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Why, as we pass, do those on Xanthus' shore, It is not thou, but we are blind,
And our corporeal eyes (we find)
Dazzle the optics of our mind.
Love to our citadel resorts, “ Behold cur gallant leaders! These are they Through those deceitful sally-ports, Deserve the greatness; and unenvy'd stand: Our sentinels betray our forts. Since what they act, transcends what they command.”
What subtle witchcraft man constrains, Could the declining of this fate (oh, friend)
To change his pleasure into pains,
And all his freedom into chains ?
Like wedlock, honour's title have ?
That word makes free-born man a slave, Since age, disease, or some less noble end, Though not less certain, doth our days attend;
How happy he that loves not lives!
Him neither hope nor fear deceives, Since 'tis decreed, and to this period lead To Fortune who no hostage gives. A thousand ways, the noblest path we'll tread; And bravely on, till they, or we, or all,
How unconcern'd in things to come! A common sacrifice to honour fall.
If here uneasy, finds at Rome,
Secure from low and private ends,
His life, his zeal, his wealth attends
His prince, his country, and his friends. Or else be
Danger and honour are bis joy; Kind and brisk, and gay like me;
But a fond wife, or wanton boy, I pretend not to the wise ones,
May all those generous thoughts destroy. To the grave, to the grave,
Then he lays-by the public care, Or the precise ones.
Thinks of providing for an heir; 'Tis not cheeks, nor lips, nor eyes,
Learns how to get, and how to spare. That I prize, Quick conceits, or sharp replies ;
Nor fire, nor foe, nor fate, nor night, If wise thou wilt appear and knowing,
The Trojan hero did affright, Repartie, Repartie,
Who bravely twice renew'd the fight. To what I'm doing.
Though still his foes in number grew,
Thicker their darts and arrows flew,
Yet left alone, no fear he knew.
But Death in all her forms appears, I love day-light and a candle,
From every thing he sees and hears, And to see, and to see,
For whom he leads, and whom he bears!. As well as handle.
Love, making all things eise his foes, Why so many bolts and locks,
Like a fierce torrent, overflows
Whatever doth his course oppose.
This was the cause the poets sung
Thy mother from the sea was sprung, Itself were naked.
But they were mad to make thee young. But if a mistress I must have,
Her father not her son art thou : Wise and grave,
From our desires our actions grow; Let her so herself behave;
And from the cause th' effect must flow, All the day long Susan civil, Pap by night, pap by night,
Love is as old as place or time;
Twas he the fatal tree did climb,
Well may'st thou keep this world in awe; FRIENDSHIP AND SINGLE LIFE, Religion, wisdom, honour, law,
The tyrant in his triumph draw. LOVE AND MARRIAGE. 'Tis he commands the powers abore; Love! in what poison is thy dart
Phoebus resigns his darts, and Jove Dipt, when it makes a bleeding heart?
His thunder, to the god of Love. None know, but they who feel the smart,
! His father and son.
To him doth his feign'd mother yield;
Next (like Aurora) Spenser rose, Nor Mars (her champion)'s flaming shield Whose purple blush the day foreshows; Guards him when Cupid takes the field. The other three, with his own fires,
Phoebus, the poets' god, inspires; He clips Hope's wings, whose airy bliss By Shakespear's, Jonson's, Fletcher's lines, Much higher than fruition is;
Our stage's lustre Rome's outshines : But less than nothing, if it miss.
These poets near our princes sleep,
And in one grave their mansion keep. When matches Love alone projects
They liv'd to see so many days,
Till time had blasted all their bays:
That pluck'd the fairest, sweetest flower
That in the Muses' garden grew, Where Love's of blindness dispossest,
And amongst wither'd laurels threw. By perspectives of interest.
Time, which made thérn their fame outlive, Though Solomon with a thousand wives,
To Cowley scarce did ripeness give. To get a wise successor strives,
Old mother Wit, and Nature, gave But one (and he a fool) survives.
Shakespeare and Fletcher all they have ;
In Spenser, and in Jonson, Art Old Rome of children took no care,
Of slower Nature got the start; They with their friends their beds did share,
But both in him so equal are, Secure t'adopt a hopeful heir.
None knows which bears the happiest share ,
To him no author was unknown, Love drowsy days and stormy nights
Yet what he wrote was all his own; Makes; and breaks friendship, whose delights He melted not the ancient gold, Feed, but not glut, our appetites.
Nor, with Ben Jonson, did make bold
To plunder all the Roman stores. Well-chosen friendship, the most noble
Of poets, and of orators : Of virtues, all our joys makes double,
Horace's wit, and Virgil's state, And into halves divides our trouble.
He did not steal, but emulate ! But when th' unlucky knot we tie,
And when he would like them appear, Care, avarice, fear, and jealousy,
Their garb, but not their clothes, did wears Make friendship languish till it die.
He not from Rome alone, but Greece,
Like Jason brought the golden fleece ; The wolf, the lion, and the bear,
To him that language (though to none When they their prey in pieces tear,
Of th others) as his own was known. To quarrel with themselves forbear :
On a stiff gale (as Flaccus sings)
The Theban swan extends his wings, Yet timorous deer, and harmless sheep, When through th' etherial clouds he flies : When love into their veins doth creep,
To the same pitch our swan doth rise ; That law of Nature cease to keep.
Old Pindar's flights by him are reach'd
When on that gale his wings are stretch'd; Who then can blame the amorous boy,
His fancy and his judgment such, Who the fair Helen to enjoy,
Each to the other seem'd too much, To quench his own, set fire on Troy?
His severe judgment (giving law) Such is the world's preposterous fate,
His modest fancy kept in awe: Amongst all creatures, mortal hate
As rigid husbands, jealous are, Love (though immortal) doth create.
When they believe their wives too fair.
His English streams so pure did how, But love may beasts excuse, for they
As all that saw and tasted know : 'Their actions not by reason sway,
But for his Latin vein, so clear, But their brute appetites obey.
Strong, full, and high it doth appear,
That were immortal Virgil here,
Of that great portraiture, so true
A copy, pencil never drew.
Joy and amazement her did strike,
One soul might through more bodies pass.
Seeing such transmigration there, OLD Chaucer, like the morning star,
She thought it not a fable here.
Such a resemblance of all parts,
Then lights her torch at theirs, to tell,
And show the world this parallel : Darkness again the age invades.
Fixt and contemplative their looks,
Still turning over Nature's books:
The wheel that governs all : Their works chaste, moral, and divine,
From thence the change in church and stafe, Where profit and delight combine ;
And all the mischief bears the date
From Haberdashers' Hall.
Did we force Ireland to despair,
Upon the king to cast the war, To the celestial orbs they climb,
To make the world abhor him, And with th' harmonious spheres keep time:
Because the rebels us'd his name? Nor did their actions fall behind
Though we ourselves can do the same, Their words, but with like candour shin'd;
While both alike were for him.
Then the same fire we kindled here
With what was given to quench it there,
And wisely lost that nation: Yet having each the same desire,
To do as crafty beggars use, Both from the busy throng retire.
To maim themselves, thereby t' abuse
The simple man's compassion.
Have I so often past between
Windsor and Westminster, unseen, Nor fire nor Fate their bays shall blast,
And did myself divide :
To keep his excellence in awe, Nor Death's dark yeil their day o'ercast,
And give the parliament the law?
For they knew none beside.
Did I for this take pains to teach
And did their lungs inspire ;
Gave them their texts, show'd them their parts,
And taught them all their little arts,
Sometimes to beg, sometimes to threaten, And languish in the main design,
And say the cavaliers have beaten,
To stroke the people's ears?
Then straight when victory grows cheap, But as the only way t' enjoy
And will no more advance the heap, The ruin of the church,
To raise the price of fears. Is not the bishop's bill deny'd,
And now the books, and now the bells, And we still threaten'd to be try'd ?
And now our act the preacher tells, You see the king embraces
To edify the people ; Those counsels he approv'd before :
All our divinity is news, Nor doth he promise, which is more,
And we have made of equal use That we shall have their places.
The pulpit and the steeple, Did I for this bring in the Scot?
And shall we kindle all this flame (For 'tis no secret now) the plot
Only to put it out again, Was Saye's and mine together :
And must we now give o'er, Did I for this return again,
And only end where we begun And, spend a winter there in vain,
In vain this mischief we have done,
If we can do no more.
Where 's the necessity to fight,
That breaks both law and vath? At my return I brought you thence
They'll say they fight not for the cause, Necessity, their strong pretence,
Nor to defend the king and laws. And these shall quit the cost,
But us against them both. Did I for this my country bring
Either the cause at first was ill, To help their knight against their king,
Or being good, it is so still ; And raise the first sedition?
And thence they will infer, Though I the business did decline,
That either now or at the first Yet I contriv'd the whole design,
They were deceiv'd; or, which is worst, And sent them their petition,
That we ourselves may err, So many nights spent in the city
But plague and famine will come ing In that invisible committee,
For they and we are near of kip,
TO FIVE MEMBERS OF THE HOUSE OF COMMONS. 249 And cannot go asunder:
For all those pretty knacks you compose, But while the wicked starve, indeed
Alas, what are they but poems in prose? The saints have ready at their need
And between those and ours there's no difference, God's providence, and plunder.
But that yours want the ryme, the wit, and the
sense : Princes we are if we prevail,
But for lying (the most noble part of a poet) And gallant villains if we fail :
You have it abundantly, and yourselves know it ; When to our fame 'tis told,
And though you are modestand seem to abhor it, It will not be our least of praise,
T has done you good service, and thank Heli Since a new state we could not raise.
for it : To have destroy'd the old.
Although the old maxim remains still in force,
That a sanctify'd cause must have a sanctify'd Then let us stay and fight, and vote,
If poverty be a part of our trade,
[course, Till London is not worth a great ;
So far the whole kingdom poets you have made, Oh'tis a patient beast !
Nay even so far as undoing will do it, When we have gall’d and tir'd the mule,
You have made king Charles himself a poct : And can no longer have the rule,
But provoke not his Muse, for all the world We'll have the spoil at least.
Already you have had too much of his prose. TO THE FIVE MEMBERS
A WESTERN WONDER. HONOURABLE HOUSE OF COMMONS, Do you not know not a fortnight ago,
THE NUMBLE PETITION OF THE POETS. How they bragg'd of a Western Wonder ? AFTER so many concurring petitions
When a hundred and ten slew five thousand men,
With the help of lightning and thunder ? From all ages and sexes, and all conditions, We come in the rear to present our follies There Hopton was slain again and again, To Pym, Stroude, Haslerig, Hampden, and Or else my author did lye ; [living, Holles.
With a new Thanksgiving, for the dead who are Though set form of prayer be an abomination, To God, and his servant Chidleigh. Set forms of petitions find great approbation : Therefore, as others from th’ bottom of their But now on which side was this miracle try'd, souls,
I hope we at last are even ;
(graves, So we from the depth and bottom of our bowls, For sir Ralph and his knaves are risen from their According unto the bless'd form you havetaught To cudgel the clowns of Devon.
us, Wethank you first for the ills you have brought us : And there Stamford came, for his honour was For the good we receive we thank him that gave Of the gout three months together ; (lame And you for the confidence only to crave it. [it, But it prov'd when they fought, but a runniug Next in course, we complain of the great viola For his heels were lighter than ever. [gout Of privilege (like the rest of our nation); [tion For now he outruns his arms and his guns, But 'tis none of yours of which we have spoken, Which never had being until they were broken ; But they follow after; unless he takes
And leaves all his money behind him ;
At Plymouth again they will find him.
What Reading hath cost, and Stamford hath Next, that we only may lye by authority ;
Goes deep in the sequestrations ! [lost, But in that also you have got the priority.
These wounds will not heal, with your new great Next, an old custom, our fathers did name it
Nor Jepson's declarations.
(seal. Poetical licence, and always did claim it. Now, Peters and Case, in your prayer and grace By this we have power to change age into youth, Remember the new Thanksgiving ; Tarn nonsense to sense, and falsehood to truth; Isaac and his wife, now dig for your life, In brief, to make good whatsoever is faulty; Or shortly you'll dig for your living. This art some poet, or the Devil, has taught ye: And this our property you have invaded, And a privilege of both houses have made it. But that trust above all in poets reposed,
A SECOND WESTERN WONDER. That kings by them only are made and deposed, You heard of that wonder, of the lightning and This though you cannot do, yet you are willing : thunder, But when we undertake deposing or killing, Which made the lye so much the louder : They're tyrants and monsters; and yet then the Now list to another, that miracle's brother, poet
Which was done with a firkin of powder. Takes full revenge on the villains that do it : And when we resume a sceptre or crown, O what a damp it struck through the camp ! We are modest, and seek not to make it our own. But as for honest sir Ralph, Bat is 't not presumption to write verses to you, It blew him to the Vies, without beard or eyes, Who make better poems by far of the two But at least three heads and a half.
When out came the book which the news-monger | But, alas ! he had been feasted
From the preaching ladies letter, [took With a spiritual collation,
And sup on an exhortation.
'Twas mere impulse of spirit, Great William the Con, so fast he did run, Though he usd the weapon carnal: That he left half his name behind him.
“ Filly foal," quoth he,
« My bride thou shalt be, And now came the post, save all that was lost, And how this is lawful, learn all.
But alas, we are past deceiving
“ For if no respect of persons Might amount to a new Thanksgiving.
Be due 'mongst sons of Adam,
In a large extent, This made Mr. Case, with a pitiful face,
Thereby may be meant In the pulpit to fall a weeping, [eyes, That a mare 's as good as a madam.” Though his mouth utter'd lyes, truth fell from his
Then without more ceremony, Which kept the lord-mayor from sleeping.
Not bonnet vail'd, nor kiss'd her,
But took her by force,
For better for worse,
A saint will needs be riding,
Though we dare not say
"Tis a falling away, NEWS FROM COLCHESTER:
May there be not some back-sliding? Or, A proper New Ballad of certain Carnal Pas- "No surely," quoth James Naylor, sages betwixt a Quaker and a Colt, at Horsly,
“ 'Twas but an insurrection near Colchester, in Essex.
of the camal part,
For a Quaker in heart
Can never lose perfection.
“ For (as our masters' teach us) Near Colchester the zealous,
The intent being well directed,
Though the Devil trepan
The Adamical man,
The saint stands uninfected." Help Woodcock, Fox, and Naylor,
But alas ! a Pagan jury
Ne'er judges what's intended;
Then say what we can,
Brother Green's outward man When a Quaker turns Italian:
I fear will be suspended. Even to our whole profession
And our adopted sister
Will find no better quarter,
But when him we enrol
For a saint, Filly Foal
Shall pass herself for a martyr.
No longer is thy debtor,
o Colchester, now E'er play'd such a Christmas gambal!
Who's Sodom but thou,
Even according to the letter?
Hadst thou sweeten'd thy gums
In cottages and smoaky cells, Roll'd up in wanton swine's flesh,
Hates gilded roofs and beds of down; The fiend might have crep into thee;
And though he fears no prince's frown, Then fullness of gut
Flies from the circle of a crown.
5 The Jesuits.