft, alas ! will he admire

To Eliza's conquering face.
The blackness of the skies !
Trembling to hear the wind sound higher,

Eliza till this hour might reign,
And see the billows rise!

Had she not evil counsels ta'en.
Poor anexperienc'd he,

Fundamental laws she broke,
Who ne'er alas ! before had been at sca!

And still new favourites she chose,

Till up in arms my passions rose,
He enjoys thy calmy sunshine now,

And cast away her yoke.
And no breath stirring hears;
In the clear heaven of thy brow

Mary then, and gentle Anné,
No smallest cloud appears,

Both to reign at once began;

A BALLAD.

THE USE OF IT IN DIVINE MATTERS.

Brave Jersey Muse! and he's for this high style And seeks by useless pride,
Call'd to this day the Homer of the isle.

With slight and withering leaves that nakedness to Alas! to men here no words less hard be

hide. To rhyme with, than + Mount Orgueil is to me;

“ Henceforth,” said God, “ the wretched sons of Mount Orgueil ! which, in scorn o'th' Muses law,

Earth With no yoke-fellow word will deign to draw.

Shall sweat for food in vain, Stubborn Mount Orgueil ! 'tis a work to make it

That will not long sustain; Come into rhyme, more hard than 'twere to take it. And bring with labour forth each fond abortive birth. Alas! to bring your tropes and figures here,

That serpent too, their pride, Strange as to bring camels and elephants were ;

Which aims at things deny'd; And metaphor is so unknown a thing,

That learn'd and eloquent lust; 'Twould need the preface of God save the king.

Instead of mounting high, shall creep upon the Yet this I'll say, for th' honour of the place,

dust."
That, by God's extraordinary grace
(Which shows the people have judgment, if not wit)
The land is undefil'd with clinches yet ;

REASON,
Which, in my poor opinion, I confess,
Is a most singular blessing, and no less
Than Ireland's wanting spiders. And, so far

Some blind themselves, 'cause possibly they may From th' actual sin of bombast too they are,

Be led by others a right way; (That other crying sin oth’ English Muse) That even Satan himself can accuse

They build on sands, which if uninov'd they find,

"Tis but because there was no wind. None here (no not so much as the divines)

Less hard 'tis, not to err ourselves, than know For th' motus primò primi to strong lines.

If our forefathers err'd or no. Well, since the soil then does not naturally bear

When we trust men concerning God, we then Verse, who (a devil) should import it here? For that to me would seem as strange a thing

Trust not God concerning men. As who did first wild beasts int' islands bring; Visions and inspirations some expect Unless you think that it might taken be,

Their course here to direct; As Green did Gondibert, in a prize at sea :

Like senseless chymists their own wealth destroy, But that's a fortune falls not every day ;

Imaginary gold t enjoy: 'Tis true Green was made by it ; for they say So stars appear to drop to us from sky, The parl’ament did a noble bounty do,

And gild the passage as they fly; And gave him the whole prize, their tenths and But when they fall, and meet th’ opposing ground, fifteenths too.

What but a sordid slime is found ? Sometimes their fancies they 'bove reason set,

And fast, that they may dream of meat ; THE TREE OF KNOWLEDGE.

Sometimes ill spirits their sickly souls delude,

And bastard forms obtrude;
THAT THERE IS NO KNOWLEDGE.

So Endor's wretched sorceress, although
Against the Dogmatists.

She Saul through his disguise did know,
The sacred tree midst the fair orchard grew;

Yet, when the devil comes up disguis'd, she cries, The Phenix Truth did on it rest,

“ Behold! the Gods arise." And built his perfum'd nest :

In vain alas ! these outward hopes are try'd ; That right Porphyrian tree which did true logic Reason within's our only guide ; shew.

Reason, which (God be prais’d!) still walks, for all Each leaf did learned notions give,

Its old orig'nal fall; And th' apples were demonstrative:

And, since itself the boundless Godhead join'd So clear their colour and divine,

With a reasonable mind, The very shade they cast did other lights out-shine. It plainly shows that mysteries divine "Taste not,” said God, “ tis mine and angels'

May with our reason join. meat;

The holy book,like the eighth sphere, does shine A certain death doth sit,

With thousand lights of truth divine:
Like an ill worm, i' th' core of it.

So numberless the stars, that to the eye
Ye cannot know and live, nor live or know, and eat." It makes but all one galaxy.
Thus spoke God, yet man did go

Yet Reason must assist too; for, in seas
Ignorantly on to know;

So vast and dangerous as these, Grew so more blind, and she

Our course by stars above we cannot know, Who tempted him to this grew yet more blind Without the compass too below. than he.

Though Reason cannot through Faith's mysteries The only science man by this did get,

see, Was but to know he nothing knew :

It sees that there and such they be ; He straight his nakedness did view,

Leads to Heaven's door,and there does humbly keep, His ignorant poor estate, and was asham'd of it. And there through chinks and key-holes peep; Yet searches probabilities,

Though it, like Moses, by a sad command, And rhetoric, and fallacies,

Must not come into th' Holy Land,

Yet thither it infallibly does guide, • The name of one of the castles in Jersey.

And from afar 'tis all descry'd.