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They, neighbours to your eyes,
I would have all my mistress' parts
I would not woo the dress,
Or one whose nights give lesi
Contentment than the day,
For 'tis not buildings make a court.
If Jupiter down pour J?
Himself, and in a shower
Hide such bright majesty, 1 rs than a golden one it cannot be.
en THE ONCER! Aintt op FORTVNI. .
v A TRANSLATION.
L/favf. off unfit complaints, and clear
From sighs your bn ast, arid from black clouds
When the Sun shines not with his wonted cheer, And For tune throws an adverse cast for you!
That sea which vext with Kotus is, The merry East-winds will to morrow kiss.
The Srtn to day rides drowsily, To-morrow 'twill prrt on a look more fair: Laughter and groaning do alternately Kclurn, and tears sport's nearest neighbours are.
'Tis by the gods appointed so,
Who drave his oxen yesterday,
Whom Hesperus saw poor and low.
If Fortune knit amongst her play
And with the crowned axe, which he
Dl •OMMINDATION OPTSE TIME WE I. IT I CKDIR, TBI X1ICN OF Ol» eSAClOt-'S KING CHARLES.
Curst be that wretch (Death's factor sure) who brought
Dire swords into the peaceful world, and taught
Arts, in most cru. I wise
Man's life t' epitomize!
Then men (fond men, alas!) ride post to th' grave. And cut those threads which yet the Fates would save;
Then Charon sweated at his trade,
Then, then the silver hair.
Frequent before, grew rare.
Then Revenge, married to Ambition,
Then limits loeach field were strain'd,
In what plain, or what river, hath not been
Such griefs, nay worse than theBe, we now should feel,
Did not just Charles silence the rage of steel,'
Our (Juries, blestalchymist! (though strange,
UPON THE SHORTNESS OF Man's LI PI.
Mark that swift arrow ! how it cuts the air.
How it out-runs thy following eye 1
Cse all persuasions now, and try
That way it went; but thou shalt find
Nu tract is left behind.
Of all the time thou ' st shot away,
I '11 b.d thee tetch but yesterday, And it shall be too bard a task to do.
Besides repencance, what canst find
That it hath left behnrd?
A doutittul cloud our substance bears, v And is the horse of ail our years. Each day doth on a winged whirlwind ride.
We and our glass run our, and must
Beth render up our dust.
Who never thinks his end too Hear,
But says to Fame,'' Thou art miue heii -t'' That man extends life's natural brevity—
This is, this is the only way
To out-l.ve Nestor in a day.
AN ANSWER TO AN INriTATIOX TO
CAMBRIDGE. Nichols, my bel'erself! forbear;
For, if thou tell'st what Cambridge pleasures are,
The schoolboy's sin will light on me,
Tell me not how you feed your mind
0 tell *re not of logic's diTerse cheer!
1 shall begin to loathe uur crambo here
Tell me not how the waves appear Of Cam, or how it cuts the learned shire;
[shall contemn the troubl'd Thames On her chief holiday; ev'n when her si reams
Are with rich tolly gilded; whi n
The quondam dnng-boat is marie gay,
Anrl graces with fresh paint that day; tVvr th' city shines with flags and pageants there, lad tatiu doublets, seen uot twice a year.
Why do I stay f hen? I would mret Thee there, but plummets hang upon my feet;
Tis my chief wish to live with thee, Put not till I deserve thy company:
Till then, we '11 scorn to let that toy,
Some forty miles, divide our hearts:
Write to me, and I shall enjoy . Friendship and wit, thy better parts. Though envious Fortune Jareer hindrance brings, We 'II easily sea each olher; Love hath wings.
TESTASD* VIA F.ST, &C.
■|17HAT shall I do to be for ever known,
Unless you write my elegy;
Their mothers' labour, not their own.
The vieight of that mounts this so high.
Brought forth with their own lire and light: If 1, her vulgar stone, for either look,
Out of myself it must be strook.
Sate 1 Fame's trumpet hear:
Raise up the buried man.
And march, the Muses' Hannibal.
Sets of roses in the way!
Aid all that is not above Fate!
Which intercepts my coming praise. Come, my best friends, my books! and lead me on;
Til time that I were gone.
All 1 was bum to know:
He conqtier'd th' earth, the whole world you. Welcome, learn'd Cicero! whose blest tongue and wit
Preserves Rome's greatness yet: Thou art the first uf orators; only he
Who best can praise thee, next must be. Welcome the Mantuan swan, Viritil the wise!
Whose verse walks highest, but not flies J Wko brought green Poesy to her perfect age,
And made that art which was a rage. Tell me, ye mighty Three! what shall 1 do
To be like one of you? 1st you nave climb'd the mountain's top, there sit
Ob the cairn flourishing head of it,
And, whilst witji wearied steps we upwards g»,
See us, and clouds, below.
ODE. OF WIT.
Ti-ll me, O toll, what kind of thing is Wit,
Thou who master ai t of it f
A thousand different shapes it bears.
Comely in thousand shapi s 'ppears. Yonder we saw it plain; and lu re 'tis low. Like spirits, in a place we know not how. Loudon, that vents of false ware so much store,
In no ware deceives us more; f For men, led by the colour and the shape, Like Zeuxis' birds, fly to the painted grape.
Some things do through our judgment pass
As through a multiplying-glass;
And sometimes, if the object be too tar,
We take a falling meteor for a star.
Hence 'tis, a Wit, that greatest word of fame,
And Wits by our creation they become,
Just so as titular bishops made at I'ome.
Nor florid talk, which can that title gain;
The proofs of Wit for ever must remain.
Tis not to force some lifeless verses meet
All, every where, like man's, must he the soul,
And Reason the inferior powers controul.
Such were the numbers «liich could call
Such miracles are ceas'd; and now we see
No towns or houses rais'd by poetry.
Yet 'tis not to adorn and gild each part;
Jewels at nose and tips but ill appear;
Rattier than all things Wit, let none be there.
Men doubt, because they stand so thick r th' sky,
If those be stars which pai t the galaxy.
Tis not when two like words make up one noise
Garat is thy charge, O North ! be wise and just,
Whilst we, like younger brothers, get at best
on the death or
What shall we say, since silent now is he
ow THE DEATH OF Mr. Jord.tv, second Master. At west Minsreit school.
H ENce, and make room for me, all you who come
ON HIS MAJESTY'S RETURN...DEATH OF WANDYCK.
Tour we in chief; our country soon was grown
praise, Was a thing full of reverence, profit, fame; Father itself was but a second name. He scorn'd the profit; his instructions all Were, like the science, free and liberal. He deserv'd honours, but despis'd them too, As much as those who have them others do. He knew not that which compliment they call; Could flatter none, but himself least of all. So true, so faithful, and so just, as he Was nought on Earth but his own memory; His memory, where all things written were, As sure and fixt as in Fate's books they are. Thus he in arts so vast a treasure gain'd, Whilst still the use came in, and stock remain'd : And, having purchas'd all that man can know, He labour'd with "t to enrich others now ; Did thus a new and harder task sustain, Like those that work in mines for others' gain: He, though more nobly, had much more to do, To search the vein, dig, purge, and mint it too. Though my excuse would be, I must confess, Much better had his diligence been less; But, if a Muse hereafter smile on me, and say, “Be thou a poet !” men shall see That none could a more grateful scholar have; Fur what Iow'd his life I'll pay his grave.
Wricour, great Sir! with all the joy that's due
'Twas only Heaven could work this wondrous thing,
The gain of civil wars will mot allow
At such a game what fool would venture in,
Where one must lose yet neither side can win 2
How justly would our neighbours smile
At these mad quarrels of our isle; Swell'd with proud hopes to snatch the whole away Whilst we bet all, and yet for nothing play !
How was the silver Time frighted before,
No blood so loud as that of civil war:
Let's rather go and seek out them and fame;
Thus our fore-fathers got, thus left, a name:
Why sit we still, our spirits wrapt in lead 2
Not like them whilst they liv'd, but now they're
The noise at home was but Fate's policy,
Sure there are actions of this height and praise
on the DEATH or SIR ANTHOVY. P.ANDYCK, The FAMous painter.
Wanovck is dead; but what bold Muse shall dare
Where he bi holds new sights, divinely fair,
Only his beauteous lady still he loves
How wretched does Prometheus' state appear,
II Eke's to thee, D:ck ; this whining love despise j Pledge me, my friend; and drink till thou be'st wise.
It sparkles brighter far than she:
With all thy servile pains what canst thou win,
Whom would that painted toy a beauty move;
Whom would it e'er persuade to court and love;
Follies thoy have so numberless in store,
Neither their sighs nor tears are true;
Those idly blow, these idly fall,
Nothing like to ours at all:
But sighs and tears have sexes too.
Here's to thee again ; thy senseless sorrows drown; l>et the glass walk, till all things too go round 1
Again, till these two lights be four;
No errour here can dangerous prove:
Thy passion, man, deceiv'd thee more;
None double see like men in love.
FRIENDSHIP IS ABSENCE.
»» Hen chance or cnidl business par's us two.
Abroad, and meet each other half the way.
Sure they do meet, enjoy each other there,
Yet not themselves their own conjunctions know.
'Twere an ill world, 1 Ml swear, for evtry friend,
His time's for ever, every where his place.
I'm there with thee, yet here with me thou art,
Lodg'd in each other's heart:
Miracles cease not yet in love.
When he his mighty power will try,
Absence itself does Iwunteous prove, And strangely ev'n our presence multiply.
Pure is the flame of Friendship, and divine,
Like that which in Heaven's Sun does shine:
He in the upper air and sky
Does no effects of heat bestow;
But, as his beams the farther fly,
Friendship is less apparent when too nigh,
That their love then seems but self-love to be.
Each day think on me, and each day I shall
For thee make hours canonical.
By every wind that comes this way,
Send me, at least, a sigh or two;
Such and so many I'll repay,
A thousand pretty ways we'll think upon,
To mock our separat on.
Alas ! ten thousand will not do;
My heart will thus no longer stay;
No longer 'twill be kept from you, But knocks against the breast to get away.
And, when no art affords me help or ease,
I seek with verse my griefs t' appease;
It sits and sings, and so o'ercomes its rage.
TO THE BISHOP OF LIJVCOLN,
upon an Kmlaigement Out Of The Towu.
Pakoom, my lord, that I am come so late