LUCASTA.  
Posthume POEMS OF Richard Lovelace Esq  
Those Honours come too late,  
That on our Ashes wait.  Mart. lib. 1. Epig. 26. 
LONDON. Printed by William Godbid for Clement Derby. 1659.   

THE DEDICATION.  
To the Right Honourable john Lovelace Esquire.  
SIR,  
LUcasta (fair, but hapless Maid!)  
Once flourished underneath the shade  
Of your Illustrious Mother; Now,  
An Orphan grown, she bows to you!  
To YOU, Her virtues noble Heir,  
Oh may she find protection there;  
Nor let her welcome be the less  
'Cause a rough hand makes her Address,  
One (to whom Foes the Muses are)  
Born and Bred up in Rugged War;  
For, Conscious how unfit I am,  
I only have pronounced her Name,  
To waken pity in your Breast,  
And leave Her Tears to plead the Rest.  
SIR, Your most obedient Servant and Kinsman Dudley Posthumus-Lovelace.   

POEMS.  

To LUCASTA:  

Her Reserved looks.  
LVcasta frown and let me die,  
But smile and see I live;  
The sad indifference of your Eye  
Both kills, and doth reprieve.  
You hide our fare within its screen,  
We feel our judgement ere we hear:  
So in one Picture I have seen  
An Angel here, the Devil there,   

Lucasta laughing.  
Hark how she laughs aloud,  
Although the world put on its shroud;  
Wept at by the fantastic Crowd,  
Who cry, One drop let fall  
From her, might save the Universal Ball.  
She laughs again  
At our ridiculous pain;  
And at our merry misery  
She laughs until she cry;  
Sages, forbear  
That ill-contrived tear,  
Although your fear,  
Doth barricadoe Hope from your soft Ear,  
That which still makes her mirth to flow,  
Is our sinister-handed woe,  
Which downwards on its head doth go;  
And ere that it is sown, doth grow,  
This makes her spleen contract,  
And her just pleasure feast;  
For the unjustest act  
Is still the pleasantest jest.   

SONG.  

1.  
Strive not, vain Lover, to be fine,  
Thy silk's the Silkworms, and not thine;  
You lessen to a Fly your Mistress Thought,  
To think it may be in a Cobweb caught,  
What though her thin transparent lawn  
Thy heart in a strong Net hath drawn?  
Not all the Arms the God of Fire ere made,  
Can the soft Bulwarks of naked Love invade.   

2.  
Be truly fine then, and yourself dress  
In her fair Souls immac'late glass:  
Then by reflection you may have the bliss  
Perhaps to see what a True fineness is;  
When all your Gawderies will fit  
Those only that are poor in wit;  
She that a clinquant outside doth adore,  
Dotes on a gilded Statue, and no more.    

In allusion to the French-Song. N entendez vous pas ce language.  Cho. 

THen understand you not (Fair choice)  
This Language without tongue or voice?   

1.  
How often have my Tears  
Invaded your soft Ears,  
And dropped their silent Chimes  
A thousand thousand times,  
Whilst Echo did your eyes,  
And sweetly Sympathise;  
But that the wary Lid  
Their Sluices did forbids   Cho. 

Then understand you not (Fair choice)  
This Language without tongue or voice?   

2.  
My Arms did plead my wound,  
Each in the other bound;  
Volleys of Sighs did crowd,  
And ring my griefs aloud;  
Groans, like a Canon Ball,  
Battered the Marble Wall,  
That the kind Neighbouring Grove,  
Did mutiny for Love.   Cho. 

Then understand you not (Fair Choice)  
This Language without tongue or voice?   

3.  
The Rheth'rick of my Hand  
Wooed you to understand;  
Nay, in our silent walk  
My very Feet would talk,  
My Knees were eloquent,  
And spoke the Love I meant;  
But deaf unto that Air,  
They bent, would fall in Prayer.   Cho. 

Yet understand you not (Fair Choice)  
This Language without tongue or voice?   

4.  
No? Know then I would melt,  
On every Limb I felt,  
And on each naked part  
Spread my expanded Heart,  
That not a Vein of thee,  
But should be filled with me.  
Whilst on thine own Down, I  
Would tumble, pant, and die.   Cho. 

You understand not this (Fair Choice;)  
This Language wants both tongue and voice.    

Night. To Lucasta.  

NIght! loathed Jailor of the locked up Sun,  
And Tyrant-turnkey on committed day;  
Bright Eyes lie fettered in thy Dungeon,  
And Heaven itself doth thy dark Wards obey:  
Thou dost arise our living Hell,  
With thee groans, terrors, furies dwell,  
Until Lucasta doth awake,  
And with her Beams these heavy chains off shake.   

Behold, with opening her Almighty Lid  
Bright eyes break rolling, and with lustre spread,  
And captive Day his chariot mounted is;  
Night to her proper Hell is beat,  
And screwed to her Ebon Seat;  
Till th' Earth with play oppressed lies,  
And draws again the Curtains of her Eyes.   

But Bondslave, I, know neither Day nor Night;  
Whether she murdering sleep or saving wake;  
Now broyl'dith ' Zone of her reflected light,  
Then froze my Icicles, not Sinews shake:  
Smile then new Nature, your soft blast  
Doth melt our Ice, and Fires waste:  
Whilst the scorched shivering world new born  
Now feels it all the day one rising morn.    

Love Enthroned.  
Ode.  

1.  
INtroth, I do myself persuade,  
That the wild Boy is grown a Man;  
And all his Childishness off laid,  
ere since Lucasta did his fires Fan;  
HE has left his apish Jigs,  
And whipping Hearts like Jigs;  
For t'other day I heard him swear  
That Beauty should be crowned in Honour's Chair.   

2.  
With what a true and heavenly State  
He doth his glorious Darts dispense,  
Now cleansed from Falsehood, Blood, and Hate,  
And newly tipped with Innocence;  
Love Justice is become,  
And doth the Cruel doom:  
Reversed is the old Decree;  
Behold! he sits Enthroned with Majesty.   

3.  
Enthroned in Lucasta's Eye  
He doth our Faith and Hearts Survey;  
Then measures them by Sympathy,  
And each to th' others Breast convey;  
Whilst to his Altars Now  
The frozen Vestals Bow,  
And strict Diana too doth go,  
A hunting with his feared, exchanged Bow.   

4.  
Th' Embracing Seas, and Ambient Air,  
Now in his holy fires burn;  
Fish couple, Birds and Beasts in pair,  
Do their own Sacrifices turn:  
This is a Miracle,  
That might Religion swell:  
But she that these and their God awes,  
Her crowned Self submits to her own Laws.    

Her Muff.  

1.  
'T Was not for some calm blessing to deceive,  
Thou didst thy polished hands in shagged furs wove,  
It were no blessing thus obtained,  
Thou rather wouldst a curse have gained,  
Then let thy warm driven snow be ever stained.   

2.  
Not that you feared the discolo'ring cold,  
Might, alchymize their Silver into Gold;  
Nor could your ten white Nuns so sin,  
That you should thus penance them in  
Each in her course hair smock of Discipline,   

3.  
Nor Hero-like, who on their crest still wore  
A Lion, Panther, Leopard or a Boar:  
To look their Enemies in their Hearse,  
Thou wouldst thy hand should deeper pierce,  
And, in its softness rough, appear more fierce.   

4.  
No, no, Lucasta, destiny Decreed  
That Beasts to thee a sacrifice should bleed,  
And strip themselves to make you gay;  
For ne'er yet Herald did display,  
A Coat, where Sables upon Ermine lay.   

5.  
This for Lay-Lovers, that must stand at door,  
Salute the threshold, and admire no more:  
But I, in my Invention tough,  
Rate not this outward bliss enough,  
But still contemplate must the hidden Muff.    

A Black patch on Lucasta's Face.  
DUll as I was, to think that a Court Fly,  
Presumed so near her Eye;  
When 'twas th'industrious Bee  
Mistook her glorious Face for Paradise,  
To sum up all his Chemistry of Spice;  
With a brave pride and honour led,  
Near both her Suns he makes his bed;  
And though a Spark struggles to rise as red:  
Then Aemulates the gay  
Daughter of Day,  
Acts the Romantic Phoenix fate:  
When now with all his Sweets laid out in state,  
Lucasta scatters but one Heat,  
And all the Aromatic pills do sweat,  
And Gums calcined, themselves to powder beat;  
Which a fresh gale of Air  
Conveys into her Hair;  
Then chafed he's set on fire,  
And in these holy flames doth glad expire;  
And that black marble Tablet there  
So near her either Sphere,  
Was placed; nor foil, nor Ornament,  
But the sweet little Bees large Monument.   

Another.  

1.  
AS I beheld a Winter's Evening Air,  
Curled in her court false locks of living hair,  
Buttered with Jessamine the Sun left there.   

2.  
Galliard and clinquant she appeared to give,  
A Serenade or Ball to us that grieve,  
And teach us Alamode more gently live.   

3.  
But as a Moor, who to her Cheeks prefers  
White Spots t'allure her black Idolaters,  
Me thought she looked all o'er bepatched with Stars.   

4.  
Like the dark front of some Ethiopian Queen,  
Veiled all ore with Gems of Red, Blue, Green;  
Whose ugly Night seemed masked with days Screen.   

5.  
Whilst the fond people offered Sacrifice  
To Sapphires 'stead of Veins and Arteries,  
And bowed unto the Diamonds, not her Eyes,   

6.  
Behold Lucasta's Face, how't glows like Noon!  
A Sun entire is her complexion,  
And formed of one whole Constellation.   

7.  
So gently shining, so serene, so clear,  
Her look doth Universal Nature cheer;  
Only a cloud or two hangs here and there.    

To Lucasta.  

1.  
I Laugh and sing, but cannot tell  
Whether the folly on't sounds well;  
But than I groan  
Methinks in Tune,  
Whilst Grief, Despair, and Fear, dance to the Air  
Of my despised Prayer.   

2.  
A pretty Antic Love does this,  
Then strikes a Galliard with a Kiss;  
As in the end  
The Chords they rend;  
So you but with a touch from your fair Hand,  
Turn all to Saraband.    

To Lucasta.  

1.  
LIke to the sentinel Stars, I watch all Night;  
For still the grand round of your Light,  
And glorious Breast  
Awakes in me an East,  
Nor will my rolling Eyes ere know a West.   

2.  
Now on my Down I'm tossed as on a Wave,  
And my repose is made my Grave;  
Fluttering I lie,  
Do beat myself and die,  
But for a Resurrection from your eye.   

3.  
Ah my fair Murderess! dost thou cruelly heal,  
With Various pains to make me well?  
Then let me be  
Thy cut Anatomy,  
And in each mangled part my heart you'll see,    

Lucasta at the Bath.  

1.  
I' th' Autumn of a Summer's day,  
When all the Winds got leave to play;  
Lucasta, that fair Ship, is launched,  
And from its crust this Almond blanched,   

2.  
Blow then, unruly Northwind, blow,  
Till in their holds your Eyes you stow;  
And swell your Cheeks, bequeath i'll Death:  
See! she hath smiled thee out of Breath.   

3.  
Court gentle Zephyr, court and fan  
Her softer breasts carnationed Wan;  
Your charming Rhetoric of Down  
Flies scattered from before her frown.   

4.  
Say, my white Water-Lilly, say,  
How is't those warm streams break away?  
Cut by thy chaste cold breast which dwells  
Amidst them armed in Icicles.   

5.  
And the hot floods more raging grown  
In flames of Thee, then in their own;  
In their distempers wildly glow,  
And kiss thy Pillar of fixed Snow.   

6.  
No Sulphur, through whose each blue Vein  
The thick and lazy Currents strain,  
Can cure the Smarting, nor the fell  
Blisters of Love wherewith they swell.   

7.  
These great Physicians of the Blind,  
The Lame, and fatal Blains of Ind,  
In every drop themselves now see  
Speckled with a new Leprosy.   

8.  
As Sick drinks are with old Wine dashed,  
Foul Waters too with Spirits washed;  
Thou grieved, perchance, one tear lettest fall,  
Which strait did purify them all.   

9  
And now is cleansed enough the flood,  
Which since runs clear, as doth thy blood;  
Of the wet Pearls uncrown thy hair,  
And mantle thee with Ermine Air.   

10.  
Lucasta, hail! fair Conqueress  
Of Fire, Air, Earth, and Seas;  
Thou whom all kneel to, yet even thou  
Wilt unto Love, thy captive, bow.    

The Ant.  

1.  
FOrbear thou great good Husband, little Ant  
A little respite from thy flood of sweat;  
Thou, thine own Horse and Cart under this Plant  
Thy spacious tent, fan thy prodigious heat;  
Down with thy double load of that one grain;  
It is a Granary for all thy Train.   

2.  
Cease large example of wise thrift a while,  
(For thy example is become our Law)  
And teach thy frowns a seasonable smile:  
So Cato sometimes the naked Florals saw.  
And thou almighty foe, lay by thy sting,  
Whilst thy unpaid Musicians, Crickets, sing.   

3.  
Lucasta, She that holy makes the Day,  
And ' stills new Life in fields of Fueillemort:  
Hath back restored their Verdure with one Ray,  
And with her Eye bid all to play and sport,  
Ant to work still; Age will Thee Truant call;  
And to save now, th' art worse than prodigal.   

4.  
Austeres and Cynic! not one hour t'allow,  
To lose with pleasure what thou gotst with pain:  
But drive on sacred Festivals, thy Blow;  
Tearing highways with thy ore charged Wain.  
Not all thy life time one poor Minute live,  
And thy o'er laboured Bulk with mirth relieve?   

5.  
Look up then miserable Ant, and spy  
Thy fatal foes, for breaking of her Law:  
Hovering above thee, Madam, Margaret Pie,  
And her fierce Servant, Meagre, Sir john Daw:  
Thyself and Storehouse now they do store up,  
And thy whole Harvest too within their Crop.   

6.  
Thus we untrifty thrive within Earth's Tomb,  
For some more ravenous and ambitious Jaw:  
The Grain in th' Ants, the Ants in the Pies womb,  
The Pie in th' Hawks, the Hawks i'th' Eagles maw:  
So scattering to hoard against a long Day,  
Thinking to save all, we cast all away.    

The snail.  
WIse Emblem of our Politic World,  
Sage snail, within thine own self curled;  
Instruct me softly to make haste,  
Whilst these my Feet go slowly fast.  
Compendious snail! thou seem'st to me,  
Large Euclids strict Epitome;  
And in each Diagram, dost Fling  
Thee from the point unto the Ring,  
A Figure now Triangulare,  
An Oval now, and now a Square;  
And then a Serpentine dost crawl  
Now a strait Line, now crooked, now all.  
Preventing Rival of the Day,  
The art up and openest thy Ray,  
And ere the Morn cradles the Moon,  
thouart broke into a Beauteous Noon.  
Then when the Sun sups in the Deep,  
Thy Silver Horns ere Cinthia's peep;  
And thou from thine own liquid Bed  
New Phoebus heav'st thy pleasant Head.  
Who shall a Name for thee create,  
Deep Riddle of Mysterious State:  
Bold Nature that gives common Birth  
To all products of Seas and Earth,  
Of thee, as Earthquakes, is afraid,  
Nor will thy dire Deliv'ry aid,  
Thou thine own daughter then, and Sire,  
That Son and Mother art entire,  
That big still with thyself dost go,  
And liv'st an aged Embryo;  
That like the Cubs of India,  
Thou from thyself a while dost play:  
But frighted with a Dog or Gun,  
In thine own Belly thou dost run,  
And as thy House was thine own womb,  
So thine own womb, concludes thy tomb.  
But now I must (analysed King)  
Thy Oeconomick Virtues sing;  
Thou great stayed Husband still within,  
Thou, thee, that's thine dost Discipline;  
And when thou art to progress bend,  
Thou movest thyself and tenement,  
As Warlike Scythians travailed, you  
Remove your Men and City too;  
Then after a sad Dearth and Rain,  
Thou scatterest thy Silver Train;  
And when the Trees grow naked and old,  
Thou cloathest them with Cloth of Gold,  
Which from thy Bowels thou dost spin,  
And draw from the rich Mines within.  
Now hast thou changed thee Saint; and made  
Thyself a Fane that's cupulaed;  
And in thy wreathed Cloister thou  
Walkest thine own Grey friar too;  
Strict, and locked up, thouart Hood all o'er  
And ne'er Eliminat'st thy Dore.  
On Salads thou dost feed severe,  
And stead of Beads thou droppest a tear,  
And when to rest, each calls the Bell,  
Thou sleepest within thy Matble Cell;  
Where in dark contemplation placed,  
The sweets of Nature thou dost taste;  
Who now with Time thy days resolve,  
And in a Jelly thee dissolve.  
Like a shot Star, which doth repair  
Upward, and Rarifie the Air,   

Another.  
THe Centaur, 〈…〉  
Those 〈…〉 too;  
Nor of the 〈…〉  
Nor the 〈…〉  
Behold, this 〈…〉  
Of Horses, Coach, 〈…〉  
That moveth 〈…〉  
And doth 〈…〉  
Then when the Sun the South doth win;  
He baits him 〈◊〉;  
I heard a grave and austere Clark,  
Resolved him Pilot both and Barque;  
That like the famed Ship of Trevere,  
Did on the Shore himself Lavere:  
Yet the Authentic do believe,  
Who keep their Judgement in their Sleeve,  
That he is his own Double man,  
And sick, still carries his Sedan:  
Or that like Dames i'th' Land of Luyck,  
He wears his everlasting Huyck:  
But banished, I admire his fate  
Since neither Ostracism of State,  
Nor a perpetual exile,  
Can force this Virtue, change his Soil;  
For wheresoever he doth go,  
He wanders with his Country too.   

Courante Monsieur.  

THat frown, Aminta now hath drowned  
Thy bright fronts power, and crowned  
Me that was bound.  
No, no, deceived Cruel no,  
Loves fiery darts  
Till tipped with kisses, never kindle Hearts.   

Adieu weak beauteous Tyrant, see!  
Thy angry flames meant me,  
Retort on thee:  
For know, it is decreed, proud fair,  
I ne'er must die  
By any scorching, but a melting Eye.    

A loose Saraband.  

1.  
NAy, prithee Dear, draw nigher,  
yet closer, nigher yet;  
Here is a double Fire,  
A dry one and a wet:  
True lasting Heavenly Fuel  
Puts out the Vestal jewel,  
When once we twining marry  
Mad Love with wild Canary.   

2.  
Off with that crowned Venice  
Till all the House doth flame,  
we'll quench it strait in Rhenish,  
Or what we must not name:  
Milk lightning still assuageth,  
So when our fury rageth,  
As th' only means to cross it,  
we'll drown it in Love's posset.   

3.  
Love never was Well-willer,  
Unto my Nag or me,  
Ne'er wattered us i'th' Cellar,  
But the cheap Buttery:  
At th' head of his own Barrels,  
Where broached are all his Quarrels,  
Should a true noble Master  
Still make his Guest his Taster.   

4.  
See all the World how't staggers,  
More ugly drunk than we,  
As if far gone in daggers,  
And blood it seemed to be:  
We drink our glass of Roses,  
Which nought but sweets discloses,  
Then in our Loyal Chamber,  
Refresh us with Love's Amber.   

5.  
Now tell me, thou fair Cripple,  
That dumb canst scarcely see  
Th' almightiness of Tipple,  
And th' odds 'twixt thee and thee:  
What of Elizium's missing?  
Still Drinking and still Kissing;  
Adoring plump October;  
Lord! what is Man and Sober?   

6.  
Now, is there such a Trifle  
As Honour, the fools Giant,  
What is there left to rifle,  
When Wine makes all parts pliant.  
Let others Glory follow,  
In their false riches wallow,  
And with their grief be merry;  
Leave me but Love and Sherry.    

The Falcon.  

FAir Princess of the spacious Air,  
That hast vouchsafed acquaintance here,  
With 〈…〉 below stairs,  
That can reach Heaven with nought but Prayers;  
Who when our activ'st wings we try,  
Advance a foot into the Sky.   

Bright Heir t' th' Bird Imperial,  
From whose avenging pennons fall  
Thunder and Lightning twisted Spun;  
Brave Cousin-german to the Sun,  
That didst forsake thy Throne and Sphere,  
To be an humble prisoner here;  
And for a pirch of her soft hand,  
Resign the Royal Woods command.   

How often woul'st thoushoot heavens Ark,  
Then mount thyself into a Lark;  
And after our short faint eyes call,  
When now a Fly, now nought at all;  
Then stoop so swift unto our Sense,  
As thouwert sent Intelligence.   

Free beauteous Slave, thy happy feet  
In silver Fetters vervails meet,  
And trample on that noble Wrist  
The Gods have kneeled in vain t' have kissed:  
But gaze not, bold deceived Spy,  
Too much o'th' lustre of her Eye;  
The Sun, thou dost outstare, alas!  
Winks at the glory of her Face.   

Be safe then in thy Velvet helm,  
Her looks are calms that do orewhelm,  
Then the Arabian bird more blest,  
Chafe in the spicery of her breast,  
And lose you in her Breath, a wind  
Sow'rs the delicious gales of Ind.   

But now a quill from thine own Wing  
I pluck, thy lofty fate to sing;  
Whilst we behold the varions fight,  
With mingled pleasure and affright,  
The humbler Hinds do fall to prayer,  
As when an Army's seen i'th' Air  
And the prophetic Spannels run,  
And howl thy Epicedium.   

The Heron mounted doth appear  
On his own Peg'sus a Lanceer,  
And seems on earth, when he doth hu●,  
A proper Halberdier on foot;  
Secure i'th' Moor, about to sup,  
The Dogs have beat his Quarters up.   

And now he takes the open air,  
Draws up his Wings with Tactick care;  
Whilst th' expert Falcon swift doth climb,  
In subtle Mazes serpentine;   

And to advantage closely twined  
She gets the upper Sky and Wind,  
Where she dissembles to invade,  
And lies a pol'tick Ambuscade.   

The hedg'd-in Heron, whom the Foe  
Awaits above, and Dogs below,  
In his fortification lies,  
And makes him ready for surprise;  
When roused with a shrill alarm,  
Was shouted from beneath, they arm.   

The Falcon charges at first view  
With her brigade of Talons; through  
Whose Shoots, the wary Heron beat,  
With a well counterwheeled retreat.  
But the bold Gen'ral never lost,  
Hath won again her airy Post;  
Who wild in this affront, now fries,  
Then gives a Volley of her Eyes.   

The desperate Heron now contracts,  
In one design all former facts;  
Noble he is resolved to fall  
His, and his Enemies' funeral,  
And (to be rid of her) to die  
A public Martyr of the Sky.   

When now he turns his last to wreak  
The palizadoes of his Beak;  
The raging foe impatient  
Wracked with revenge, and fury rend,  
Swift as the Thunderbolt he strikes,  
Too sure upon the stand of Pikes,  
There she his naked breast doth hit  
And on the case of Rapiers' split.   

But even in her expiring pangs  
The Heron's pounced within her Fangs,  
And so above she stoops to rise  
A Trophy and a Sacrifice;  
Whilst her own Bells in the sad fall  
Ring out the double Funeral.   

Ah Victory! unhap'ly won,  
Weeping and Red is set the Sun,  
Whilst the whole Field floats in one tear,  
And all the Air doth mourning wear:  
Close hooded all thy kindred come  
To pay their Vows upon thy Tomb;  
The Hobby and the Musket too,  
Do march to take their last adieu.   

The Lanner and the Lanneret,  
Thy Colours bear as Banneret;  
The Goshawk and her Tercel roused,  
With Tears attend thee as new bowsed,  
All these are in their dark array  
Led by the various Herald-Jay.   

But thy eternal name shall live  
Whilst Quills from Ashes fame reprieve,  
Whilst open stands Renown's wide door,  
And Wings are left on which to soar;  
Doctor Robin, the Prelate Pie,  
And the 〈◊〉 Swan shall die,  
Only to sing thy Elegy.    

Love made in the first Age: To Chloris.  

1.  
IN the Nativity of time,  
Chloris! it was not thought a Crime  
In direct Hebrew for to woe.  
Now we make Love, as all on fire,  
Ring Retrograde our loud Desire,  
And Court in English Backward too.   

2.  
Thrice happy was that golden Age,  
When Compliment was construed Rage,  
And fine words in the Centre hid;  
When cursed No stained no Maids blisse,  
And all discourse was summed in Yes,  
And Nought forbade, but to forbid.   

1.  
Love then unstinted, Love did sip,  
And Cherties plucked fresh from the Lip,  
On Cheeks and Roses free he fed;  
Lasses like Autumn Plums did drop,  
And Lads, indifferently did crop  
A Flower, and a Maidenhead.   

4.  
Then unconfined each did Tipple  
Wine from the Bunch, Milk from the Nipple,  
Paps tractable as Udders were.  
Than equally the wholesome Jellies,  
Were squeezed from Olive-Trees, and Bellies,  
Nor Suits of Trespass did they fear.   

5.  
A fragrant Bank of Strawberries,  
Diapered with Violets Eyes,  
Was Table, Tablecloth, and Fare;  
No Palace to the Clouds did swell,  
Each humble Princess then did dwell  
In the Piazza of her Hair.   

6.  
Both broken Faith, and th' cause of it,  
All damning Gold was damned to th' Pit;  
Their Troth sealed with a Clap and Kiss,  
Lasted until that extreem day,  
In which they smiled their Souls away,  
And in each other breathed new bliss.   

7.  
Because no fault, there was no tear;  
No groan did grate the granting Ear;  
No false foul breath their Del'cat smell:  
No Serpent kiss poisoned the Taste,  
Each touch was naturally chaste,  
And their mere Sense a Miracle.   

8.  
Naked as their own innocence,  
And unimbroydered from Offence  
They went, above, poor Riches, gay;  
On softer than the Cigners Down,  
In beds they tumbled off their own;  
For each within the other lay.   

9  
Thus did they live: Thus did they love,  
Repeating only joys Above;  
And Angels were, but with clothes on,  
Which they would put off cheerfully,  
To bathe them in the Galaxy,  
Then gird them with the Heavenly Zone.   

10.  
Now, CHLORIS! miserably crave,  
The offered bliss you would not have;  
Which evermore I must deny,  
Whilst ravished with these Noble Dreams,  
And crowned with mine own soft Beams,  
Enjoying of my sel● I lie.    

To a Lady withchild that asked an Old Shirt.  
ANd why an honoured ragged Shirt, that shows,  
Like tattered Ensigns, all its Bodies blows?  
Should it be swathed in a vest so dire,  
It were enough to set the Child on fire;  
Dishevelled Queen should strip them of their hair,  
And in it mantle the new rising Heir:  
Nor do I know aught worth to wrap it in,  
Except my parchment upper-coat of Skin:  
And then expect no end of its chaste Tears,  
That first was rolled in Down now Furs of Bears▪  
But since to Ladiesed hath a Custom been  
Linen to send, that travail and lie in;  
To the nine Sempstresses, my former friends,  
I sued; but they had nought but shreds and ends.  
At last, the jolli'st of the three times three,  
Rend th' apron from her smock, and gave it me  
'T was soft and gentle, subtly spun: no doubt:  
Pardon my boldness, Madam; Here's the clout.   

SONG.  

1.  
IN mine one Monument I lie,  
And in myself am buried;  
Sure the quick Lightning of her Eye  
Melted my Soul i'th' Scabbard, dead;  
And now like some pale ghost I walk,  
And with another's Spirit talk.   

2.  
Nor can her beams a heat convey  
That may my frozen bosom warm,  
Unless her Smiles have power, as they  
That a cross charm can countercharm;  
But this is such a pleasing pain,  
I'm loath to be alive again.    

Another.  
I Did believe I was in Heaven  
When first the Heaven herself was given,  
That in my heart her beams did pass  
As some the Sun keep in a glass,  
So that her Beauties thorough me  
Did hurt my Rival-Enemy.  
But fare alas! decreed it so,  
That I was Engine to my woe;  
For as a corner'd Crystal Spot  
My heart Diaphanous was not,  
But solid Stuffe, where her Eye flings  
Quick fire upon the catching strings:  
Yet as at Triumphs in the Night,  
You see the Prince's Arms in Light;  
So when I once was set on flame,  
I burned all o'er the Letters of her Name.   

ODE.  

1.  
YOu are deceived; I sooner may dull fair▪  
Seat a dark Moor in Cassiopea's chair,  
Or on the Glow-worm's useless Light  
Bestow the watching flames of Night,  
Or give the Roses breath  
To executed Death,  
Ere the bright hue  
Of Verse to you;  
It is just Heaven on Beauty stamps a fame,  
And we alas! its Triumphs but proclaim.   

2.  
What chains but are too light for me, should I  
Say that Lucasta, in strange Arms could lie;  
Or, that Castara were impure,  
Or Saccaris' faith unsure:  
That Chloris Love as hair,  
Embraced each Enemies' air:  
That all their good  
Ran in their blood;  
'Tis the same wrong th'unworthy to inthrone,  
As from her proper spheret' have virtue thrown.   

3.  
That strange force on the ignoble hath renown,  
As Aurum Fulminans, it blows Vice down;  
'Twere better (heavy one) to crawl  
Forgot, then raised trodon, fall:  
All your defections now  
Are not writ on your brow.  
Odes to faults give  
A shame, must live.  
When a fat mist we view, we coughing run;  
But that once Meteor drawn, all cry, undone.   

4.  
How bright the fair Paulina did appear,  
When hid in Jewels she did seem a Star:  
But who could soberly behold  
A wicked Owl in Cloth of Gold?  
Or the ridiculous Ape,  
In sacred Vesta's Shape?  
So doth agree  
Just Praise with thee;  
For since thy birth gave thee no beauty, know  
No Poets pencil must or can do so.    

The Duel.  

1.  
LOve drunk the other day, knocked at my breast,  
But I, alas! was not within:  
My man, my Ear, told me came t' attest,  
That without cause h' boxed him,  
And battered the Windows of mine eyes,  
And took my heart for one of's Nunneries.   

2.  
I wondered at the outrage safe returned,  
And stormed at the base affront;  
And by a friend of mine bold faith, that burned,  
I called him to a strict Account.  
He said, that by the Law the challenged might  
Take the advantage both of Arms, and Fight.   

3.  
Two darts of equal length and points he sent,  
And nobly gave the choice to me;  
Which I not weighed, young and indifferent;  
Now full of nought but Victory.  
So we both met in one of's Mothers Groves,  
The time, at the first murmuring of her Doves.   

4.  
I stripped myself naked all o'er, as he,  
For so I was best armed, when bare;  
His first pass did my Liver raze, yet I  
Made home a falsify too near;  
For when my Arm to it's true distance came  
I nothing touched but a fantastic flame.   

5.  
This, this is Love we daily quarrel so,  
An idle Don-Quichoterie:  
We whip ourselves with our own twisted woe,  
And wound the Air for a Fly.  
The only way t'undo this Enemy,  
Is to laugh at the Boy, and he will cry.    

CUPID far gone.  

1.  
WHat so beyond all madness is the Else,  
Now he hath got out of himself!  
His fatal Enemy the Bee,  
Nor his deceived Artillery;  
His Shackles, not the Roses bough  
Ne'er half so nettled him as he is now.   

2.  
See! at's own Mother he is offering,  
His Finger now fits any Ring;  
Old Cybele he would enjoy,  
And now the Girl, and now the Boy,  
He proffers jove a back Caresse,  
And all his Love in the Antipodes.   

3.  
Jealous of his chaste Psyche, raging he,  
Quarrels the Student Mercury;  
And with a proud submissive Breath  
Offers to change his Darts with Death.  
He strikes at the bright Eye of Day,  
And juno tumbles in her milky way.   

4.  
The dear Sweet Secrets of the Gods he tells,  
And with loathed hate loved heaven he swells;  
Now like a fury he belies  
Myriad of pure Virginities;  
And swears, with this false frenzy hurled,  
There's not a virtuous She in all the World.   

5.  
Olympus he renownces, then descends,  
And makes a friendship with the Fiends;  
Bids Charon be no more a slave,  
He Argos rigged with Stars shall have;  
And triple Cerberus from below  
Must leashed t' himself with him a hunting go.    

A Mock-Song.  

NOw Whitehalls in the grave,  
And our Head is our slave,  
The bright pearl in his close shell of Oyster;  
Now the Mitre is lost,  
The proud Praelates, too, crossed,  
And all Rome's confined to a Cloister:  
He that Tarquin was styled,  
Our white Land's exiled,  
Yea undefiled,  
Not a Court Ape's left to confute us:  
Then let your Voices rise high,  
As your Colours did fly,  
And flour'shing cry,  
Long live the brave Oliver-Brutus.   

2.  
Now the Sun is unarmed,  
And the Moon by us charmed,  
All the Stars dissolved to a Jelly;  
Now the Thighs of the Crown,  
And the Arms are lopped down,  
And the Body is all but a Belly:  
Let the Commons go on,  
The Town is our own,  
We'll rule alone:  
For the Knights have yielded their Spent-gorge;  
And an order is ta'en,  
With HONEY SOIT profane,  
Shout forth amain,  
For our Dragon hath vanquished the St. George.    

A Fly caught in a Cobweb.  
SMall type of great ones, that do hum,  
Within this whole World's narrow Room,  
That with a busy hollow Noise  
Catch at the people's vainer Voice,  
And with spread Sails play with their breath,  
Whose very Hails new christian Death.  
Poor Fly caught in an airy net,  
Thy Wings have fettered now thy feet;  
Where like a Lion in a Toil;  
Howe'er, thou keep'st a noble coil,  
And beatest thy generous breast, that o'er  
The plains thy fatal buzzes roar,  
Till thy all-bellyed foe (round Elf)  
Hath quartered thee within himself.  
Was it not better once to play  
I' th' light of a Majestic Ray,  
Where though too near and bold, the fire  
Might sing thy upper down attire,  
And thou i'th' storm to lose an Eye,  
A Wing, or a self-trapping Thigh;  
Yet hadst thou fallen like him, whose Coil  
Made Fishes in the Sea to broyl;  
When now th' hast scaped the noble Flame,  
Trapped basely in a slimy frame;  
And free of Air, thou art become  
Slave to the spawn of Mud and Lome.  
Nor is't enough thyself dost dress  
To thy swollen Lord a numerous mess,  
And by degrees thy thin Veins bleed,  
And piece-meal dost his poison feed;  
But now devoured, art like to be  
A Net spun for thy Family,  
And strait expanded in the Air  
Hangest for thy issue too a snare.  
Strange witty Death, and cruel ill,  
That killing thee, thou thine dost kill!  
Like Pies in whose entombed ark,  
All Fowl crowd downward to a Lark;  
Thou art thine Enemies' Sepulchre,  
And in thee buriest too thine heir.  
Yet Fates a glory have reserved  
For one so highly hath deserved;  
As the Rhinoceros doth die  
Under his Castle-Enemy,  
As through the Crane's trunk Throat doth speed,  
The Asp doth on his feeder feed;  
Fall yet triumphant in thy woe,  
Bound with the entrails of thy foe.   

A Fly about a Glass of Burnt Claret.  

1.  
FOrbear this liquid Fire, Fly,  
It is more fatal than the dry,  
That singly, but embracing, wounds,  
And this at once, both burns and drowns.   

2.  
The Salamander that in heat  
And flames doth cool his monstrous sweat;  
Whose fan a glowing cake, is said,  
Of this red furnace is afraid.   

3.  
Viewing the Ruby-christal shine,  
Thou tak'st it for Heaven-Christalline;  
Anon thou wilt be taught to groan,  
'Tis an ascended Acheron.   

4.  
A Snowball-heart in it let fall,  
And take it out a Fireball:  
An Icy breast in it betrayed,  
Breaks a destructive wild Granade.   

5.  
'Tis, this, makes Venus' Altars shine,  
This kindles frosty Hymen's Pine;  
When the Boy grows old in his desires,  
This Flambeau doth new light his fires.   

6.  
Though the cold Hermit ever wail,  
Whose sighs do freeze, and tears drop hail,  
Once having 〈…〉  
Another 〈…〉   

7.  
The Vestal drinking this doth burn,  
Now more 〈…〉 funeral Urn;  
Her fires, that with the Sun kept race,  
Are now extinguished by her Face.   

8.  
The Chemist, that himself doth still,  
Let him but taste this Limbecks bill,  
And prove this sublimated Bowl,  
He'll swear it will calcine a Soul.   

9  
Noble and brave! now thou dost know,  
The false prepared decks below,  
Dost thou the fatal liquor sup,  
One drop alas! thy Bark blows up.   

10.  
What airy Country hast to save,  
Whose plagues thou'lt bury in thy grave?  
For even now thou seemest to us  
On this Gulfs brink a Curtius.   

11.  
And now th' art fallen (magnanimous Fly)  
In, where thine Ocean doth fry,  
Like the Sun's son who blushed the flood,  
To a complexion of blood.   

12.  
Yet see! my glad Auricular  
Redeems thee (though dissolved) a Star,  
Flaggy thy Wings, and scorched thy Thighs,  
Thou liest a double Sacrifice.   

13.  
And now my warming, cooling, breath,  
Shall a new life afford in Death;  
See! in the Hospital of my hand  
Already cured, thou fierce dost stand.   

14.  
Burnt Insect! dost thou reaspire  
The moist-hot-glasse, and liquid fire?  
I see! 'tis such a pleasing pain,  
Thou wouldst be scorched, and drowned again.    

Female Glory.  
Amongst the world's wonders, there doth yet remain  
One greater than the rest, that's all those o'er again  
And her own self beside; A Lady whose soft Breast,  
Is with vast Honour's Soul, and Virtues Life possessed.  
Fair, as Original Light, first from the Chaos shot,  
When day in Virgin-beams triumphed, and Night was not,  
And as that Breath infused in the New-breather Good,  
When Ill unknown was dumb, and Bade not understood;  
Cheerful, as that Aspect at this world's finishing,  
When Cherubims clapped wings, and th'Sons of Heaven did sing.  
chaste as th' Arabian bird, who all the Air denies,  
And even in Flames expires, when with herself she lies.  
Oh! she's as kind as drops of new fallen April Showers,  
That on each gentle breast, spring fresh perfuming flowers;  
She's Constant, Generous, Fixed, she 's Calm, she is the All  
We can of Virtue, Honour, Faith, or Glory Call,  
And she is (whom I thus transmit to endless fame)  
Mistress o'th' World, and me, & LAURA is her Name.   

A Dialogue.  Lute and Voice. L. 
SIng Laura, sing, whilst silent are the Spheres,  
And all the eyes of Heaven are turned to Ears.  V. 
Touch thy dead Wood, and make each living tree,  
Unchain its feet, take arms, and follow thee.  Chorus. L. 
Sing.  V. 
Touch. O Touch.  L. 
O Sing,  Both, 
It is the Souls, Souls, Sole offering.  V. 
Touch the Divinity of thy Chords, and make  
Each Heart string tremble, and each Sinew shake.  L. 
Whilst with your Voice you Ratify the Air.  
None but an host of Angels hover here.  Chorus. Sing. Touch, etc. V. 
Touch thy soft Lute, and in each gentle thread,  
The Lion and the Panther Captive lead.  L. 
Sing, and in Heaven Enthrone deposed Love,  
Whilst Angels dance and Fiends in order move.  Double Chorus. 
What sacred Charm may this then be  
In Harmony,  
That thus can make the Angels wild,  
The Devils mild,  
And teach low Hell to Heaven to swell,  
And the High Heaven to stoop to Hell.   

A Mock Charon.  DIALOGUE, Cham W. W. 
CHaron! Thou Slave! Thou Fool! Thou Cavalier  Cham 
A Slave, a Fool, What Traitors voice I Hear?  W. 
Come bring thy Boat.  Ch. 
No Sir.  W. 
No sirrah why?  Cham 
The Blessed will disagree, and Fiends will mutiny  
At thy, at thy, numbered Treachery.  W. 
Villain, I have a Pass, which who disdains,  
I will sequester the Elysian plains.  Cham 
Woes me! Ye gentle shades! where shall I dwell?  
He's come! It is not safe to be in Hell.  Chorus. 
Thus man, his Honour lost, falls on these Shelves;  
Furies and Fiends are still true to themselves.  Cham 
You must lost Fool come in.  W. 
Oh let me in!  
But now I fear thy Boat will sink with my oreweighty sin.  
Where courteous Charon am I now?  Cham 
Vile Rant!  
At th' Gates of thy supreme Judge Rhadamant.  Double Chorus of Devils. 
Welcome to Rape, to Theft, to Perjury,  
To all the ills thou wert, we cannot hope to be;  
Oh pity us condemned! Oh cease to woo,  
And softly, softly breath, lest you infect us too.   

The Toad and Spider.  
A Duel.  
UPon a Day when the Dog-star  
Unto the World proclaim'd a War,  
And poison barked from his black Throat,  
And from his jaws Infection shot,  
Under a deadly Hen-bane shade  
With slime infernal Mists are made;  
Met the two dreaded Enemies,  
Having their Weapons in their Eyes.  
First from his Den rolls forth that Load,  
Of Spite and Hate the speckled Toad,  
And from his Chaps a foam doth spawn,  
Such as the loathed three Heads yawn;  
Defies his foe with a fell Spit,  
To wade through Death to meet with it;  
Then in his Self the Lymbeck turns,  
And his Elixired poison Urns.  
Arachne once the fear o'th' Maid  
Celestial, thus unto her prayed:  
Heaven's blue-eyed Daughter, thine own Mother!  
The Python-killing Sun's thy Brother.  
Oh! thou from gods that didst descend,  
With a poor Virgin to contend,  
Shall seed of Earth and Hell ere be  
A Rival in thy Victory?  
Pallus assents! for now long time  
And pity, had clean rinsed her crime;  
When strait she doth with active fire,  
Her many legged foe inspire.  
Have you not seen a Carat lie  
A great Cathedral in the Sea  
Under whose Babylonian Walls,  
A small thin frigot-Alms house stalls;  
So in his slime the Toad doth float,  
And th' Spider by, but seems his Boat;  
And now the naumachy Begins  
Close to the Surface, herself spins:  
Arachne, when her foe le's fly  
A broadside of his Breath, too high,  
That's over-shot, the wisely stout  
Advised Maid doth tack about,  
And now her pitchy barque doth sweat,  
Chafed in her own black fury wet;  
Lazy and cold before, she brings  
New fires to her contracted Stings,  
And with discoloured Spumes doth blast  
The Herbs that to their Centre haste.  
Now to the Neighbouring Henbane top  
Arachne hath herself wound up,  
And thence, from its dilated Leaves,  
By her own cordage downwards weaves;  
And doth her Town of Foe Attack,  
And storms the rampires of his Back;  
Which taken in her Colours spread,  
March to th' Citadel of's Head.  
Now as in witty torturing Spain,  
The Brain is vexed, to vex the Brain:  
Where Heretics bare Heads are armed  
In a close Helm, and in it charmed  
An overgrown and Meager Rat,  
That Peece-meal nibbles himself fat;  
So on the Toads blew-checquered Scull  
The Spider gluttons herself full,  
And Vomiting her Stygian Seeds,  
Her poison, on his poison, feeds:  
Thus the envenomed Toad, now grown  
Big, with more poison than his own,  
Doth gather all his powers, and shakes  
His Stormer in's Disgorged Lakes;  
And wounded now, apace crawls on  
To his next Plantain Surgeon;  
With whose rich Balm no sooner dressed,  
But purged, is his sick swollen Breast;  
And as a glorious Combatant,  
That only rests a while to pant;  
Then with repeated strength, and Scars;  
That smarting, fire him to new Wars,  
Deals Blows that thick themselves prevent,  
As they would gain the time he spent.  
So the disdaining angry Toad,  
That, calls but a thin useless Load;  
His fatal feared self comes back  
With unknown Venom filled to crack,  
Th' amazed Spider now untwined,  
Hath crept up, and herself new lined  
With fresh salt foams, and Mists that blast  
The Ambient Air as they passed.  
And now me think a sphinx's wing  
I pluck, and do not write but sting;  
With their black blood, my pale inks blended  
Gall's but a faint Ingredient.  
Th' politic Toad doth now withdraw,  
Warned, higher in Campania.  
There wisely doth entrenched deep,  
His Body, in a Body keep,  
And leaves a wide and open pass  
T' invite the foe up to his jaws;  
Which there within a foggy blind  
With fourscore fire-arms were lined;  
The generous active Spider doubts  
More Ambuscadoes, than Redoubts;  
So within shot she doth pickear,  
Now gall's the Flank, and now the Rear;  
As that the Toad in's own despite  
Must change the manner of his fight,  
Who like a glorious General,  
With one home Charge, le's fly at All.  
Chafed with a fourfold ven'mous Foam  
Of Scorn, Revenge, His Foes and's Own;  
He seats him in his loathed Chair,  
New-made him by each Morning's Air,  
With glowing Eyes, he doth survey  
Th' undaunted host, he calls his prey;  
Then his dark Spume he gred'ly laps,  
And shows the foe his Grave, his Chaps.  
Whilst the quick wary Amazon  
Of 'vantage takes occasion,  
And with her troop of Legs Careers,  
In a full speed with all her Speers;  
Down (as some mountain on a Mouse)  
On her small Cot he flings his house,  
Without the poison of the Elf,  
The Toad had like t' have burst himself,  
For sage Arachne with good heed,  
Had stopped herself upon full speed;  
And's body now disordered, on  
She falls to Execution.  
The passive Toad now only can  
Contemn, and suffer: Here began  
The wronged Maids ingenious Rage,  
Which his heart venom must Assuage;  
One Eye she hath spit out, strange Smother!  
When one flame doth put out Another,  
And one Eye wittily spared, that he  
Might but behold his misery;  
She on each spot a wound doth print,  
And each speck hath a sting within't;  
Till he but one new Blister is,  
And swells his own Periphrasis;  
Then fainting, sick, and yellow, pale,  
She baths him with her sulphurous Stale;  
Thus slacked is her Stygian fire,  
And she vouchsafes now to retire;  
Anon the Toad begins to pant,  
Bethinks him of th' Almighty plant,  
And lest he piecemeal should be sped,  
Wisely doth finish himself dead.  
Whilst the gay Girl, as was her fate,  
Doth wanton and luxuriate,  
And crowns her conquering head all ore  
With fatal Leaves of Hellebore,  
Not guessing at the precious Aid  
Was lent her by the Heavenly Maid.  
The near expiring Toad now rowls  
Himself in lazy bloody Scrowls,  
To th' sovereign Salve of all his ills,  
That only life and health distils.  
But lo! a Terror above all  
That ever yet did him befall!  
Pallas still mindful of her foe,  
(Whilst they did with each fires glow)  
Had to the place the Spider's Lar,  
Dispathed before the Evening's Star;  
He learned was in Nature's Laws,  
Of all her foliage knew the cause,  
And amongst the rest in his choice want  
Unplanted had this Plantain plant.  
The all-confounded Toad doth see  
His life fled with his Remedy,  
And in a glorious Despair  
First burst himself, and next the Air;  
Then with a Dismal Horrid yell,  
Beats down his loathsome Breath to Hell.  
But what inestimable bliss  
This to the sated Virgin is,  
Who as before of her fiend foe,  
Now full is of her Goddess too;  
She from her fertile womb hath spun  
Her stateliest Pavilion,  
Whilst all her silken Flags display,  
And her triumphant Banners play;  
Where Pallas she i'th' midst doth praise,  
And counterfeits her Brother's Rays,  
Nor will she her dear Lar forget,  
Victorious by his Benefit;  
Whose Roof enchanted she doth free,  
From haunting Gnat, and goblin Bee,  
Who trapped in her prepared Toil,  
To their destrnction keep a coil.  
Then she unlocks the Toad's dire Head,  
Within whose cell is treasured  
That precious stone, which she doth call  
A noble recompense for all,  
And to her Lar doth it present,  
Of his fair Aid a Monument.    

The Triumphs OF PHILAMORE and AMORETTA.  
To the Noblest of our Youth And Best of Friends, CHARLES' COTTON Esquire.  
Being at Berisford, at his house in Staffordshire. From LONDON.  
A POEM.  
SIR your sad absence I complain, as Earth (birth  
Her long hid Spring, that gave her verdures  
Who now her cheerful Aromatic Head  
Shrinks in her cold and dismal widowed bed;  
Whilst the false Sun her Lover doth him move  
Below, and to th' Antipodes make Love.  
What Fate was mine, when in mine obscure Cave  
(Shut up almost close Prisoner in a Grave)  
Your Beams could reach me through this Vault Of,  
And Canton the dark Dungeon with Light!  
Whence me (as generous Spahy's) you unbound,  
Whilst I now know myself both Free and Crowned,  
But as at Moecha's tomb, the Devout blind  
Pilgrim (great Husband of his Sight and Mind)  
Pays to no other Object this chaste prize,  
Then with hot Earth anoints out both his Eyes;  
So having seen your dazzling Glories store;  
It is enough, and sin for to see more?  
Or, do you thus those precious Rays withdraw  
To whet my dull Beams, keep my Bold in awe?  
Or, are you gentle and compassionate,  
You will not reach me Regulus his Fate?  
Brave Prince who Eagle-eyed of Eagle kind,  
Wert blindly damned to look thine own self blind!  
But oh return those Fires, too Cruel Nice!  
For whilst you fear me Cinders, See! I'm Ice;  
A numbed speaking clod, and mine own show,  
Myself congealed, a Man cut out in Snow:  
Return those living Fires, Thou who that vast  
Double advantage from one eyed Heaven hast;  
Look with one Sun, thoughht but Obliquely be,  
And if not shine, vouchsafe to wink on me.  
Perceive you not a gentle, gliding heat,  
And quickening warmth that makes the Statua sweat;  
As reverend Ducaleon's back-flung stone,  
Whose rough out-side softens to Skin, anon  
Each crusty Vein with wet red is supplied,  
Whilst nought of Stone but in its heart doth 'bide.  
So from the rugged North, where your soft stay  
Hath stamped them a Meridian, and kind day;  
Where now each a la Mode Inhabitant,  
Himself and's Manners both do pay you rend,  
And 'bout your house (your Palace) doth resort  
And 'spite of Fate and War creates a Court.  
So from the taught North, when you shall return  
To glad those Looks that ever since did mourn,  
When men unclothed of themselves you'll see,  
Then start new made, fit, what they ought to be;  
Hast! hast! you that your Eyes on rare Sights feed,  
For thus the golden Triumph is decreed.  
The twice-born God, still gay and ever young,  
With Ivy crowned, first leads the glorious Throng:  
He Ariadne's starry Coronet  
Designs for th' brighter Beams of Amoretta;  
Then doth he broach his Throne; and singing quaff  
Unto her Health his pipe of Godhead off.  
Him follow the recanting, vexing Nine,  
Who, wise, now sing thy lasting Fame in Wine;  
Whilst Phoebus not from th'East, your Feast t'adorn,  
But from th' inspired Canaries rose this morn.  
Now you are come, Winds in their Caverns sit,  
And nothing breathes, but new enlarged Wit;  
Hark! One proclaims it Piacle to be sad,  
And the people call't Religion to be Mad.  
But now, as at a Coronation  
When noise, the guard, and trumpets are oreblown,  
The silent Commons mark their Prince's way,  
And with still Reverence both look, and pray;  
So they amazed, expecting do adore,  
And count the rest but Pageantry before.  
Behold! an Host of Virgins, pure as th' Air,  
In her first face, ere Mists durst vayl her hair;  
Their snowy Vests, White as their whiter Skin,  
Or their far chaster whiter Thoughts within:  
Roses they breathed and strewed, as if the fine  
Heaven, did to Earth his Wreath of sweats resign;  
They sang aloud! Thrice, Oh Thrice happy They  
That can like these in Love both yield and sway.  
Next Herald Fame (a Purple Cloud her bears)  
In an embroidered Coat of Eyes and Ears,  
Proclaims the Triumph, and these Lover's glory;  
Then in a book of Steel Records the Story.  
And now a Youth of more than Godlike form,  
Did th'inward minds of the dumb Throng Alarm;  
All naked, each part betrayed unto the Eye,  
Chastely, for neither Sex owed he or she.  
And this was Heavenly Love; by his bright hand,  
A Boy of worse than earthly stuff did stand;  
His Bow broke, his Fires out, and his Wings clipped,  
And the black Slave from all his false flames stripped;  
Whose Eyes were new restored, but to confess  
This days bright bliss, and his own wretchedness;  
Who swelled with envy, bursting with disdain,  
Did cry to cry, and weep them out again.  
And now what heav'n must I invade, what Sphere  
Rifle of all her Stars t'inthrone her there?  
No Phoebus by thy Boys fate we beware,  
Th' unruly flames 〈◊〉 ' firebrand, thy Carr;  
Although she there once placed thou Sun shouldst see  
Thy day both Nobler governed and thee,  
Drive on Boötes thy o th' heavy wain,  
Then grease thy Wheels with Amber in the Main,  
And Neptune, thou to thy false Thetis gallop,  
Apollo's set within thy Bed of Scallop:  
Whilst Amôret on the reconciled Winds  
Mounted, and drawn by six Celestial Minds,  
She armed was with Innocence, and fire  
That did not burn, for it was chaste Desire;  
Whilst a new Light doth gild the standers by;  
Behold! it was a Day shot from her Eye;  
Chafing perfumes o'th' East did throng and sweat,  
But by her breath, they melting back were beat,  
A Crown of Yet-nere-lighted stars she wot,  
In her soft hand a bleeding Heart she bore,  
And round her lay Millions of broken more;  
Then a winged Crier thrice aloud did call,  
Let Fame proclaim this one great Prize for all.  
By her a Lady that might be called fair,  
And justly, but that Amoretta was there,  
Was Prisoner led, th'unvalued Robe she wore,  
Made infinite Lay Lovers to adore,  
Who vainly tempt her Rescue (madly bold)  
Chained in sixteen thousand links of gold;  
Chrysetta thus (Loaden with treasures) Slave  
Did strew the pass with Pearls, and her way pave.  
But lo! the glorious Cause of all this high  
True heavenly state, Brave Philamore draws nigh!  
Who not himself, more seems himself to be,  
And with a sacred Extasie doth see;  
Fixed and unmoved on's Pillars he doth stay,  
And Joy transforms him his own Statue;  
Nor hath he power to breath, or strength to greet  
The gentle Offers of his Amoretta,  
Who now amazed at's noble Breast doth knock,  
And with a Kiss his generous heart unlock;  
Whilst she and the whole pomp doth enter there,  
Whence Her not Time nor Fate shall ever tear.  
But whether am I hurled! ho! Back! Awake  
From thy glad Trance; to thine old Sorrow take!  
Thus, after view of all the Indies store,  
The Slave returns unto his Chain and Oar;  
Thus Poets who all Night in blessed heavens dwell,  
Are called next morn to their true living Hell;  
So I unthrifty, to myself untrue,  
Rise clothed with real wants, 'cause wanting you,  
And what substantial Riches I possess,  
I must to these unvalued Dreams confess.  
But all our Clouds shall be oreblown, when thee  
In our Horizon, bright, once more we see;  
When thy dear presence shall our Souls new dress,  
And spring an universal cheerfulness;  
When we shall be o'erwhelmed in Joy, like they  
That change their Night, for a vast half-years day.  
Then shall the wretched Few, that do repine,  
See; and recant their Blasphemies in Wine;  
Then shall they grieve that thought I've sung to free  
High and aloud of thy true worth and Thee,  
And their fowl Heresies and Lips submit  
To th' all-forgiving Breath of Amoretta,  
And me alone their anger's Object call,  
That from my height so miserably did fall;  
And cry out my Invention thin and poor,  
Who have said nought, since I could say no more.   

Advice to my best Brother. Coll: Francis Lovelace.  

FRank, wilt live unhandsomely? trust not too far  
Thyself to waving Seas, for what thy star  
Calculated by sure event must be,  
Look in the Glassy-epithire and see.   

Yet settle here your rest, and take your state,  
And in calm Halcyon's nest even build your Fate;  
Prithee lie down securely, Frank, and keep  
With as much no noise the inconstant Deep  
As its Inhabitants; nay steadfast stand,  
As if discovered were a Newfoundland  
Fit for Plantation here; dream, dream still,  
Lulled in Dione's cradle, dream, until  
Horrour awake your sense, and you now find  
Yourself a bubbled pastime for the Wind;  
And in loose Thetis blankets torn and tossed,  
Frank to undo thyself why art at cost?   

Nor be too confident, fixed on the shore,  
For even that too borrows from the store  
Of her rich Neighbour, since now wisest know,  
(And this to Galileo's) judgement owe)  
The palsy Earth itself is every jot  
As frail, inconstant, waveing as that blot  
We lay upon the Deep, That sometimes lies  
Changed, you would think, with's bottoms properties  
But this eternal 〈…〉 wheel  
Of giddy earth, ne'er whirling leaves to reel  
Till all things are inverted, till they are  
turned to that antic confus'd state they were.   

Who loves the golden mean, doth safely want  
A cobwebbed Cot, and wrongs entailed nponed;  
He richly needs a Palace for to breed  
Vipers and Moths, that on their feeder feed.  
The toy that we (too true) a Mistress call,  
Whose Looking-glass and feather weighs up all;  
And clothes which Lark would play with, in the Sun,  
That mock him in the Night when's 〈…〉.   

To 〈…〉  
That envy should not reach it with her eye,  
Nay with a thought come near it, would 〈◊〉 thou know  
How such a Structure should be raised? build low.  
The blustr'ing winds invisible rough stroke,  
More often shakes the stubborn'st, properest Oak,  
And in proud Turrets we behold withal,  
'T is the Imperial top declines to fall,  
Nor does heavens lightning strike the humble Vales  
But high aspiring Mounts batters and scales.   

A breast of proof defies all Shocks of Fate,  
Fears in the best, hopes in the worse state;  
Heaven forbid that, as of old, Time ever  
Flourished in Spring, so contrary, now never:  
That mighty breath which blew foul Winter hither,  
Can easily puff it to a fairer weather.  
Why dost despair then, Frank, Aeolus has  
A Zephyrus as well as Boreas.   

'Tis a false Sequel, Solecism, against those  
Precepts by fortune given us, to suppose  
That cause it is now ill, 't will ere be so;  
Apollo doth not always bend his Bow;  
But oft uncrowned of his Beams divine,  
With his soft harp awakes the sleeping Nine.   

Instrictest things magnanimous appear,  
Greater in hope, howe'er thy fate, than fear:  
Draw all your Sails in quickly, though no storm  
Threaten your ruin with a sad alarm;  
For tell me how they differ, tell me pray,  
A cloudy tempest, and a too fair day.    

An Anniversary On the Hymeneals of my noble Kinsman Tho. Stanley Esquire.  

1  
THe day is curled about again  
To view the splendour she was in;  
When first with hallowed hands  
The holy man knit the mysterious bands;  
When you two your contracted Souls did move,  
Like Cherubims above,  
And did make Love;  
As your un-understanding issue now  
In a glad sigh, a smile, a tear, a Vow.   

2.  
Tell me, O self-reviving Sun,  
In thy Peregrination!  
Hast thou beheld a pair  
Twist their soft beams like these in their chaste air;  
As from bright numberless embracing rays  
Are sprung th' industrious days;  
So when they gaze,  
And change their fertile Eyes with the new morn,  
A beauteous Offspring is shot forth, not born.   

3.  
Be witness then, allseeing Sun,  
Old Spy, thou that thy race hast run,  
In full five thousand Rings;  
To thee were ever purer Offerings  
Sent on the Wings of Faith, and thou of Night  
Curtain of their delight,  
By these made bright,  
Have you not marked their Coelestial play,  
And no more peeked the gaieties of day.   

4.  
Come then pale Virgins, Roses strew,  
Mingled with Io's as you go;  
The snowy Ox is killed,  
The Fane with pros'lite Lads and Lasses filled,  
You too may hope the same seraphic joy,  
Old time cannot destroy,  
Nor fullness cloy,  
When like these, you shall stamp by Sympathies,  
Thousands of new-born-loves with your chaste eyes.    

Paris' second judgement, Upon the three Daughters of my Dear Brother Mr. R. Caesar.  
BEhold! three Sister wonders, in whom met,  
Distinct and chaste, the Splendours counterfeit  
Of juno, Venus, and the warlike Maid,  
Each in their three Divinities arrayed!  
The Majesty and State of heavens great Queen,  
And when she treats the gods, her noble mien;  
The sweet victorious beauties, and desires  
O' th' Sea-born Princess, Empress too of Fires;  
The sacred Arts, and glorious laurels, torn  
From the fair brow o' th' Goddess Father-born;  
All these were quartered in each snowy coat,  
With cantoned honours of their own to boot:  
Paris by Fate new-waked from his dead Cell,  
Is charged to give his doom impossible.  
He views in each the bravery of all Ide;  
Whilst one, as once three, doth his Soul divide,  
Then sighs! so equally they're glorious all,  
What pity the whole World is but one Ball.   

Peinture.  
A Panegyric to the best Picture of Friendship Mr. Pet. Lilly.  
IF Pliny Lord High Treasurer of all  
Nature's exchequer shuffled in this our ball;  
Pincture, her richer Rival, did admire,  
And cried she wrought with more almighty fire,  
That judged the unnumbered issue of her Scroll,  
Infinite and various as her Mother Soul,  
That contemplation into matter brought,  
Bodied Idaea's, and could form a thought:  
Why do I pause to couch the Cataract,  
And the gross pearls from our dull eyes abstract,  
That powerful Lily now awakened, we  
This new Creation may behold by thee.  
To thy victorious pencil, all that Eyes  
And minds can reach, do bow; the Deities  
Bold Poets first but feigned, you do, and make,  
And from your awe they our Devotion take.  
Your beauteous Pallet first defined Loves Queen,  
And made her in her heavenly colours seen;  
You strung the Bow of the Bandit her Son,  
And tipped his Arrows with Religion.  
Neptune, as unknown as his Fish might dwell,  
But that you seat him in his throne of Shell.  
The thunderers Artillery, and brand  
You fancied Rome in his fantastic hand.  
And the pale frights, the pains and fears of Hell,  
First from your sullen Melancholy fell.  
Who cloven th' infernal Dog's loathed head in three,  
And spun out Hydra's fifty necks? by thee  
As prepossessed w' enjoy th' Elysian plain,  
Which but before was flattered in our brain.  
Who ere yet viewed Airs child invisible,  
A hollow Voice, but in thy subtle skill?  
Faint stammering Echo, you so draw, that we  
The very repercussion do see.  
Cheat Hocus-pocus-Nature an Essay  
O' th'Spring affords us, Praesto and away;  
You all the year do chain her, and her fruits,  
Roots to their Beds, and flowers to their Roots.  
Have not mine eyes feasted i' th' frozen Zone,  
Upon a fresh new-grown Collation  
Of Apples, unknown sweets, that seemed to me  
Hanging to tempt as on the fatal Tree;  
So delicately limned I vowed to try  
My appetite imposed upon my Eye.  
You Sir alone, Fame and all-conquering Rhyme,  
Files the set teeth of all devouring time.  
When Beauty once thy virtuous paint hath on,  
Age needs not call her to Vermilion;  
Her beams ne'er shed or change like th' hair of day,  
She scatters fresh her everlasting Ray;  
Nay, from her ashes her fair Virgin fire  
Ascends, that doth new massacres conspire,  
Whilst we wipe off the numerous score of years,  
And do behold our Grandsire as our peers,  
With the first Father of our House, compare  
We do the features of our newborn Heir;  
For though each copied a Son, they all  
Meet in thy first and true Original.  
Sacred Luxurious! what Princess not  
But comes to you to have herself begot?  
As when first man was kneaded, from his side  
Is born to's hand a ready made up Bride.  
He husband to his issue then doth play,  
And for more Wives remove the obstructed way:  
So by your Art you spring up in two noons  
What could not else be formed by fifteen Suns;  
Thy Skill doth an'mate the prolific flood,  
And thy red Oil assimilates to blood.  
Where then when all the world pays its respect,  
Lies our transalpine barbarous Neglect?  
When the chaste hands of powerful Titian,  
Had drawn the Scourges of our God and Man,  
And now the top of th' Altar did ascend,  
To crown the heavenly piece with a bright end;  
Whilst he who to seven Languages gave Law,  
And always like the Sun his Subjects saw;  
Did in his Robes Imperial and gold,  
The basis of the doubtful Ladder hold.  
O Charles! A nobler monument than that,  
Which thou thine own Executor wert at;  
When to our buffling Henry there complained  
A grieved Earl, that thought his honour stained;  
Away (frowned he) for your own safeties, hast  
In one cheap hour ten Coronets I'll cast:  
But Holbeen's noble and prodigious worth,  
Only the pangs of an whole Age brings forth,  
Henry! a word so princely saving said,  
It might new raise the ruins thou hast made.  
O sacred Peincture! that dost fairly draw  
What but in Mists deep inward Poets saw;  
'Twixt thee and an Intelligence no odds,  
That art of privy Council to the Gods,  
By thee unto our eyes they do prefer  
A stamp of their abstracted Character;  
Thou that in frames eternity dost bind,  
And art a written and a bodied mind;  
To thee is Open the Juncto o' th' Abyss,  
And its conspiracy detected is;  
Whilst their Cabal thou to our sense dost show,  
And in thy square paint'st what they threat below.  
Now my best Lily let's walk hand in hand,  
And smile at this un-understanding land;  
Let them their own dull counterfeits adore,  
Their Rainbow-cloaths admire, and no more;  
Within one shade of thine more substance is  
Than all their varnished Idol-Mistresses:  
Whilst great Vasari and Vermander shall  
Interpret the deep mystery of all,  
And I unto our modern Picts shall show,  
What due renown to thy fair Art they owe;  
In the delineated lives of those,  
By whom this everlasting Laurel grows:  
Then if they will not gently apprehend,  
Let one great blot give to their fame an end;  
Whilst no Poetic flower their Hearse doth dress,  
But perish they and their Effigies.   

To my Dear Friend Mr. E. R. On his Poems Moral and Divine.  
CLeft, as the top of the inspired Hill,  
Struggles the Soul of my divided Quill,  
Whilst this foot doth the watery mount aspire,  
That Sinai's living and enlivening fire,  
Behold my powers stormed by a twisted light  
O' th' Sun, and his, first kindled his Sight,  
And my lost thoughts 〈…〉 of day,  
My right to th' Spring of 〈…〉 pray,  
Say happy youth, 〈…〉 ray  
Of the first Flame, and interwreathed bay,  
Inform my Soul in Labour to begin,  
Io's or Anthems, paeans or a Hymn,  
Shall I a Hecatomb on thy 〈…〉  
Or my devotions at thy Altar pay?  
While which t' adore th' amazed World cannot tell  
The sublime Urim or deep Oracle.  
Hark how the moving chords temper our brain,  
As when 〈…〉  
Old Ocean 〈…〉 front,  
And Nereids do 〈…〉 of't;  
Whilst th'Air puts 〈…〉 face;  
And each doth turn the others Looking-glass;  
So by the sinewy 〈…〉  
Into soft calms all 〈…〉  
And former thundering and lightning Lines,  
And Verse, now in its native lustre shines.  
How wert thou hid within thyself! how shut!  
Thy precious Iliads locked up in a Nut!  
Not hearing of thee thou dost break out strong,  
Invading forty thousand men in Song;  
And we secure in our thin empty heat,  
Now find ourselves at once surprised and beat,  
Whilst the most valiant of our Wits now sue,  
Fling down their arms, ask Quarter too of you.  
So cabined up in its disguised course rust,  
And Scursed all ore with its unseemly crust.  
The Diamond, from 'midst the humbler stones,  
Sparkling, shoots forth the price of Nations,  
Ye safe unridlers of the Stars, pray tell,  
By what name shall I stamp my miracle?  
Thou strange inverted Aesm, that leapest o'er,  
From thy first Infancy into fourscore,  
That to thine own self hast the Midwife played,  
And from thy brain spring'st forth the heavenly maid  
Thou Staff of him, bore him, that bore our sins,  
Which but set down to bloom, and bear begins.  
Thou Rod of Aaron with one motion hurled,  
Bud'st a perfume of Flowers through the World.  
Thou strange calcined Seeds within a glass,  
Each Species Idea spring'st as 't was;  
Bright Vestal Flame, that kindled but even now,  
For ever dost thy sacred fires throw.  
Thus the repeated Acts of Nestor's Age,  
That now had three times o'er outlived the Stage:  
And all those beams contracted into one,  
Alcides in his Cradle hath out done.  
But all these flour'shing hiews with which I dy  
Thy Virgin Paper, now are 〈◊〉;  
For 'bove the Poet's Heaven th' art taught to shine,  
And move, as in thy proper Crystalline;  
Whence that Molehill Parnassus thou dost view,  
And us small Ants there dabbling in its dew;  
Whence thy Seraphic Soul such Hymns doth play,  
As those to which first danced the first day,  
Where with a thorn from the world-ransoming wreath  
Thou stung●dost Antiphons' and Anthems breath;  
Where with an Angel's quill dipped i' th' Lamb's blood,  
Thou singest our Pelican's all-saving Flood,  
And bath'st thy thoughts in everliving streams  
Wrenched from Earth's tainted, fat, and heavy steams.  
There move translated youth enrolled i' th' Choir,  
That only doth with wholly lays inspire;  
To whom his burning Coach Eliah sent,  
And th' royal Prophet-priest his Harp hath lent,  
Which thou dost tune in consort, unto those  
Clap Wings for ever at each hallow'd close:  
Whilst we now weak and fainting in our praise;  
Sick, Echo o'er thy Hallelujahs.   

To my Noble Kinsman T. S. Esq On his Lyric POEMS composed by Mr. J. G.  

1.  
WHat means this stately Tablature,  
The Balance of thy strains?  
Which seems, in stead of sifting pure,  
T' extend and rack thy veins;  
Thy Odes first their own Harmony did break,  
For singing troth is but in tune to speak.   

2.  
Nor thus thy golden Feet and Wings,  
May it be thought false Melody  
T' ascend to heaven by silver strings,  
This is Urania's Heraldry:  
Thy royal Poem now we may extol,  
And truly Luna Blazoned upon Sol.   

3.  
As when Amphion first did call  
Each listening stone from's Den;  
And with the Lute did form his Wall,  
But with his words the men;  
So in your twisted Numbers now, you thus,  
Not only stocks persuade, but ravish us.   

4.  
Thus do your Airs Echo o'er  
The Notes and Anthems of the spheres,  
And their whole Consort back restore,  
As if Earth too would bless 〈…〉  
But yet the Spoaks by which 〈…〉  
Gamble hath wisely laid of 〈…〉.    

On the Best, last, and only remaining Comedy of Mr. Fletcher.  
The Wild Goose Chase.  
I'M un-ore-clowded too! free from the mist!  
The Blind and late Heavens-eyes great Occulist,  
Obscured with the false fires of His scheme,  
Not half those Souls are lightened by this Theme.  
Unhappy Murmurers, that still repine,  
(After th' Eclipse our Sun doth brighter shine)  
Recant your false grief and your true joys know,  
Your bliss is endless, as you feared your Woe!  
What fortunate Flood is this? what Storm of Wit?  
Oh who would live and not overwhelmed in it?  
No more a fatal Deluge shall be hurled,  
This inundation hath saved the world.  
Once more the mighty Fletcher doth arise  
robed in a vest, studded with Stars and Eyes  
Of all his former Glories; His last worth  
Embroidered with what yet light ere brought forth,  
See! in this glad farewell he doth appear  
Stuck with the Consteilations of his Sphere,  
Fearing we Numbed feared no Flagration,  
Hath curled all his Fires in this one One;  
Which (as they guard his hallowed chaste Urn)  
The dull approaching Heretics do burn.  
Fletcher at his adieu carouses thus,  
To the Luxurious Ingenious.  
As Cleopatra did of old outvie,  
Th'unnumbered dishes of her Anthony,  
When he (at th' empty board a wonderer)  
Smile he calls for Pearl and Vinegar;  
First pledges him in's Breath, then at one Draught  
Swallows Three Kingdoms off To his best Thought.  
Hear oh ye valiant Writers, and subscribe;  
(His force set by) ye are conquered by this Bribe.  
Though you hold out yourselves, He doth commit  
In this a sacred Treason in your wit:  
Although in Poems desperately stout,  
Give up; This Overture must Buy you out.  
Thus with some prodigal Us'rered doth far  
That keeps his gold still Veiled, his Steel-breast bare▪  
That doth exceed his Coffers all but's Eye,  
And his eyes Idol the winged Deity:  
That cannot lock his Mines with half the Art  
As some rich Beauty doth his wretched Heart;  
Wild at his real Poverty, and so wise  
To win her, turns himself into a prize.  
First startles her with th' Emerald Mad-lover  
The Ruby Arcas, lest she should recover  
Her dazzled Thought a Diamond he throws,  
Splendid in all the bright Aspatia's woes;  
Then to sum up the Abstract of his store,  
He flings a rope of Pearl of forty more.  
Ah see! the staggering Virtue faints! which he  
Beholding, darts his Wealths Epitome;  
And now, to consummate her wished fall,  
Shows this one Carbuacie that Darkens all.   

To Dr. F. B. On his Book of Chess.  
SIR, now untravelled is the Golden Fleece:  
Men that could only fool at Fox and Geese,  
Are new made Politicians by thy Book,  
And both can judge and conquer with a Look.  
The hidden fate of Princes you unfold;  
Court, Clergy, Commons, by your Law controlled;  
Strange, Serious Wantoning, all that they  
Blustered, and cluttered for, you play.   

To the Genius of Mr. John Hall On his exxct Translation of Hierocles his Comment upon the golden Verses of Pythagoras.  
'tIs not from cheap thanks thinly to repay  
Th' Immortal Grove of thy fair ordered bay,  
Thou planted'st round my humble Fane, that I  
Stick on thy Hearse this Sprig of Elegy:  
Nor that your Soul so fast was linked in me,  
That now I've both since 't has forsaken thee:  
That thus I stand a Swiss before thy gate,  
And dare for such another time and fate.  
Alas! our Faiths made different Essays,  
Our Minds and Merits broke two several ways;  
Justice commands, I wake thy learned Dust  
And truth, in whom all causes centre must.  
Behold! when but a Youth thou fierce didst whip  
Upright the crooked Age, and gilt Vice strip;  
A Senator †praetext.t†, that knew'st to sway  
The fasces, yet under the Ferula;  
Ranked with the Sage ere blossom did thy Chin  
Sleeked without, and Hair all o'er within;  
Who in the School couldst argue as in Schools,  
Thy Lessons were even Academy rules.  
So that 〈…〉  
At once 〈…〉.  
At 〈…〉 we beheld!  
That well might have the Book of Dogma's swelled;  
Tough Paradoxes, such as Tully's thou  
Didst heat thee with, when snowy was thy Brow,  
When thy undowned face moved the Nine to shake,  
And of the Muses did a Decad make;  
What shall I say, by what Allusion bold,  
None but the Sun was ere so young and old.  
Young reverend shade, ascend an while! whilst we  
Now celebrate this Posthume Victory,  
This Victory that doth contract in Death  
Even all the powers and labours of thy breath;  
Like the Judaean Hero, in thy fall  
Thou pullest the house of Learning on us all.  
And as that Soldier Conquest doubted not,  
Who but one Splinter had of Castriot,  
But would assault even death so strongly charmed,  
And naked oppose rocks with this bone armed;  
So we secure in this fair Relic stand,  
The Slings and Darts shot by each profane Hand,  
These Sovereign leaves thou left'st us are become  
Sear clothes against all Time's Infection.  
Sacred Hierocles! whose heavenly thought,  
First acted o'er this Comment ere it wrought;  
Thou hast so spirited, elixired, we  
Conceive there is a noble Alchemy,  
That's turning of this Gold, to something more  
Precious than Gold we never knew before.  
Who now shall doubt the Metempsychosis,  
Of the great Author, that shall peruse this?  
Let others Dream thy shadow wandering strays  
In th' Elysian Mazes, hid with bays;  
Or that snatched up in th' upper Region  
'Tis kindled there a Constellation;  
I have informed me, and Declare with ease,  
Thy Soul is fled into Hierocles.   

On Sanazar's being honoured with six hundred Ducats by the Clarissimi of Venice, for composing an Eligiack Hexastick of The City.  
A SATYR.  
T' Was a blithe Prince exchanged five hundred Crowns  
For a fair Turnip; Dig, Dig on, O Clowns!  
But how this comes about, Fates can you tell,  
This more than Maid of Meurs, this miracle?  
Let me not live, if I think not St. Mark  
Has all the Oar, as well as Beasts in's Ark;  
No wonder 'tis he marries the rich Sea,  
But to betroth him to naked Poesy,  
And with a bankrupt Muse to merchandise,  
His treasures beams sure have put out his eyes.  
His Conquest at Lepanto I'll let pass,  
When the sick Sea with Turbans Night-caped was:  
And now at Candie his full Courage shown,  
That waned to a wan line the half-half Moon;  
This is a wreath, this is a Victory,  
Caesar himself would have looked pale to see,  
And in the height of all his Triumphs, feel  
Himself but chained to such a mighty wheel.  
And now me thinks we ape Augustus' state,  
So ugly we his high worth imitate,  
Monkey his Godlike glories; so that we  
Keep light and form, with such deformity,  
As I have seen an arrogant Baboon  
With a small piece of Glass Zany the Sun.  
Rome to her Bard, who did her battle's sing,  
Indifferent gave to Poet and to King;  
With the same Laurels were his Temple's 〈◊〉▪  
Who best had written, and who best had fought;  
The Self same fame they equally did feel,  
One's style adored as much as th' other's Steel.  
A chain or fasces she could then afford  
The Sons of Phoebus, we an Axe, or Cord;  
Sometimes a Coroner was her renown,  
And ours the dear prerogative of a Crown.  
In marble statued walks great Lucan lay.  
And now we walk our own pale Statua:  
They the whole year with roses crowned would dine▪  
And we in all December know no wine;  
Disciplined, dieted, sure there hath been  
Odds 'twixt a Poet and a Capuchin.  
Of Princes, Women, Wine, to sing I see  
Is no Apocrypha, for to rise high  
Commend this Olio of this Lord 'tis fit,  
Nay ten to one but you have part of it;  
There is that justice left, since you maintain  
His table, he should coun●●●- your brain.  
Then write how well he 〈…〉  
Strait there 's a Bottle to your chamber rolled.  
Or with embroidered words praise his French Suit,  
Month hence 'tis yours, with his Mans to boot;  
Or but applaud his 〈…〉 two to none,  
But he most nobly doth give 〈…〉  
Or spin an Elegy on his 〈…〉  
'Tis well he cries, but living hair is dear;  
Yet say that out of order there's one curl,  
And all the hopes of your reward you furl.  
Writ a deep epic Poem, and you may  
As soon delight them as the Opera,  
Where they Diogenes thought in his Tub,  
Never so sour did look, so sweet? club.  
You that do suck for thirst your black quil's blood,  
And chaw your laboured papers for your food,  
I will inform you how and what to praise,  
Then skiny ' in Satin as young Lovelace plays.  
Beware, as you would your fierce guests, your louse,  
To strip the cloth of Gold from cherish'd vice;  
Rather stand off with awe and reverend fear,  
Hang a poetic pendant in her Ear  
Court her as her Adorers do their glass,  
Though that as much of a true Substance has,  
Whilst all the gall from your wild ink you drain,  
The beauteous Sweets of Virtue's Cheeks to slain;  
And in your Livery let her be known,  
As poor and tattered as in her own.  
Nor write, nor speak you more of sacred writ,  
But what shall force up your arrested wit.  
Be chaste Religion, and her Priests your scorn,  
Whilst the vain Fanes of Iditoes you adorn,  
It is a mortal error you must know,  
Of any to speak good, if he be so.  
rail your edged breath flay your raw throat,  
And burn all marks on all of gen'rous note;  
Each verse be an indictment, be, not free,  
Sanctity 't self from thy Scurrility.  
Libel your Father, and your Dam Buffoon  
The Noblest Matrons of the Isle Lampoon,  
Whilst Aretine and's bodies you dispute,  
And in your sheets your Sister prostitute.  
Yet there belongs a Sweetness, softness too,  
Which you must pay, but first pray know to who.  
There is a Creature, (if I may so call  
That unto a which they do all prostrate fall)  
Termed Mistress, when they're angry, but pleased high  
It is a Princess, Saint, Divinity.  
To this they sacrifice the whole days light,  
Then lie with their Devotion all night;  
For this you are to dive to the Abyss,  
And rob for Pearl the Closet of some Fish.  
Arabia and Sabaea you must strip  
Of all their Sweets, for to supply her Lip;  
And steal new fire from Heaven for to repair  
Her unfledged Scalp with Berenice's hair;  
Then seat her in Cassiopeia's Chair,  
As now you're in your Coach. Save you bright Sir  
(O spare your thanks) is not this finer far  
Then walk un-hided, when that every Stone  
Has knocked acquaintance with your Ankle bone?  
When your winged papers, like the last dove, ne'er  
Returned to quit you of your hope or fear,  
But left you to the mercy of your Host,  
And your days fare, a fortified Toast.  
How many battels sung in Epic strain,  
Would have procured your head thatch from the rain?  
Not all the arms of Thebes and Troy would get  
One knife but to anatomize your meat,  
A funeral Elegy with a sad boon  
Might make you (hei) sip wine like Maccaroon;  
But if perchance there did a Ribbon come,  
Not the Train-band so fierce with all its drum;  
Yet with your torch you homeward would retire,  
And heartily wish your bed your funeral Pyre.  
With what a fury have I known you feed,  
Upon a Contract, and the hopesed might speed;  
Not the fair Bride, impatient of delay,  
Doth wish like you the Beauties of that day;  
Hotter than all the roasted Cooks you sat  
To dress the fricace of your Alphabet,  
Which sometimes would be drawn dough Anagram,  
Sometimes Acrostic parched in the Flame;  
Then Posies stewed with Sippets, mottoes by,  
Of minced Verse a miserable Pye.  
How many knots slipped ere you twist their name,  
With th'old device, as both their Heart's the same:  
Whilst like to drills the Feast in your false jaw,  
You would transmit at leisure to your Maw;  
Then after all your fooling, fat, and wine,  
Gluttoned at last, return at home to pine.  
Tell me, O Sun, since first your beams did play  
To Night, and did awake the sleeping day;  
Since first your steeds of Light their race did start,  
Did you ere blush as now? Oh thou that art  
The common Father to the base Pissmire,  
As well as great Alcides, did the fire,  
From thine own Altar which the gods adore,  
Kindle the Souls of Gnats and Wasps before?  
Who would delight in his chaste eyes to see,  
Dormice to strike at Lights of Poesy?  
Faction and Envy now is downright Rage,  
Once a five knotted whip there was, the Stage,  
The Beadle and the Executioner,  
To whip small Errors, and the great ones tear.  
Now as ere Nimrod the first King, he writes,  
That's strongest, th'ablest deepest bites.  
The Muses weeping fly their Hill, to see  
Their noblest Sons of peace in Mutiny.  
Could there nought else this civil war complete,  
But Poets raging with Poetic heat,  
Tearing themselves and th' endless wreath, as though  
Immortal they, their wrath should be so too;  
And doubly fired Apollo burns to see  
In silent Helicon a naumachy.  
Parnassus hears these as his first alarms,  
Never till now Minerva was in arms.  
O more than conqueror of the World great Rome!  
Thy Hero's did with gentleness o'er come  
Thy Foes themselves, but one another first,  
Whilst Envy stripped, alone was left, and burst.  
The learned Decemviri, 'tis true did strive,  
But to add flames to keep their fame alive;  
Whilst the eternal Laurel hung i'th' Air;  
Nor of these ten Sons was there found one Heir,  
Like to the golden Tripod it did pass,  
From this to this, till't came to him whose 'twas:  
Caesar to Gallus trundled it, and he  
To Maro, Maro, Naso, unto thee;  
Naso to his Tibullus flung the wreath,  
He to Catullus thus did each bequeath,  
This glorious Circle to another round,  
At last the Temples of their God it bound.  
I might believe, at least, that each might have  
A quiet fame contented in his Grave,  
Envy the living not the dead, 
Ou. El. 15.  doth bite,  
For after death all men receive their right.  
If it be Sacrilege for to profane  
Their Holy Ashes, what is't then their Flame?  
He does that wrong unweeting or in Ire,  
As if one should put out the Vestal fire.  
Let Earth's four quarters speak, and thou Sun bear  
Now witness for thy Fellow-Traveller,  
I was allied dear Uncle unto thee  
In blood, but thou alas not unto me;  
Your virtues, powers, and mine differed at best,  
As they whose Springs you saw, the East and West:  
Let me a while be twisted in thy Shine,  
And pay my due devotions at thy Shrine.  
Might learned Waynman rise, who went with thee  
In thy heavens work beside Divinity,  
I should sit still; or mighty Falkland stand,  
To justify with breath his powerful hand;  
The glory that doth circled your pale Urn  
Might hallowed still and undefiled burn;  
But I forbear; Flames that ate wildl thrown  
At sacred heads, curl back upon their own;  
Sleep heavenly Sands, whilst what they do or write,  
Is to give God himself and you your right.  
There is not in my mind one sullen Fate  
Of old, but is concentred in our state.  
Vandal ore-runners, Goths in Literature,  
Ploughman that would Parnassus new manure:  
Ringers of Verse that All-in chime,  
And toll the changes upon every Rhyme.  
A Mercer now by th'yard does measure o'er  
An Ode which was but by the foot before;  
Deals you an Ell of Epigram, and swears  
It is the strongest and the finest Wears.  
No wonder if a Drawer Verses Rack,  
If 'tis not his 't may be the Spired of Sack,  
Whilst the Fair Bar-maid strokes the Muse's teat,  
For milk to make the Posset up complete.  
Arise thou reverend shade, great johnson rise!  
Break through thy marble natural disguise;  
Behold a mist of Infects, whose mere Breath,  
Will melt thy hallowed leaden house of Death.  
What was Crispinus that you should defy  
The Age for him, he durst not look so high  
As your immortal Rod, He still did stand  
Honoured, and held his forehead to thy brand.  
These Scorpions with which we have to do,  
Are Fiends, not only small but deadly too.  
Well mightst thou rive thy Quill up to the Back  
And screw thy Lyre's grave chords until they crack.  
For though once Hell resented Music, these  
Devils will not, but are in worse disease.  
How would thy masculine Spirit, Father Ben,  
Sweat to behold basely deposed men,  
Justled from the Prerog'tive of their Bed,  
Whilst wives are per'wig'd with their husband's head.  
Each snatches the male quill from his faint hand  
And must both nobler write and understand,  
He to her fury the soft plume doth bow,  
OPen, ne'er truly justly slit till now!  
Now as herself a Poem she doth dress,  
And curls a Line as she would do a tress;  
Powders a Sonnet as she does her hair,  
Then prostitutes them both to public Air  
Nor is't enough that they their faces blind  
With a false dye, but they must paint their mind;  
In meeter scold, and in scanned order brawl,  
Yet there's one Sappho left may save them all.  
But now let me recall my passion,  
Oh (from a noble Father, nobler Son!)  
You that alone are the Clarissimi,  
And the whole generous state of Venice be,  
It shall not be recorded Sanazar  
Shall boast enthroned alone this new made star;  
You whose correcting Sweetness hath sorbad  
Shame to the good▪ and glory to the bad,  
Whose honour hath  into vertue tamed,  
These Swarms that now so angrily I named.  
Forgive what thus distempered jindite,  
For it is hard a Satire not to write.  
Yet as a Virgin that heats all her blood,  
At the first motion of bad understood  
Then at mere thought of fair chastity,  
Strait cools again the Tempests of her Sea;  
So when to you I my devotions raise,  
All wrath and storms do end in calms and praise.   


TRANSLATIONES. Sanazari Hexasticon.  

VIderat Adriacis quondam Neptunus in undis  
Stare Vrbem, & toto ponere jura mari:  
Nunc mihi Tarpeias quantumvis Iupiter Arces  
Objice & illa mihi moenia Martis, ait,  
Seu pelago Tibrim Praefers, Urbem a spice utramque,  
Illam homines dices, hanc posuisse Deos.   

In Virgilium. Pentadii  
Pastor, Arator, Eques; pavi, colui, superavi;  
Capras, Rus, Hostes; fronde, ligone, manu.   

De Scaevola.  
Lictorem pro Rege necans nunc Mutius ultro  
Sacrifico propriam concrcmat igne manum:  
Miratur Porsenna virum, paenamque relaxans  
Maxima cum obscessis faedera victor in it,  
Plus flammis patriae confert quam fortibus armis,  
Una dom●ns bellum funere dextera suâ.   

De Catone.  
Invictus victis in partibus omnia Caelar  
Vincere qui potuit, te Cato non potuit.   

Item.  
Ictu non potuit primo Cato solvere vitam;  
Defecit tanto vulnere victa manus:  
Altius inseruit digitos, qua spiritus ingens  
Exiret magnum dextera fecit iter.  
Opposuit fortuna moram, involvitque Catonis  
Scires, ut ferro plus valuisse manum.   

Item.  
jussa manus sacri pectus violare Catonis  
Haesit, & inceptum victa reliquit opus.  
Ille ait infesto contra sua vulnera vultu,  
Estné aliquid magnus quod Cato non potuit?   

Item.  
Dextra quid dubitas? durum est jugulare Catonem;  
Sed modo liber erit, jam puto non dubitas:  
Fas non est vivo quenquam servire Catone,  
Nedum ipsum vincit nunc Cato simoritur.   

Pantadii.  
Non est, falleris, haec beata non est  
Quod vos creditis esse, vita non est,  
Fulgentes manibus videre gemmas  
Et Testudireo jacere lecto,  
Aut pluma latus abdidisse molli,  
Aut auro bibere, aut cubare cocco,  
Regales dapibus gravare mensas,  
Et quicquid Lybico secatur arvo,  
Non unâ positum tenera cella:  
Sed nullos trepidum timere casus,  
Nec vano populi favore tangi,  
Et stricto nihil aestuare ferro:  
Hoc quisquis poterit, licebit illi  
Fortunam moveat loco superbus.   

Ad M. T. Ciceronem. Catul. Ep. 50.  
Disertissime Romuli nepotum  
Quot sunt, quotque fuere Marce Tulli,  
Quotque post alios erunt in annos,  
Gratias tibi maximas Catullus  
Agit pessimus omnium Poeta,  
Tanto pessimus omnium Poeta;  
Quanto tu optimus omnium Patronus.   

Ad juvencium. Cat. Ep. 49.  
Mellitos oculos tuos juvenci  
Si quis me sinat usque basiare,  
Usque ad millia basiem trecenta;  
Nec unquam videat satur futurus;  
Non si densior aridis aristis,  
Sit nostrae seges Osculationis.   

De Puero & Praecone. Catul.  
Cum puero bello praecontem qui videt esse,  
Quid credat? nisi se vendere discupere.   

Portii Licinii.  
Si Phoebi Soror es mando tibi Delia causam,  
Scilicet ut fratri quae peto verba feras:  
Marmore Sicanio struxi tibi Delphice templum,  
Et levibus calamis candida verba dedi.  
Nunc si nos audis-atque es divinus Apollo,  
Dic mihi qui nummos non habet unde petat.   

Senecae ex Cleanthe.  
Duc me Parens celsique Dominator poli  
Quocunque placuit, nulla parendi mora est  
Adsum impiger, fac nolle, comitabor gemens,  
Malusque patiar facere, quod licuit bono  
Ducunt volentem Fata, nolentem trahunt.   

Quinti Catuli.  
Constiter am exorientem Aurorem forte salutans  
Cum subitò á laeuâ Roscius exoritur.  
Pace mihi liceat, coelestes dicere vestra  
Mortalis Visu pulchrior esse Deo.  
Blanditur puero Satyrus vultuque manuque,  
Nolenti similis retrahit or a puer:  
Quem non commoveat qnamvis de marmore? fnndit  
Penè preces Satyrus; penè puer Lachrymas.   

Floridi. de Ebrioso.  
Phaebus me in somnis vetuit potare Lyaeum,  
Pareo praeceptis, tunc bibo cum vigilo.   

De Asino qui dentibus Aeneidem consumpsit.  
Carminis Iliaci libros consumpsit Asellus,  
Hoc Fatum Troiae est, aut Equus aut Asinus.   

Auso. lib. Epig.  
Trinarii quodam currentem in littoris or a  
Ante canes laporem Caeruleus rapuit;  
At lepus! in me omnis terrae pelagique rapina est  
Forsitan & coeli, si canis astra tenet.   

Auso lib. Epig.  
Polla, potenta, tribon, baculus, scyphus, arcta supellex  
Haec fuerant Cinici, sed putat hanc nimiam:  
Namque cavis manibus cernens potare bubulcum,  
Cur, scyphe, te, dixit, gusto supervacuum?   

Auso. lib. 1. Epig.  
The sanro invento qui limina mortis inibat,  
Liquit ovans laqueum quo periturus erat,  
At qui quod terrae abdiderat non repperit aurum,  
Quem laqueum invenit nexuit & periit.   

A la Chabot.  
Object adorable et charmant,  
Mes souspirs & mes pleur tesmoignent mon torment,  
Mais mes respects m' empeche de parier;  
Ah! que peine dissimuler  
Et que je souffre de martyre  
D' aimer et de n' oser le dire.   

Theophile being denied his addresses to King James, turned the Affront, to his own glory, in this Epigram.  
Si jaques le Roy du scavoir  
Ne trouue bon de me voir  
Voila la cause infallible,  
Car ravy de mon escrit  
Il creut que j'estois tout esprit  
Et par consequent invisible.   

Ausonius.  
Vane quid affect as faciem mihi ponere pictor  
Ignotamque oculis solicitare manu?  
Aeris & Venti sum filia, mater inanis  
Indicii; vocem quae sine ment gero.  
Auribus in vestris habito penetrabilis Echo;  
Si mihi vis similem pingere, pinge sonos.   

Auson.  
Toxica Zelotypo dedit uxor maecha marito,  
Nec satis ad mortem credidit esse datum;  
Miscuit argenti lethalia pondera vivi  
Ut celeret certam vis geminata necem.  
Ergo inter sese dum noxiapocula certant  
Cessit lethalis noxa saltuiferi  
Protinus in vacuos alvi petiere recessus,  
Lubrica dejecti quae via nota cibis.  
quam pia cura Deûm! prodest crudelior uxor,  
Sic cum fata volunt, bina venena juvant.   

Auson. Epig.  
Emptis quod libris tibi Bibliotheca referta est,  
Doctum & Grammaticum te Philomuse putas?  
Quine iam Cytharas, chordas & barbita conde,  
Mercator hodie, cras citharoedus eris.   

Avieni v. c. ad amicos.  
Rure morans, quid agam, respondi pauca rogatus,  
Mane deum exoro famulos post arvaque viso,  
Partitusque meis justo, indico labores.  
Ind lego, Phoebumque cio, Musamque lacesso.  
Tunc oleo corpus fingo mollique palaestrâ a  
Siringo libens animo gaudensque ac foenore liber  
Prandeo, poto, cano ludo, lavo, caeno, quiesco.   

Ad Fabullum, Catul. lib. 1. Ep. 13.  
Caenabis bene mi Fabulle apud me  
Paucis, si dii tibi favent, diebus,  
Sitecum attuleris bonam atque magnam  
Caenam, non sine candida puella,  
Et vino & sale & omnibus cachinnis.  
Haec si inquam attuleris Fabulle noster  
Caenaebis bene, nam tui Catulli  
Plenus sacculus est aranearum.  
Sed contra accipies meros amores,  
Seu quod suavius elegantiusve est:  
Nam unguentum dabo quod meae  
Donarunt Veneres Cupidinesque;  
Quod tu cum olfacies, Deos rogabis  
Totum te faciant Fabulle nasum.   

Mart. lib. 1. Epi. 14.  
Casta suo gladium cum traderet Arria Paeto,  
Quem de visceribus traxer at ipsa suis:  
Si qua fides, Vulnus, quod feci, non dolet, inquit:  
Sed quod tu facies, hoc mihi, Paete, dolet.   

Mart. Epi. 43. lib. 1.  
Conjugis audîsset fatum cum Portia Bruti,  
Et substracta sibi quaereret arma dolor:  
Nondum scitis, ait, mortem non posse negari,  
Credideram satis hoc vos docuisse patrem.  
Dixit, & ardentes avido bibitore favillas.  
I nunc, & ferrum turba molest a nega.   

Mart. Ep. 15. lib. 6.  
Dum Phaetontea formica vagatur in Umbra,  
Implicuit tenuem succina gutta feram,  
Dignum tantorum pretium tulit illa laborum:  
Credibile est ipsam sic voluisse mori.   

Mar. lib. 4. Ep. 33.  
Et latet & lucet Phaetontide condita gutta  
Vt videatur apis Nectare clausa suo:  
Sic modo quae fuerat vitâ contempta manente  
Funeribus facta est jam preciosa suis.   

Mar. lib. 8. Ep. 19  
Pauper videri Cinna vult, & est pauper.   

Out of the anthology.  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.   

In Rufum, Catul. Ep. 57  
Noli admirari quare tibi foemina nulla  
Rufe velit tenerum supposuisse femur;  
Non ullam rarae labefactes munere vestis,  
Aut pellucidulis deliciis lapidis.  
Laedit te quaedam mala fabula, quâ tibi fertur  
Valle sub alarum trux habitare caper.  
Hunc metuunt omnes, neque mirum nam mala valde est  
Bestia, nec quicum bella puella cubet.  
Quare aut crudelem nasorum interfice pestem,  
Aut admir ari desine cur fugiant.   

Catul. Ep. 71. De Inconstantia foeminei amoris.  
Nulli so dicit mulier mea nubere velle  
quam mihi, non si Iupiter ipse petat:  
Dicit, sed mulier cupido quod dicit amanti,  
In vento & rapidâ scribere oportet aqua.   

Ad Lesbiam, (at. Ep. 73.  
Dicebas quondam solum te nosse Catullum,  
Lesbian, nec prae me velle tenere Jovem;  
Dilexi tum te, non tantum ut vulgus amicam  
Sed pater ut gnatos diligit & generos.  
Nunc te cognovi, quare & impensius ur or,  
Multo mi tamenes vilior & levior.  
Qui potis est inquis? quod amantem injuria talis  
Cogat amare magis, sed bene velle minus.  
Odi & amo, quare id faciam fortasse requiris,  
Nescio, sed fieri sentio & excrucior.   

In Lesbiam Cat. Ep. 76.  
Huc est mens deducta tuâ mea Lesbia culpâ  
Atque it a se officio perdidit ipsa suo;  
Ut jam nec bene velle queam tibi, si optima fias  
Nec desistere amare omnia si fácias.   

Ad Quintium Cat. Ep. 83.  
Quinti si tibi vis oculos debere Catnllum,  
Aut aliud si quid carius est oculis;  
Eripere ei noli multo quod carius illi  
Est oculis, seu quid carius est oculis.   

De Quintia & Lesbia. Ep. 87.  
Quintia formosa est multis, mihi Candida, longa,  
Recta est, haec ego sic singula confiteor:  
Tota illud formosa nego: nam multa venustas;  
Nulla in tam magno est corpore mica salis.  
Lesbian formosa est, quae cum pulcherrima tota est,  
Tum omnibus una omneis surripuit veneres.    


TRANSLATIONS Sanazar's Hexastick.  
IN Adriatic waves when Neptune saw,  
The City stand, and give the Seas a Law,  
Now i'th' Tarpeian towers jove rival me,  
And Mars his Walls impregnable, said he;  
Let Seas to Tyber yield, view both their odds,  
You'll grant that built by Men, but this by Gods.   

In English.  
A Swain, Hind, Knight; I fed, tilled, did command  
Goats, Fields, my Foes; with leaves, a spade, my hand.   

Englished.  
The hand by which no King but Sergeant dies,  
Mutius in fire doth freely Sacrifice;  
The Prince admires the Hero, quits his pains,  
And Victor from the siege peace entertains;  
Rome's more obliged to Flames, than Arms or power,  
When one burnt hand shall the whole war devour.   

Of Cato.  
The World o'er come, victorious Caesar, he  
That conquered all; great Cato, could not thee.   

Another.  
One stab could not fierce Cato's Life untie;  
Only his hand of all that wound did die;  
Deeper his Finger's tear to make a way  
Open, through which his mighty Soul might stray.  
Fortune made this delay to let us know,  
That Cato's hand more than his Sword could do.   

Another.  
The hand of sacred Cato bade to tear  
His breast, did start, and the made wound forbear,  
Then to the gash he said with angry brow,  
And is there aught great Cato cannot do?   

Another.  
What doubtest thou hand? sad Cato 'tis to kill;  
But he'll be free, sure hand thou doubtest not still;  
Cato alive 'tis just all men be free,  
Nor conquers he himself now if he die.   

Englished.  
It is not, y'are deceived, it is not bliss  
What you conceive a happy living is:  
To have your hands with Rubies bright to glow,  
Then on your Tortoise-bed your body throw,  
And sink yourself in Down, to drink in gold,  
And have your loser self in purple rolled;  
With Royal fare to make the Tables groan,  
Or else with what from Lybick fields is mown,  
Nor in one vault hoard all your Magazine,  
But at no Coward's fate t'have frighted been,  
Nor with the people's breath to be swollen great,  
Nor at a drawn Stiletto basely swear.  
He that dares this, nothing to him's unfit,  
But proud o' th' top of Fortune's wheel may sit.   

To Marcus T. Cicero. In an English Pentastick.  
Tully to thee Rome's eloquent Sole Heir,  
The best of all that are, shall be, and were:  
I the worst Poet send my best thanks and prayer,  
Even by how much the worst of Poets I  
By so much you the best of Patroness be.   

To juvencius.  
juvencius thy fair sweet Eyes,  
If to my fill that I may kiss,  
Three hundred thousand times I'd kiss,  
Nor future age should cloy this Bliss;  
No not if thicker than ripe ears,  
The harvest of our kisses bears.   

Catul.  
With a fair boy a Crier we behold.  
What should we think? but he would not be sold.   

Englished.  
If you are Phoebus' Sister Delia, pray  
This my request unto the Sun convey:  
O Delphic God, I built thy marble Fane,  
And sung thy praises with a gentle Cane,  
Now if thou art divine Apollo, tell,  
Where he whose purse is empty may go fill.   

Englished.  
Parent and Prince of Heaven O lead I pray,  
Where ere you please; I follow and obey;  
Active I go, sighing if you gainsay,  
And suffer bad what to the good was law,  
Fates lead the willing, but unwilling draw.   

Englished.  
As once I bad good morning to the day,  
O'th' sudden Roscius breaks in a bright Ray;  
Gods with your favour, I've presumed to see,  
A mortal fairer than a Deity.  
With looks and hands a Satire courts the boy,  
Who draws back his unwilling Cheek as coy.  
Although of Marble hewn, whom move nor they?  
The Boy Even seems to weep the Satire pray.   

Of a Drunkard.  
Phoebus' a sleep for bad me Wine to take,  
I yield; and now am only drunk awake.   

The Ass eating the Aeneids.  
A wretched Ass the Aeneids did destroy,  
A Horse or Ass is still the fate of Troy.   

Englished.  
On the Sicilian strand a Hare well wrought  
Before the Hounds was by a Dogfish caught;  
Quoth she; all rape of Sea and Earth's on me  
Perhaps of Heaven, if there a Dog-star be.   

Englished.  
The Cynics narrow household stuff of Crutch,  
A stool and dish, was lumber thought too much;  
For whilst a Hind drinks out on's palms, o'th'strand  
He flings his dish, cries, I've one in my hand.   

Englished.  
A treasure found one entering at death's gate,  
Triumphing, leaves that cord was meant his fate,  
But he the gold missing which he did hide,  
The Halter which he found, he knit, so died.   

To the same Air in 〈◊〉  
Object adorable of charms  
My sighs and tears may testify my harms  
But my respect forbids me to reveal;  
Ah what a pain 'tis to conceal,  
And how I suffer worse then Hell,  
To love and not to dare to tell.   

Lineally Translated out of the FRENCH.  
If james the King of wit  
To see me thought not fit,  
Sure this the cause hath been,  
That ravished with my merit,  
He thought I was all spirit,  
And so not to be seen.   

In English.  
Vain Painter why dost strive my face to draw,  
With busy hands a Goddess eyes ne'er saw:  
Daughter of Air and Wind; I do rejoice  
In empty shouts (without a mind) a Voice.  
Within your ears shrill echo I rebound,  
And if you'll paint me like, then paint a sound.   

In English.  
Her jealous Husband an Adultress gave  
Cold poisons, which to weak she thought for's grave  
A fatal dose of Quicksilver, than she  
Mingles to hast his double destiny;  
Now whilst within themselves they are at strife,  
The deadly potion yields to that of Life,  
And strait from th'hollow stomach both retreat,  
To th'slippery pipes known to digested meat.  
Strange care o'th' Gods! the Murth'resse doth avail  
So when fates please even double poisons heal.   

In English.  
Because with bought books, Sir, your study's fraught  
A learned Grammarian you would fain be thought,  
Nay then buy Lutes and strings so you may play  
The Merchant now, the Fiddler the next day.   

Englished.  
Asked in the Country, what I did, I said  
I view my men and meads, first having prayed;  
Then each of mine hath his just task outlayed.  
I read, Apollo court, I rouse my Muse  
Then I anoint me, and stripped willing loose  
Myself on a soft plat, from us ' ry blessed  
I dine, drink, sing, play, bath, I sup, I rest.   

Englished.  
fabulus I will treat you handsomely  
Shortly, if the kind gods will favour thee.  
If thou dost bring with thee a del'cate mess,  
An Olio or so, a pretty Lass,  
Brisk wine, sharp tales, all sorts of Drollery,  
These if thou bringst (I say) along with thee  
You shall feed highly friend, for know the ebbs  
Of my lank purse are full of Spider's webs,  
But then again you shall receive clear love  
Or what more grateful or more sweet may prove,  
For with an ointment I will favour thee,  
My Venus' s and Cupids gave to me,  
Of which once smelled, the gods thou wilt implore  
fabulus that they'd make thee nose all ore.   

Englished.  
When brave chaste Arria to her Poetus gave  
The Sword from her own breast did bleeding wave,  
If there be faith, this wound smarts not said she,  
But what you'll make, ah that will murder me.   

In English.  
When Portia her dear Lord's sad fate did hear,  
And noble grief sought arms were hid from her,  
Know you not yet no hindrance of death is,  
Cato I thought enough had taught you this,  
So said, her thirsty lips drink flaming coals,  
Go now deny me steel officious fools.   

Englished.  
Whilst in an Amber-shade the Ant doth feast  
A gummy drop ensnares the small wild beast,  
A full reward of all her toils hath she,  
'Tis to be thought she would herself so die.   

In English.  
Both lurks and shines hid in an Amber-tear  
The Bee in her own Nectar prisoner;  
So she who in her life time was contemned  
Even in her very funerals is gemmed,   

In English,  
Cinna seems poor in show,  
And he is so.   

In an English Distich.  
A Fool much bit by fleas put out the light,  
You shall not see me now (quoth he) good night.   

To Rufus.  
That no fair woman will, wonder not why  
Clap (Rufus) under thine her tender thigh;  
Not a silk gown shall once melt one of them,  
Nor the delights of a transparent gem  
A scurvy story kills thee, which doth tell  
That in thine 〈…〉 dwell,  
Him they all fear full of an ugly stinch,  
Nor's 〈…〉 with a handsome wench;  
〈…〉 cursed plague first crush,  
Or cease to wonder why they fly you thus.   

Female Inconstancy.  
My Mistress says she'll marry none but me,  
No not if jove himself a Suitor be:  
She says so; but what women say to kind  
Lovers, we write in rapid streams and wind.   

Englished.  
That me alone you loved, you once did say,  
Not should I to the King of gods give way,  
Then I loved thee not as a common dear,  
But as a Father doth his children cheer;  
Now thee I know, more bitterly I smart,  
Yet thou to me more light and cheaper art.  
What power is this? that such a wrong should press  
Me to love more, yet wish thee well much less.  
I hate and love, wouldst thou the reason know?  
I know not, but I burn and feel it so.   

Englished.  
By thy fault is my mind brought to that pass,  
That it its Office quite forgotten has;  
For be'est thou best, I cannot wish thee well,  
And be'est thou worst, yet must I love thee still,   

To Quintius.  
Quintius if you'll endear Catullus eyes,  
Or what he dearer than his eyes doth prize,  
Ravish not what is dearer than his eyes,  
Or what he dearer than his eyes doth prize.   

Englished.  
Quintia is handsome, fair, tall, strait, all these  
Very particulars I grant with ease:  
But she all ore's not handsome; here's her fault  
In all that bulk, there's not one come of salt,  
Whilst Lesbia fair and handsome too all o'er  
All graces and all wit from all hath boar.      

  

ELEGIES SACRED To the Memory of the AUTHOR: By several of his Friends.  
Collected and Published BY D. P. L.  
Nunquam ego te vitâ frater amabilior  
Adspiciam posthac; at certè semper amabo.  Catullus. 
London, Printed 1660.   

ELEGIES.  

To the Memory of my Worthy Friend, Coll. Richard Lovelace.  
TO pay my Love to thee, and pay it so;  
As Honest men should what they justly owe,  
Were to write better of thy Life then can  
The assured'st Pen of the most worthy man:  
Such was thy composition, such thy mind  
Improved from virtue, and from vice refin'd  
Thy Youth an abstract of the World best parts,  
Enured to Arms and exercised to Arts;  
Which with the Vigour of a man, became  
Thine and thy Country, Piramids of Fame  
Two glorious Light, to guide our hopeful Youth,  
Into the paths of Honour and of Truth.  
These parts (so rarely met) made 〈…〉  
What man should in his full perfection be;  
So sweet a Temper into every sense  
And each affection breathed an Influence  
As smoothed them to a Calm, which still withstood  
The ruffling passions of untamed Blood,  
Without a Wrinkle in thy face, to show  
Thy stable breast could no disturbance know  
In Fortune humble, constant in mischance  
Expert in both, and both served to advance  
Thy Name by various Trials of thy Spirit,  
And give the Testimony of thy merit;  
Valiant to envy of the bravest men  
And learned to an undisputed Pen,  
Good as the best in Both, and great, but Yet.  
No dangerons Courage nor offensive Wit:  
These ever served the one for to defend  
The other Nobly to advance thy friend,  
Under which title I have found my name  
Fixed in the living Chronicle of Fame,  
To times succeeding; Yet I hence must go  
Displeased, I cannot celebrate thee so;  
But what respect acknowledgement and love,  
What these, together when improved improve  
Call it by any Name (so it express  
Aught like a Tribute to thy Worthyness  
And may my bounden gratitude become)  
LOVELACE I offer at thy Honoured Tomb.  
And though thy Virtues many friends have bred  
To love thee living, and lament thee Dead  
In Characters far better couched than these  
Mine will not blot thy Fame nor theirs increase,  
'Twas by thine own great merits raised so high,  
That Maugre time, and Fate, it shall not die.  Sic flevit. Charles Cotton.  

Upon the Posthume and precious Poems of the nobly extracted Gentleman Mr. R. L.  
The Rose and other Fragrant Flowers smell Best  
When they are plucked and worn in Hand or breast,  
So this fair flower of Virtue 〈…〉  
Of Wit, smell now as fresh as when he stood;  
〈…〉 Posthume-Poems 〈…〉  
He on the Banks of Helicon did grow:  
The beauty of his Soul did Correspond  
With his sweet outside, nay, it went beyond;  
LOVELACE, the Minion of the Thespian Dames,  
A●ollo's darling-born with Enthean flames,  
Which in his Numbers wave, and shine so clear  
As Sparks refracted in rich gems appear;  
Such flames that may inspire, and Atoms cast  
To make new Poets, not like him in haste.  Jam. Howell.  

AN ELEGY, Sacred to the Memory of my late Honoured Friend, Colonel Richard Lovelace.  
PArdon (blessed shade) that I thus crowd t. be  
'Mong those that sin unto thy memory;  
And that I think valued Relics spread;  
And am the first that pillages the dead:  
Since who would be thy mourner as befits,  
But an officicus sacrilege commits.  
How my tears strive to do thee fairer right!  
And from the Characters divide my sight.  
Until it (dimmer) a new torrent swells,  
And what obscured it falls my spectacles.  
Let the luxurious floods (impulsive) rise  
As they would not be wept, but weep the eyes,  
The while earth melts, and we above it lie,  
But the weak bubbles of Mortality;  
Until our griefs are drawn up by the Sun,  
And that (too) drop the exhalation.  
How in thy dust we humble now our pride,  
And bring thee a whole people mortified!  
For, who expects not death, now thou art gone,  
Shows his low folly, not Religion.  
Can the Poetic heaven still hold on  
The golden dance when the first mover's gone?  
And the snatched fires (while circularly hurled)  
In their strong Rapture glimmer to the World?  
And not stupendiously rather rise,  
The tapers unto these Solemnities?  
Can the Chords move in tune, when thou dost die  
At once their universal Harmony?  
But where Apollo's harp (with murmur) laid  
Had to the stones a melody conveyed;  
They by some pebble summoned would reply  
In loud results to every battery;  
Thus do we come unto thy marble room,  
To echo from the music of thy tomb.  
May we dare speak thee dead that wouldst be  
In thy Remove only not such as we?  
No wonder the advance is from us hid,  
Earth could not lift thee higher than it did!  
And thou that didst grow up so ever nigh,  
Art but now gone to immortality:  
" So near to where thou art thou here didst dwell,  
The change to thee is less perceptible.  
Thy but unably-comprehending clay,  
To what could not be circumscribed gave way.  
And the more spacious tenant to return,  
Cracked (in the two restrained estate) its urn.  
That is but left to a sucessive trust,  
The Soul's first buried in his body's dust.  
Thou more thyself now thou art less confined  
Art not concerned in what is left behind;  
While we sustain the loss that thou art gone  
Vn-essenced in the separation;  
And he that weeps thy funeral, in one,  
Is piou to the widowed Nation.  
And under what (now) Covert must I sing  
Secure as if beneath a Cherub's wing:  
When thou hast ta'en thy flight hence and art nigh  
In place to some related Hierarchy,  
Where a bright wreath of glories doth but set  
Upon thy head an equal Coronet;  
And thou above our humble converse gone,  
Canst but be reached by contemplation.  
Our Lutes (as thine was touched) were vocal by,  
And thence received the soul by sympathy;  
That did above the threads inspiring creep,  
And with soft whispers broke the 〈…〉  
Which now no more (moved with the sweet surprise)  
Awake into delicious rhapsodies.  
But with their silent Mistress do comply,  
And fast in und'sturbed slumbers lie.  
How from thy first ascent thou didst disperse  
A blushing warmth throughout universe,  
While near the morns Lucasta's fire did glow,  
And to the earth a purer dawn did throw,  
We ever saw thee in the Roll of fame  
Advancing thy already deathless name;  
And though it could but be above its fate,  
Thou wouldst however super-erogate.  
Now as in Venice, when the wanton state,  
Before a Spaniard spread their crowded plate;  
He made it the sage business of his eye,  
To find the Root of the wild treasury.  
So learned from that Exchequer, but the more  
To rate his Masters vegetable Ore:  
Thus when the Greek and Latin Muse we read  
As the but cold inscriptions of the dead;  
We to advantage then admired thee  
Who didst live on still with thy Poesy:  
And in our proud enjoyments, never knew  
The end of the unruly wealth that grew:  
But now we have the last dear Ingots gained,  
And the free vein (however rich) is drained,  
Though what thou hast bequeathed us, no space  
Of this world's span of 〈…〉  
But as who sometime, knew not to conclude  
Upon the waters strange vicissitude;  
Did to the Ocean himself commit,  
That it might comprehend 〈…〉  
Be swallowed up within 〈…〉.  
Thou who art laid up in thy precious cave,  
And from the hollow space of thy grave,  
We still may mourn in tune but must alone  
Hereafter hope to quaver out 〈…〉  
No more the chirping 〈…〉.  
Must henceforth Volley from our 〈…〉.  
But each sad accent must be humour'd well,  
To the deep solemn Organ of thy Cell.  
Why should some rude hand carve thy sacred stone,  
And there incise a cheap inscription:  
When we can shed the tribute of our tears  
So long, till the relenting marble wears?  
Which shall such order in their cadence keep.  
That they a native Epitaph shall weep;  
Until each Letter spelt distinctly lies,  
Cut by the mystic droppings of our eyes.  El. Revett.  

AN ELEGY.  
ME thinks when Kings, Prophets, and Poets die,  
We should not bid men weep, nor ask them why,  
But the great loss should by instinct impair  
The Nations like a pestilential air.  
And in a moment men should feel the Cramp,  
Of grief like persons poisoned with a damp:  
All thing▪ in nature should their death deplore,  
And the Sun look less lovely than before,  
The fixed Stairs should change their constant spaces,  
And Comets cast abroad their flagrant faces;  
Yet still we see Princes and Poets fall  
Without their proper pomp of funeral,  
Men look about as if they nere had known  
The Poet's Laurel, or the Prince's Crown;  
Lovelace hath long been dead, and we can be  
Obliged to man for an Elegy.  
Are you all turned to silence or did he  
Retain the only sap of Poesy,  
That kept all branches living, must his fall  
Set an eternal period upon all:  
So when a Springtide doth begin to fly  
From the green shore, each neighbouring creek grows dry  
But why do! so pettishly detract  
An age that is so perfect, so exact,  
〈…〉  
〈…〉  
〈…〉  
〈…〉  
〈…〉  
〈…〉  
〈…〉  
〈…〉  
〈…〉  
Hath got a great train of Artillery,  
Yet neither shall, nor can it blest the Fame  
And honour of deceased Lovelace Name,  
Whose own Lucasta can support his credit:  
Amongst all such who knowingly have read it,  
But who that Praise can by desert discuss  
Due to those Poems that are Posthumous;  
And if the l●st conceptions are the best,  
Those by degrees do much transcend the rest,  
So full, so fluent, that they richly suit  
With Orpheus lyre, or with Anacreons Lute,  
And he shall melt his wing that shall aspire  
To reach a Fancy or one accent higher.  
Holland and France have known his nobler parts,  
And found him excellent in Arms, and Arts.  
To sum up all, few Men of Fame but know  
He was tam Marti, quam Mercurio.   

To his noble friend Capt. Dudley Lovelace upon his Edition of his Brother's Poems.  
THy pious hand planting fraternal bays,  
Deserving is of most egregious praise;  
Since 'tis the organ doth to us convey,  
From a descended Sun, so bright a Ray.  
Clear Spirit, how much we are bound to thee,  
For this so great a Liberality,  
The truer worth of which by much exceeds  
The Western Wealth which such contention breeds,  
Like the Infusing-God, from the Wellhead  
Of Poesy you have be sprinkled  
Our brows with holy drops, the very last  
Which from your Brother's haypy Pen were cast;  
Yet as the last the best, such matchless skill  
From his divine alembick did distill,  
Your honoured Brother in the Elyzian shade  
Will joy to know himself a Laureate made  
By your religious care, and that his Urn,  
Doth him on Earth immortal life return.  
Yourself you have a good Physician shown,  
To his much grieved friends, and to your own,  
In giving this elixired Medicine,  
For greatest grief a sovereign anodine.  
Sir, from your Brother ye have conveyed us bliss;  
Now, since your Genius so concurs with his,  
Let your own quill our next enjoyments frame,  
All must be rich that's graced with Lovelace name.  Simon Ognell M. D. Coningbrens.  

On the truly Honourable Coll. Richard Lovelace, occasioned by the Publication Of his Posthume-Poems.  
ELEGY.  
GReat Son of Mars! and of Minerva too!  
With what oblations must we come to woe  
Thy sacred soul to look down from above,  
And see how much thy memory we love,  
Whose happy pen so pleased amorous Ears,  
And lifting bright 〈…〉,  
Her in the Star-bespangled did set,  
Above fair Ariadne's Coronet,  
Leaving a pattern to succeeding Wits  
By which to sing forth their 〈…〉  
Shall we bring tears and sighs! no, no, than we  
Should but bemoan ourselves for losing thee,  
Or else thy happiness seem to deny,  
Or to repine at thy felicity:  
Then whilst we chant out thine immortal praise,  
Our offerings shall be only Sprigs of Bays;  
And if our tears will needs their brinks outfly,  
We'll weep them forth into an Elegy,  
To tell the World how deep Fates wounded wit,  
When Atropos the lovely Lovelace hit;  
How th' active fire which clothed thy generous mind,  
Consumed the water and the earth calcined,  
Until a stronger heat by death was given,  
Which sublimated thy poor soul to heaven.  
Thou knewest right well to guide the warlike steed,  
And yet couldst court the Muses with full speed,  
And such success, that the inspiring nine  
Have filled their Thespian fountain so with brine,  
Henceforth we can expect no Lyric lay,  
But biting Satyrs through the world must stray.  
Bellona joins with fair Erato too,  
And with the Destinies do keep▪ do,  
Whom thus she queries; Could not you a while  
Reprieve his life until another file  
Of Poems such as these, had been drawn up?  
The fates replied; that, Thou wert taken up  
A Sacrifice unto the Deities:  
Since things most perfect please their holy eyes,  
And that no other Victim could be found,  
With so much Learning and true Virtue crowned.  
Since it is so in peace for ever rest:  
'Tis very just that God should have the best.  Sym. Ognell M. D. Coningbrens.  

On My Brother.  
LOVELACE is dead! then let the World return  
To its first Chaos; Muffled in its Urn;  
The Stars and Elements together lie  
Drenched in perpetual obscurity;  
And the whole Machine in confusion be,  
As immethodick as an Anarchy;  
May the Great Eye of Day weep out his light,  
Pale Cynthia leave the Regiment of Night,  
The Galaxia all in Sables Dight,  
Send forth no corruscations to our Sight,  
The Sister-graces, and the sacred Nine  
Statued with grief, attend upon his shrine.  
Whose worth, whose loss, should we but truly rate  
'Twould Puzzle our Arithmetic, to state  
Th' account of virtue's so transcendent high,  
Number and Value reach Infinity.  
Did I pronounce him dead! no no, he lives,  
And from his Aromatic Cell he gives  
Spice-breathed Fumes, whose Odoriferous scent  
(In Zephyr-gales which never can be spent)  
Doth spread itself abroad and much outvies,  
The Eastern Bird in her self-Sacrifice:  
Or Father-Phoebus who to th' World Derives  
Such various and such multiformed Lives,  
Took notice that brave LOVELACE did inspire,  
The Universe with his Promethean Fire,  
And snatched him hence before his Thread was spun,  
Env'ing that here should be another Sun,   

On the Death of my Dear Brother.  
EPITAPH.  
TRead (Reader) gently, gently o'er  
The happy Dust beneath this floor:  
For, in this narrow Vault is set  
An Alabaster Cabinet,  
Wherein both Arts and Arms were put,  
Like Homer's Iliads in a Nut;  
Till Death with slow and easy pace,  
Snatched the bright jowell from the Case.  
And now, transformed, he doth arise  
A Constellation in the Skies,  
Teaching the blinded World the way,  
Through Night, to startle into Day:  
And shipwrackt shades, with steady hand  
He steers unto th' Elysian Land.  Dudley Posthumus-Lovelace, 
FINIS.