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+The Project Gutenberg eBook of Poems of Henry Vaughan, Silurist, Volume
+II, by Henry Vaughan, et al, Edited by E. K. Chambers
+
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+
+
+
+Title: Poems of Henry Vaughan, Silurist, Volume II
+
+
+Author: Henry Vaughan
+
+Editor: E. K. Chambers
+
+Release Date: March 20, 2009  [eBook #28375]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS OF HENRY VAUGHAN, SILURIST,
+VOLUME II***
+
+
+E-text prepared by Susan Skinner, David Cortesi, and the Project Gutenberg
+Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)
+
+
+
+Transcriber's note:
+
+      The ligatures oe and OE are indicated by [oe] and [OE].
+
+      The carat (^) indicates a superscript in the original. One
+      carat indicates that the following single letter is
+      superscript. A pair of carats indicates that the enclosed
+      letters are superscript; for example the abbreviations
+      8^vo^ and 12^mo^ are used for the printer's page sizes
+      octavo and duodecimo respectively.
+
+      In the poem "In Etesiam Lachrymantem" (Page 221) the
+      initial letter of the final line is missing in all extant
+      editions; either "C" or "D" seems possible.
+
+      In the Boethius translation Lib. IV. Metrum VI. (page 230),
+      the letter 'y' has been added to make line 9/10 read
+      "...though they/See other stars..." although it is missing
+      in all available editions.
+
+      At many points a period, comma or hyphen seems to be
+      omitted in the original. Obvious typographical errors have
+      been corrected, but where missing punctuation is not clearly
+      an error, or the omission is harmless to the sense, the text
+      remains as in the original.
+
+      Footnotes in the original appear on the page where they are
+      referenced and are numbered from 1 on each page. Here
+      footnotes are numbered consecutively throughout the book and
+      are grouped following each chapter or poem to which they
+      refer. To locate footnote 17 (for example) search for [17].
+      Another search for [17] returns to the point of reference.
+
+
+
+
+
+POEMS OF HENRY VAUGHAN
+
+SILURIST.
+
+VOL. II.
+
+The Muses' Library
+
+
+POEMS OF HENRY VAUGHAN
+
+SILURIST
+
+Edited by E. K. Chambers
+
+With an Introduction by Canon Beeching
+
+VOL. II.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+London:
+George Routledge & Sons, Limited
+New York: E. P. Dutton & Co.
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS OF VOL. II.
+
+                                                               PAGE
+
+TABLE OF CONTENTS                                               vii
+
+BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE                                                xv
+
+BIBLIOGRAPHY OF HENRY VAUGHAN'S WORKS                          lvii
+
+
+POEMS WITH THE TENTH SATIRE OF JUVENAL ENGLISHED, 1646            1
+
+   To all Ingenious Lovers of Poesy                               3
+
+   To my Ingenuous Friend, R. W.                                  5
+
+   Les Amours                                                     8
+
+   To Amoret. The Sigh                                           10
+
+   To his Friend, Being in Love                                  11
+
+   Song: [Amyntas go, thou art Undone]                           12
+
+   To Amoret. Walking in a Starry Evening                        13
+
+   To Amoret Gone from him                                       15
+
+   A Song to Amoret                                              16
+
+   An Elegy                                                      17
+
+   A Rhapsodis                                                   18
+
+   To Amoret, of the Difference 'twixt him and other Lovers,     21
+   and what True Love is
+
+   To Amoret Weeping                                             23
+
+   Upon the Priory Grove, his Usual Retirement                   26
+
+   Juvenal's Tenth Satire Translated                             28
+
+
+OLOR ISCANUS. 1651.
+
+   Ad Posteros                                                   51
+
+   To the ... Lord Kildare Digby                                 53
+
+   The Publisher to the Reader                                   55
+
+   Upon the Most Ingenious Pair of Twins, Eugenius               57
+   Philalethes and the Author of those Poems [by T. Powell,
+   Oxoniensis]
+
+   To my Friend the Author upon these his Poems [by I.           58
+   Rowlandson, Oxoniensis]
+
+   Upon the following Poems [by Eugenius Philalethes,            59
+   Oxoniensis]
+
+   Olor Iscanus. To the River Isca                               61
+
+   The Charnel-House                                             65
+
+   In Amicum Foeneratorem                                        68
+
+   To his Friend ----                                            70
+
+   To his Retired Friend, An Invitation to Brecknock             73
+
+   Monsieur Gombauld                                             77
+
+   An Elegy on the Death of Mr. R. W., Slain in the late         79
+   Unfortunate Differences at Routon Heath, near Chester,
+   1645
+
+   Upon a Cloak lent him by Mr. J. Ridsley                       83
+
+   Upon Mr. Fletcher's Plays, Published 1647                     87
+
+   Upon the Poems and Plays of the Ever-Memorable Mr. William    90
+   Cartwright
+
+   To the Best and Most Accomplished Couple ----                 92
+
+   An Elegy on the Death of Mr. R. Hall, Slain at Pontefract,    94
+   1648
+
+   To my Learned Friend, Mr. T. Powell, upon his Translation     97
+   of Malvezzi's Christian Politician
+
+   To my Worthy Friend, Master T. Lewes                          99
+
+   To the Most Excellently Accomplished Mrs. K. Philips         100
+
+   An Epitaph upon the Lady Elizabeth, Second Daughter to his   102
+   Late Majesty
+
+   To Sir William Davenant upon his Gondibert                   104
+
+
+TRANSLATIONS FROM OVID.
+
+   To his Fellow Poets at Rome, upon the Birthday of Bacchus    106
+
+   To his Friends--after his Many Solicitations--Refusing to    109
+   Petition Cæsar for his Releasement
+
+   To his Inconstant Friend, Translated for the Use of all      112
+   the Judases of this Touchstone Age
+
+   To his Wife at Rome, when he was Sick                        115
+
+   Ausonii. Idyll vi. Cupido [Cruci Affixus]                    119
+
+   [Translations from Boethius]                                 125
+
+   [Translations from Casimirus]                                144
+
+   The Praise of a Religious Life of Mathias Casimirus. In      152
+   Answer to that Ode of Horace, Beatus Ille Qui Procul
+   Negotiis.
+
+   Ad Fluvium Iscam                                             157
+
+   Venerabili Viro, Praeceptori Suo Olim Et Semper              158
+   Colendissimo Magistro Mathaeo Herbert
+
+   Praestantissimo Viro, Thomae Poëllo In Suum De Elementis     159
+   Opticae Libellum
+
+   Ad Echum                                                     160
+
+
+THALIA REDIVIVA. 1678.
+
+   To ... Henry Lord Marquis and Earl of Worcester, &c.         163
+   [by J. W.]
+
+   To the Reader [by I. W.]                                     167
+
+   To Mr. Henry Vaughan, the Silurist: upon These and his       169
+   Former Poems. [By Orinda]
+
+   Upon the Ingenious Poems of his Learned Friend, Mr. Henry    171
+   Vaughan, the Silurist. [By Tho. Powell, D.D.]
+
+   To the Ingenious Author of Thalia Rediviva [By N. W.,        172
+   Jes. Coll., Oxon.]
+
+   To my Worthy Friend Mr. Henry Vaughan, the Silurist.         175
+   [by I. W., A.M., Oxon.]
+
+
+CHOICE POEMS ON SEVERAL OCCASIONS.
+
+   To his Learned Friend and Loyal Fellow-Prisoner, Thomas      178
+   Powel of Cant[reff], Doctor of Divinity
+
+   The King Disguised                                           181
+
+   The Eagle                                                    184
+
+   To Mr. M. L. upon his Reduction of the Psalms into Method    187
+
+   To the Pious Memory of C[harles] W[albeoffe] Esquire, Who    189
+   Finished his Course Here, and Made his Entrance into
+   Immortality upon the 13 of September, in the Year of
+   Redemption, 1653
+
+   In Zodiacum Marcelli Palingenii                              193
+
+   To Lysimachus, the Author Being with him in London           195
+
+   On Sir Thomas Bodley's Library, the Author Being Then in     197
+   Oxford
+
+   The Importunate Fortune, Written to Dr. Powel, of            200
+   Cant[reff]
+
+   To I. Morgan of Whitehall, Esq., upon his Sudden Journey     204
+   and Succeeding Marriage
+
+   Fida; or, The Country Beauty. To Lysimachus                  206
+
+   Fida Forsaken                                                209
+
+   To the Editor of the Matchless Orinda                        211
+
+   Upon Sudden News of the Much-Lamented Death of Judge         213
+   Trevers
+
+   To Etesia (for Timander); The First Sight                    214
+
+   The Character, to Etesia                                     217
+
+   To Etesia Looking from her Casement at the Full Moon         219
+
+   To Etesia Parted from Him, and Looking Back                  220
+
+   In Etesiam Lachrymantem                                      221
+
+   To Etesia Going Beyond Sea                                   222
+
+   Etesia Absent                                                223
+
+
+TRANSLATIONS.
+
+   Some Odes of the Excellent and Knowing [Anicius Manlius]     224
+   Severinus [Boethius], Englished
+
+   The Old Man of Verona, out of Claudian                       236
+
+   The Sphere of Archimedes, out of Claudian                    238
+
+   The Ph[oe]nix, out of Claudian                               239
+
+
+PIOUS THOUGHTS AND EJACULATIONS.
+
+   To his Books                                                 245
+
+   Looking Back                                                 247
+
+   The Shower                                                   248
+
+   Discipline                                                   249
+
+   The Eclipse                                                  250
+
+   Affliction                                                   251
+
+   Retirement                                                   252
+
+   The Revival                                                  254
+
+   The Day Spring                                               255
+
+   The Recovery                                                 257
+
+   The Nativity                                                 259
+
+   The True Christmas                                           261
+
+   The Request                                                  263
+
+   Jordanis                                                     265
+
+   Servilii Fatum, Sive Vindicta Divina                         266
+
+   De Salmone                                                   267
+
+   The World                                                    268
+
+   The Bee                                                      272
+
+   To Christian Religion                                        276
+
+   Daphnis                                                      278
+
+
+FRAGMENTS AND TRANSLATIONS. 1641-1661.
+
+   From Eucharistica Oxoniensia (1641)                          289
+
+   From Of the Benefit we may get by our Enemies (1651)         291
+
+   From Of the Diseases of the Mind and the Body (1651)         293
+
+   From The Mount of Olives (1652)                              294
+
+   From Man in Glory (1652)                                     298
+
+   From Flores Solitudinis (1654)                               299
+
+   From Of Temperance and Patience (1654)                       300
+
+   From Of Life and Death (1654)                                305
+
+   From Primitive Holiness (1654)                               307
+
+   From Hermetical Physic (1655)                                322
+
+   From Cerbyd Fechydwiaeth (1657)                              323
+
+   From Humane Industry (1661)                                  324
+
+
+NOTES TO VOL. II                                                329
+
+LIST OF FIRST LINES                                             355
+
+
+
+
+BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE.
+
+
+Recent inquiries into the life of Henry Vaughan have added but little to
+the information already contained in the memoirs of Mr. Lyte and Dr.
+Grosart. I have, however, been enabled to put together a few notes on
+this somewhat obscure subject, which may be taken as supplementary to
+Mr. Beeching's _Introduction_ in Vol. I. It will be well to preface them
+by reprinting the account of Anthony à Wood, our chief original
+authority (_Ath. Oxon._, ed. Bliss, 1817, iv. 425):
+
+"Henry Vaughan, called the _Silurist_ from that part of Wales whose
+inhabitants were in ancient times called Silures, brother twin (but
+elder)[1] to Eugenius Philalethes, alias Tho. Vaughan ... was born at
+Newton S. Briget, lying on the river Isca, commonly called Uske, in
+Brecknockshire, educated in grammar learning in his own country for six
+years under one Matthew Herbert, a noted schoolmaster of his time, made
+his first entry into Jesus College in Mich. term 1638, aged 17 years;
+where spending two years or more in logicals under a noted tutor, was
+taken thence and designed by his father for the obtaining of some
+knowledge in the municipal laws at London. But soon after the civil war
+beginning, to the horror of all good men, he was sent for home, followed
+the pleasant paths of poetry and philology, became noted for his
+ingenuity, and published several specimens thereof, of which his _Olor
+Iscanus_ was most valued. Afterwards applying his mind to the study of
+physic, became at length eminent in his own country for the practice
+thereof, and was esteemed by scholars an ingenious person, but proud and
+humorous.... [A list of Vaughan's works follows.] ... He died in the
+latter end of April (about the 29th day) in sixteen hundred ninety and
+five, and was buried in the parish church of Llansenfreid, about two
+miles distant from Brecknock, in Brecknockshire."
+
+Anthony à Wood seems to have had some personal acquaintance with the
+poet, for in his account of Thomas Vaughan (_Ath. Oxon._ iii. 725) he
+says that "Olor Iscanus sent me a catalogue of his brother's works."
+
+
+(a) THE VAUGHAN GENEALOGY.
+
+Henry Vaughan's descent from the Vaughans of Tretower, County Brecon,
+has been accurately traced by Dr. Grosart and others. Little has been
+hitherto known about his immediate family. Theophilus Jones, in his
+_History of Brecknockshire_ (1805-9), ii. 544, says: "Henry Vaughan died
+in 1695, aged 75,[2] leaving by his first wife two sons and three
+daughters, and by his second a daughter Rachel, who married John
+Turberville. His grand-daughter, Denys, or Dyenis, a corruption or
+abbreviation of Dyonisia, who was the daughter of Jenkin Jones of
+Trebinshwn, by Luce his wife, died single in 1780, aged 92, and is
+buried in the Priory churchyard.[3] What became of the remainder of his
+family, or whether they are extinct, I know not." To this statement Mr.
+Lyte added nothing but some errors, and Dr. Grosart nothing but the
+following hypothesis:--
+
+"I am inclined to think that William Vaughan, censor of the College of
+Physicians, physician to William III^d., was one of the sons of our
+worthy mentioned by Mr. Lyte.... William Vaughan's 'age 20' in 1668
+represents 1648 as the birth-date, and that fits in with the love-verse
+of the Poems of 1646."
+
+Mr. G. T. Clark, in his _Genealogies of Glamorgan_, p. 240, gives the
+following account:--
+
+Henry [Vaughan], ob. 1695, æt. 75, father by first wife of (1) a son,
+s.p.; (2) Lucy ob. 29 Aug., 1780, æt. 92,[4] m. Jenkin Jones of
+Trebinshwn. Their d. Denise Jones, died single, 1780, æt. 92. By second
+wife (3) Rachel, m. John Turberville; (4) Edmund; (5) Alexander, ob.
+1622 [!], s.p.; (6) Catharine, m. Wm. Harris; (7) Mary, m. John
+Walbeoffe of Llanhamlach; (8) Elizabeth, m. John Arnold; (9) Frances, m.
+Wm. Johns of Cwm Dhu.
+
+Unfortunately Mr. Clark is unable to remember his authority for this
+pedigree. I have found another, which differs from it in many ways, and
+is exceedingly interesting, inasmuch as it gives, for the first time,
+the names of Henry Vaughan's two wives, who appear to have been sisters.
+It is in a volume of _Brecknockshire Pedigrees_ collected by the Welsh
+Herald, Hugh Thomas, and now amongst the Harleian MSS. Hugh Thomas was
+born and lived hard by Llansantffread, and must have known Vaughan and
+his family personally.
+
+           PEDIGREE OF VAUGHAN OF TRETOWER AND NEWTON.
+
+                 (From Harl. MS. 2289, f. 81.)
+
+  Thomas m. Denis, d. and h. to Gwillims of Newton Skethrog.
+                              |
+                       Henry, of Newton.
+                              |
+        Henry, of Newton Skethrog, Doctor of Phisick, m.
+         Catharine, d. to Charles Wise, of Ritsonhall,
+       Staffordshire, and secondly Elizabeth, her sister.
+                |                              |
+   Lucy, m. Ch. Greenleafe of     Grisill, m. Roger Prosser.
+   Streton-upon-Trent, Staff.
+                                  Lucy, m. Jenkin Jones of Trebinshwn.
+
+   Catharine, m.                  Rachel, m. John Turberville
+   Tho. Vaughan, of Newton                             of Llangattock.
+   Skethrog, m. Frances,          Henry, Parson of Penderin,
+   d. to                          m. Janet, d. of Robert
+                                  Walbeoffe of Talyllyn.
+
+It will be observed that neither Mr. Clark's pedigree nor Hugh Thomas'
+agrees with the number of children assigned to each marriage by
+Theophilus Jones, and that neither of them helps out Dr. Grosart's
+hypothesis that Dr. William Vaughan was a son of the poet. Mr. W. B. Rye
+(_Genealogist_, iii. 33) has made it appear likely that this Dr.
+Vaughan, who married Anne Newton, of Romford in Essex, belonged to a
+branch of the Vaughans who had been settled in Romford since 1571.
+
+I now proceed to confirm and illustrate the pedigrees by giving such
+further facts concerning Vaughan's immediate family as I have been able
+with Miss Morgan's assistance, to glean. I can trace no family of Wises
+in Staffordshire so early as the seventeenth century, nor any place in
+that county called Ritsonhall. It is possible that the R. W. of the
+_Elegy_ (vol. ii., p. 79, _note_) may have been a Wise, and also that
+the connection between Vaughan and the Staffordshire Egertons may have
+been through this family (vol. ii., p. 294, _note_). Vaughan's first
+wife Catharine was probably dead before 1658. Thomas Vaughan, in his
+diary (MS. Sloane, 1741, f. 106 (b)), makes mention in that year of
+"eyewater made at the Pinner of Wakefield by my dear wife and my Sister
+Vaughan, who are both now with God." The second wife, Elizabeth,
+survived her husband. Administration of his goods was granted to her as
+the widow of an intestate in May, 1695.[5] The fine old manor-house at
+Newton was pulled down by a stupid land-agent within the memory of man,
+but a stone has been found built into the wall of a house half-a-mile
+from the site, bearing the inscription "H^VE, 1689." This may well
+stand for H[enry and] E[lizabeth] V[aughan]. Newton probably passed to
+the poet's eldest son Thomas and his wife Frances.[6] Of their
+descendants, if any, we know nothing. There was a William Vaughan of
+Llansantffread who, later than 1714, married Mary Games of Tregaer in
+Llanfrynach. But this was probably a Vaughan not of Newton, but of
+Scethrog, also in Llansantffread (_cf._ footnote to p. xxv. below.) In
+1733 William Vaughan was churchwarden of Llanfrynach. In 1740 William
+Vaughan of Tregaer was high sheriff of Brecknock. In 1760 Tregaer had
+passed by purchase to a Mr. Phillips. The registers of Llanfrynach from
+1695-1756 are now lost. Lucy Greenleafe and her sister Catharine are
+quite obscure. One of them may have been the niece who was living with
+Thomas Vaughan when news came from the country in 1658 of his father's
+death (MS. Sloane, 1741, f. 89 (b)). Of the second family, Henry became
+Rector of Penderin in 1684, and vacated the living, probably through
+death, in 1713. A tablet to his memory hung during the present century
+in the church at Penderin, but when the church was restored the tablets
+were taken down and buried under the tiles of the chancel. His wife, a
+Walbeoffe of Talyllyn, belonged to the same family as the Walbeoffes of
+Llanhamlach (vol. ii., p. 189, _note_). The eldest girl, Grisill,
+married Roger Prosser. The Prossers were the younger branch of a
+Brecknockshire family who had become sadlers and mercers in Brecon. Many
+of their tombs are in the Priory church, but Theophilus Jones states
+that by his time they were extinct. Grisill Prosser was married a second
+time, in 1709, to Morgan Watkins, an attorney, and was buried on August
+21, 1737. The second girl, Lucy, married Jenkin Jones of Trebinshwn, a
+cousin of Colonel Jenkin Jones, the local Parliamentary leader. Her
+daughter, Denise Jones, died single in 1780, as Theophilus Jones states,
+and her tombstone in the Priory church records her descent. The third
+girl, Rachel, married John Turberville, one of the Turbervilles of
+Llangattock, who claimed kinship with the Elizabethan poet of that name.
+The following pedigree shows the descendants of the three daughters of
+Henry Vaughan's second marriage, so far as they can be traced.[7]
+
+                     Henry Vaughan = 2. Elizabeth Wise.
+                  _________________|____________________
+                 |                    |                 |
+ 1. Roger   =Grisill ...=2. Morgan   Lucy=Jenkin      Rachel=John
+    Prosser,|              Watkins,     |Jones,            |Turberville
+    Mercer. |              Attorney.    |of Trebinshwn.    |of Llangattock.
+            |                           |                  |
+     _______|___                        |               Richard = Mary----?
+    |           |                       |           of Llamwyse |
+ Walter,       Elizabeth  = Morgan      Denise       and Glan y |
+ bapt. 1693.  bapt. 1686. | Davies,    nat. 1688,    rhyd, ob.  |
+                          | mercer,    o.s.p. 29     1720.      |
+                          | ob. 1727.  Aug., 1780.              |
+                          |                                     |
+                          |                                   John.
+         _________________|_________________                    |
+        |                 |                 |                   |
+   Thomas             Morgan,         Elizabeth,                |
+                     bapt. 8 July,    bapt. 4 April,            |
+                     1720,            1725,                     |
+                     sep. 20 Nov.,    sep. 6 July,              |
+                     1737.            1730.                 Margaret,
+                                                            o.s.p. 1765.
+
+It will be seen that I can give no evidence of the existence of any
+living descendants of Henry Vaughan.
+
+Henry's grandfather, Thomas Vaughan, a younger son of Charles Vaughan of
+Tretower, seems to have come into the possession of Newton through his
+marriage with an heiress of the family of Gwillims or Williams. Newton,
+or in Welsh Trenewydd, is a farm of about 200 acres in the manor or
+lordship, and near the village of Scethrog, both being in the parish of
+Llansantffread and hundred of Penkelley. Williams is a common name in
+Breconshire, and I cannot trace the descent of Thomas Vaughan's wife. In
+the sixteenth century Newton belonged to a family who finally settled on
+the name of Howel, ap Howell or Powell.[8] The last of these is
+described on his tombstone in Llansantffread Church as "David Morgan
+David Howel, who married ... William of Llanhamoloch: and they had issue
+one daughter called Denys. He died 2nd June, 1598." Perhaps Newton
+passed in some way from David Morgan David Howel to his wife's family,
+and so to Thomas Vaughan, who married Denise Gwillims. Theophilus Jones
+(ii. 538) records that at a later date other Williams's, also
+apparently connected with Llanhamlach, were succeeded by other Vaughans
+at Scethrog, hard by Newton. His account is that David Williams,
+youngest brother of Sir Thomas Williams of Eltham, married a daughter of
+John Walbeoffe of Llanhamlach (_cf._ pedigree in vol. ii., p. 189,
+_note_), and bought Scethrog. Their son Charles died without issue, and
+the property passed to his wife Mary (Anne in Harl. MS., 2289, t. 39;
+_cf._ vol. ii., p. 204, _note_), the daughter of Morgan John of
+Wenallt.... She afterwards married Hugh Powell, clerk, parson of
+Llansanffread and precentor of St. David's, and her daughter Margaret
+married Charles Vaughan, son to Vaughan Morgan of Tretower.[9]
+
+A trace of Thomas Vaughan is probably preserved in a window-head from
+the old church of Llansantffread, now destroyed, which has the
+inscription:--
+
+  1626.    E. G.    T. V.    W. T.
+   W.       F.       I.       [bold reversed 'D'].
+
+T. V. may stand for T[homas] V[aughan].[10]
+
+Of Henry Vaughan, the poet's father, very little is known. His name
+appears in a list of Breconshire magistrates for 1620. And we learn from
+Thomas Vaughan's diary in Sloane MS. 1741, f. 89 (b), that he died in
+August 1658.
+
+The only additional definite fact which I can here record of the poet
+himself is that in 1691 he entered a caveat against any institution to
+the vicarage of Llandevalley, he claiming the next presentation under a
+grant from William Winter, Esq.[11] Mr. Rye has shown that the specimen
+of handwriting facsimiled by Dr. Grosart in his edition of Henry
+Vaughan's _Works_ cannot possibly be the poet's. The signatures,
+however, on the margin of a copy of _Olor Iscanus_, once in the library
+of Lady Isham, might be genuine.
+
+
+(b) VAUGHAN AND JESUS COLLEGE, OXFORD.
+
+Anthony à Wood's statement as to Vaughan's residence at Jesus College,
+Oxford, has been generally accepted, but I venture to doubt it on the
+following grounds:--
+
+(1) Vaughan's name does not occur in the University Matriculation
+Register, although his brother Thomas Vaughan is duly entered as
+matriculating from Jesus on 14th December, 1638. The only College
+records which help us are the Battel-books for 1638 and 1640. That for
+1639 is unfortunately missing. The Rev. Llewellyn Thomas kindly informs
+me that he can only trace one undergraduate Vaughan in the two books in
+question. The Christian name is not given, but I think that we must
+assume it to be Thomas.
+
+(2) Vaughan does not describe himself on any title-page as of Jesus
+College; nor does he ever speak of himself as an Oxford man. This
+omission is the more noticeable as he would naturally have done so in
+the lines _Ad Posteros_ (vol. ii., p. 51), and might well have done so
+in those _On Sir Thomas Bodley's Library, the Author being then in
+Oxford_ (vol. ii., p. 197).
+
+(3) Anthony à Wood cannot be depended on. He describes Thomas Carew, for
+instance, as of C.C.C., whereas he was a most certainly of Merton. And
+there was another Henry Vaughan of Jesus, who may have been confused
+with the poet. This Henry Vaughan, a son of John Vaughan of Cathlin,
+Merionethshire, matriculated at Oriel on July 4, 1634. He afterwards
+became a Scholar and Fellow of Jesus, taking his B.A. in 1637 and his
+M.A. in 1639. In 1643 he became vicar of Penteg, co. Monmouth, and died
+at Abergavenny in 1661. (Wood, _Ath. Oxon._, iii. 531; Foster, _Alumni
+Oxon._)
+
+(4) The only confirmation of Anthony à Wood's statement is the poem
+(vol. ii., p. 289) taken by Dr. Grosart from the _Eucharistica
+Oxoniensia_ (1641), and signed "H. Vaughan, Jes. Col." If I am right,
+this may be by Vaughan's namesake. He has indeed another poem in that
+volume signed "Hen. Vaugh., Jes. Soc." but that is in Latin, and it is
+not unexampled for one man to contribute more than one poem, especially
+in different tongues, to such collections. Or it may be by Herbert
+Vaughan, who was a Gentleman-commoner of the College in 1641, and has,
+with Henry Vaughan the Fellow, verses in the [Greek: proteleia] _Anglo
+Batava_ of the same year.
+
+
+(c) VAUGHAN IN THE CIVIL WAR.
+
+There are several passages which make it probable that Vaughan, like his
+brother Thomas, bore arms on the King's side in the Civil War. The most
+important is in the poem _To Mr. Ridsley_ (vol. ii., p. 83), where he
+speaks of the time
+
+         "when this juggling fate
+    Of soldiery first seiz'd me."
+
+In the same poem he mentions
+
+               "that day, when we
+    Left craggy Biston and the fatal Dee."
+
+"Craggy Biston" is clearly Beeston Castle, one of the outlying defences
+of Chester, situated on a steep rock not very far east of the Dee. This
+castle was besieged on several occasions during the Civil War,
+especially during the campaign of 1645, when Chester was also besieged
+by the Parliamentarians.[12] Between Beeston and the Dee was fought, on
+September 24, 1645, the battle of Rowton Heath, after which Charles the
+First, who had hoped to raise the siege of Chester, was obliged to
+retreat to Denbigh.[13] The following lines from Vaughan's _Elegy on Mr.
+R. W._ (vol. ii., p. 79), who fell in that battle, seem to have been
+written by an eye-witness:
+
+                                "O that day
+    When like the fathers in the fire and cloud
+    I miss'd thy face! I might in ev'ry crowd
+    See arms like thine, and men advance, but none
+    So near to lightning mov'd, nor so fell on.
+    Have you observ'd how soon the nimble eye
+    Brings th' object to conceit, and doth so vie
+    Performance with the soul, that you would swear
+    The act and apprehension both lodg'd there?
+    Just so mov'd he: like shot his active hand
+    Drew blood, ere well the foe could understand.
+    But here I lost him."
+
+This appears to me pretty conclusive evidence; against it, however, must
+be set the passage on the Civil War in the autobiographical poem _Ad
+Posteros_ (vol. ii., p. 51).
+
+    Vixi, divisos cum fregerat haeresis Anglos
+      Inter Tysiphonas presbyteri et populi.
+    His primum miseris per amoena furentibus arva
+      Prostravit sanctam vilis avena rosam.
+    Turbarunt fontes, et fusis pax perit undis,
+      Moestaque coelestes obruit umbra dies.
+    Duret ut integritas tamen, et pia gloria, partem
+      Me nullam in tanta strage fuisse, scias;
+    Credidimus nempe insonti vocem esse cruori,
+      Et vires quae post funera flere docent.
+    Hinc castae, fidaeque pati me more parentis
+      Commonui, et lachrimis fata levare meis;
+    Hinc nusquam horrendis violavi sacra procellis,
+      Nec mihi mens unquam, nec manus atra fuit.
+
+The natural interpretation of this certainly is that Vaughan took no
+share in the disturbances of his time, except to grieve over them in
+retirement. Yet, in the first place, the lines may have been written
+before he took up arms in 1645, and, in the second, they may only mean
+that he had no share in _bringing about_ the troubles of England, or in
+shedding _innocent_ blood. Similarly when elsewhere, as in _Abel's
+Blood_ (vol. i. p. 254), and in the prayer to be quoted below, he
+expresses horror of blood-guiltiness, this need not necessarily be taken
+as extending to the man who fights in a righteous cause.
+
+Miss Morgan, I may add, suggests that Vaughan was at Rowton Heath, not
+as a combatant, but as a physician. The description which he gives of
+the battle reads like that of a man who saw it from some commanding
+point of view, but was not himself engaged. I think it not improbable
+that Vaughan was one of the garrison of Beeston Castle, which is
+described to me as "a sort of grand stand for the battle-field." Beeston
+Castle was invested by the Parliamentarians in the course of September
+1645. On the approach of Charles the troops were drawn off on 19th
+September to Chester.[14] Charles no doubt took the opportunity to
+strengthen the garrison. After Rowton Heath Beeston Castle was again
+besieged, and on November 16th it surrendered. The garrison were allowed
+to march across the Dee to Denbigh. I think that this winter ride from
+the fallen fortress is the one described by Vaughan in the poem to Mr.
+Ridsley. It is the more probable that Vaughan took part in this campaign
+of 1645, in that Charles's force was largely recruited from Wales. After
+the battle of Naseby on June 14th, the King had marched through Wales,
+collecting such levies as he could. He was in Brecon on August 5th.[15]
+It is quite possible that Vaughan, whose kinsman Sir William Vaughan was
+in command of a brigade, volunteered on this occasion. From Brecon
+Charles marched through Radnorshire, Shropshire, Staffordshire,
+Derbyshire, Nottinghamshire, Yorkshire, and so to Oxford. In September
+he set out again, and after some delay at Hereford and Raglan, finally
+made for Chester.
+
+It is just conceivable that it is to some occasion in this campaign that
+Vaughan refers when he calls Dr. Powell his "fellow-prisoner" (vol. ii.,
+p. 178). The poet may even have been the Captain Vaughan whose name
+appears in the official list of prisoners taken at Rowton Heath.[16]
+Powell's name is not there, but then the list does not profess to be
+complete. But on the whole I think that Vaughan and Powell were only
+fellow-prisoners in the Platonic sense of imprisonment in the flesh, and
+even if a literal imprisonment is intended, it may have been due to some
+act of persecution which Vaughan had to suffer as a Royalist at a later
+date. There is in _The Mount of Olives_ (1652) a _Prayer in Adversity
+and Troubles occasioned by our Enemies_ (Grosart, vol. iii., p. 75),
+which, if it is to be taken--I think it is not--as autobiographical,
+seems to show that, at least for a time, he lost his estate. The prayer
+runs: "Thou seest, O God, how furious and implacable mine enemies are:
+they have not only robbed me of that portion and provision which Thou
+hast graciously given me, but they have also washed their hands in the
+blood of my friends, my dearest and nearest relations. I know, O God,
+and I am daily taught by that disciple whom Thou didst love, that no
+murderer hath eternal life abiding in him. Keep me, therefore, O my
+God, from the guilt of blood, and suffer me not to stain my soul with
+the thoughts of recompense and vengeance, which is a branch of Thy great
+prerogative, and belongs wholly unto Thee. Though they persecute me unto
+death, and pant after the very dust upon the heads of Thy poor, though
+they have taken the bread out of Thy children's mouth, and have made me
+a desolation; yet, Lord, give me Thy grace, and such a measure of
+charity as may fully forgive them."
+
+It may have been during some such time of trouble, or imprisonment, if
+imprisonment there was, that Vaughan's wife lived with Thomas Vaughan,
+as will be seen below, in London.
+
+
+(d) THOMAS VAUGHAN.
+
+It has not been thought necessary to reprint in this edition of Henry
+Vaughan's poems the scanty English and Latin verses of his brother,
+Thomas Vaughan. They may be found, together with verses by Virgil and
+Campion ascribed to him, in vol. ii. of Dr. Grosart's _Fuller Worthies_
+edition. But some account of so curious a person will not be out of
+place.
+
+As for his brother, our chief authority is Anthony à Wood (_Ath. Oxon._,
+iii. 722), who says that he was the son of Thomas Vaughan of
+Llansantffread,[17] that he was born in 1621, educated under Matthew
+Herbert and at Jesus College, Oxford, of which he became Fellow, took
+orders and received [in 1640] the living of Llansanffread from his
+kinsman, Sir George Vaughan [of Fallerstone, Wilts]. He lost his living
+in the unquiet times of the Civil War, retired to Oxford, and became an
+eminent chemist, afterwards moving to London, where he worked under the
+patronage of Sir Robert Murray. He was a great admirer of Cornelius
+Agrippa, "a great chymist, a noted son of the fire, an experimental
+philosopher, a zealous brother of the Rosicrucian fraternity ... neither
+papist nor sectary, but a true resolute protestant in the best sense of
+the Church of England." In the great plague he fled with Murray from
+London to Oxford, and thence went to the house of Samuel Kem at Albury,
+where he died on February 27, 1665/6, of mercury accidentally getting
+into his nose while he was operating. He was buried at Albury on March
+1st. Writing in 1673, Anthony à Wood gives a list of his alchemical and
+mystical treatises published between 1650 and 1655. Of these he had
+received a list from Olor Iscanus (Henry Vaughan). They all bear the
+name of Eugenius Philalethes, except the _Aula Lucis_ (1652), which was
+issued as by S. N., _i.e._ [Thoma]S [Vaugha]N. Some of these pamphlets
+contain Vaughan's share of a vigorous and scurrilous controversy with
+Henry More, the Platonist. Anthony à Wood distinguishes from Vaughan
+another Eugenius Philalethes, author of the _Brief Natural History_
+(1669), also one Eirenaeus Philalethes, author of _Ripley Redivivus_ and
+other works, and Eirenaeus Philoponos Philalethes, author of _The Marrow
+of Alchemy_ (1654-5).[18]
+
+A few facts, from well-known sources, may be added to Anthony à Wood's
+account. The University Registers show that "Thos. Vaughan, son of
+Thomas of Llansanfraid, co. Brecon, pleb., matriculated from Jesus
+College on 14 Dec, 1638, aged 16." He took his B.A. on 18 Feb., 1641/2,
+but does not appear to have taken his M.A., though he became Fellow of
+his College (Foster, _Alumni Oxon._). John Walker (_Sufferings of the
+Clergy_ (1714), p. 389) states that he was ejected from his living on
+the charges of "drunkenness, immorality, and bearing arms for the
+King."[19] This must have been in 1649, under the Act for the
+Propagation of the Gospel in Wales. There exists a letter from Thomas
+Vaughan to a friend in London, dated from "Newtown, Ash Wednesday,
+1653;"[20] and it appears from Jones' _History of Brecknockshire_ (ii.,
+542), that at one time he lived with his brother Henry there. The
+allusions to Henry More, to Murray, and to the Isis and Thames seem to
+show that he is the Daphnis of his brother's _Eclogue_ (vol. ii., p.
+278). No trace of his death or burial can however be now found at
+Albury. Mr. Gordon Goodwin points out to me that Dr. Samuel Kem was a
+somewhat notorious character (_Dict. Nat. Biog._, s.v. _Kem_): perhaps
+this friendship, together with the personal confession quoted below,
+throws light on the charges which lost Vaughan his living. On the other
+hand Anthony à Wood speaks well of him, and the tone of his writings
+bears out this more kindly judgment, at any rate so far as his later
+years are concerned.
+
+What has been said fairly well exhausted the available information on
+Thomas Vaughan until a few years ago, when Mr. A. E. Waite discovered in
+Sloane MS. 1741 a valuable manuscript of his, containing amongst other
+things a number of autobiographical memoranda. He printed some extracts
+from this in the preface to an edition of some of _The Magical Writings
+of Thomas Vaughan_ (Redway, 1888), and has been kind enough to furnish
+me with a reference to the MS. itself, which I have carefully examined.
+It bears the title _Aqua Vitae non Vitis_, and the inscription "Ex
+libris Thomas et Rebecca Vaughan, 1651, Sept. 28. Quos Deus coniunxit
+quis separabit?" The contents are partly personal jottings and records
+of dreams, partly alchemical formulae. They appear to cover the period
+1658-1662. We learn from them the following facts:--Vaughan was married
+on September 28, 1651, to a lady named Rebecca (f. 106 (b)). With her
+and his "Sister Vaughan" he lived and studied alchemy at the Pinner of
+Wakefield.[21] He had previously lodged at Mr. Coalman's in Holborn (f.
+104 (b)). His wife died on Saturday, April 17, 1658, and was buried at
+Mappersall, in Bedfordshire (f. 106 (b)).[22] In 1658 his father and his
+brother W. were both dead, and he mentions the news of his father's
+death coming to his niece in a letter from the country (f. 89 (b)). On
+April 9, 1659, he saw his brother H. in a dream. On 16 July, 1658, he
+was living at Wapping (f. 103 (b)), and at an earlier period at
+Paddington. There is an inventory of his wife's goods left at Mrs.
+Highgate's, and mention of a Mr. Highgate and a Sir John Underhill (f.
+107). He names his cousin, Mr. J. Walbeoffe, with whom he had some money
+transactions (f. 18), and speaks of "a certain person with whom I had in
+former times revelled away my years in drinking" (f. 103). Perhaps this
+also was John Walbeoffe, on whom _see_ vol. ii., p. 189, _note_. The
+alchemical formulae and receipts are interesting. In one place (f. 12)
+Vaughan announces the discovery of the "Extract of Oil of Halcaly,"
+which he had previously found in his wife's days and had lost again.
+This he calls "the greatest joy I can ever have in this world after her
+death." He seems to have regarded it as the key to an universal solvent.
+Nearly every receipt is followed by his and his wife's initials in the
+form T. R. V. or T. ^V. R., and by some expression of devotion to her or
+of religious piety.
+
+I now come to the remarkable statements made with respect to Thomas
+Vaughan in the _Mémoires d'une ex-Palladiste_, now in course of
+publication by Miss Diana Vaughan. Miss Vaughan is a lady who has
+created a considerable sensation in Paris. Her own account of herself is
+that she was brought up as a worshipper of Lucifer, and was for some
+years a leading spirit amongst certain androgynous lodges of Freemasons,
+in which the worship of Lucifer is largely practised. She has now, owing
+to the direct interposition of Joan of Arc, become a Catholic, and has
+made it her mission to combat Luciferian Freemasonry in every way. Her
+_Memoirs_ are partly a biography, partly an account of this cult.[23]
+Miss Vaughan claims to be a great-grand-daughter of Thomas Vaughan's.
+She declares him to have been a Luciferian, Grand-master of the
+Rosicrucian order, and the founder of modern Freemasonry; and gives an
+exhaustive account of his career on the authority of family archives.
+The following paragraphs contain the substance of her narrative, the
+"legend of Philalethes," as it was told to Miss Vaughan by her father
+and her uncle, who were intimate friends of Albert Pike.
+
+The traditional accounts of Thomas Vaughan, says Miss Vaughan, contain
+serious errors. The dates of his birth and of his death, and the
+pseudonym under which he wrote are all incorrectly stated[24] (p. 110).
+He was born in Monmouth in 1612, being two years the elder of his
+brother Henry. The two boys were brought up at Oxford, after their
+father's death, by their uncle, Robert Vaughan the antiquary,[25] and
+entered at Jesus College (p. 114). In 1636, at the age of 24, Thomas
+Vaughan went to London, and became the disciple of Robert Fludd, who was
+a Rosicrucian (p. 148). The real nature of the Rosicrucians has hitherto
+been a mystery. They were in reality Luciferians, and carried on in
+secret during the seventeenth century that warfare against Adonai, the
+god of the Catholics, out of which had already sprung Wiclif, Luther,
+and the Reformation, and out of which was some day to spring, more
+deadly and more dangerous still, Freemasonry. The Fraternity of
+Rosie-Cross was founded by Faustus Socinus in 1597. He was succeeded as
+head of it by Caesar Cremonini (1604-1617), Michael Maier (1617-1622),
+Valentin Andreae (1622-1654), and Thomas Vaughan (1654-1678).[26] When
+Thomas Vaughan first came to London in 1636, Valentin Andreae was
+_Summus Magister_ of the Fraternity, and amongst its leading members
+were Robert Fludd and Amos Komenski, or Comenius (pp. 129-148). Robert
+Fludd initiated Thomas Vaughan into the lower degrees of the Golden
+Cross (p. 148), and sent him to Andreae at Calw, near Stuttgart, with a
+letter in which he prophesied for him a miraculous future (p. 163).
+After this visit to Germany, Vaughan returned to London, and after
+Fludd's death, in 1637, undertook in 1638 his first visit to America. In
+many of his writings he speaks as a Christian minister, and at this time
+he probably passed as a Nonconformist (p. 164). He was back in London
+early in June, 1639 (p. 165), and in the same year visited Denmark, and
+made a report to Komenski on the mysterious golden horn found at Tondern
+in that country (p. 166). In 1640 Vaughan received from Komenski the
+first initiation of the Rosie Cross, and chose the pseudonym of
+Eirenaeus Philalethes.[27] He now became exceedingly active, going and
+coming upon the face of the earth. When in England, he divided his time
+between Oxford and London (p. 167). Between 1640 and 1644 he visited
+Hamburg, the Netherlands, Italy and Sweden (pp. 171-174). It was at this
+period that he conceived the design of obtaining a far wider circulation
+than they had yet met with for the ideas of Faustus Socinus. Some of the
+Rosicrucians were already "accepted masons." Vaughan determined to
+capture the vast organization of craft masonry by permeating the lodges
+with Luciferianism. His associate in this task was Elias Ashmole, with
+whose aid, a few years later, he composed the degrees of Apprentice
+(1646), Companion (1648), and Master (1649) (pp. 142, 169-175, 197-206).
+The Civil War had now approached. Oliver Cromwell was a freemason, a
+Rosicrucian, and a friend of Vaughan's (p. 176). With the execution of
+Laud came the crisis of Vaughan's life, his initiation into the highest
+degree of Rosie Cross by the hands of Lucifer himself. It took place in
+this wise. At the last moment Vaughan was substituted for the intended
+executioner of Laud.[28] He had prepared a sacramental cloth which he
+soaked in the martyr's blood, and on the same night he sacrificed the
+relic to Lucifer. The divinity appeared, consecrated Vaughan as
+_Magus_, named him as the next _Summus Magister_ of the Fraternity, and
+signed a pact, granting him thirty-three years more life, at the end of
+which he should be borne away from earth without death (p. 177). In 1645
+Vaughan wrote, but did not yet publish, his most important treatise, the
+_Introitus Apertus ad Occlusum Regis Palatium_. In 1645, still following
+the direct command of Lucifer, he departed for America. Here he met the
+apothecary George Starkey, and in his presence performed the alchemical
+feat of making gold (p. 179).[29] Here, too, he lived amongst the
+Lenni-Lennaps, where he was united to the demon Venus-Astarte in the
+form of a beautiful woman, who after eleven days bore him a daughter.
+This girl was brought up among the Lenni-Lennaps under the name of Diana
+Wulisso-Waghan, and became Miss Diana Vaughan's great-great-grandmother
+(p. 181). In 1648 Vaughan returned to England, and after composing the
+masonic degree of Master in 1649 (p. 197), he began the publication of
+a series of alchemical and, in reality, Luciferian writings. In 1650
+appeared the _Anthroposophia Theomagica_ and the _Magia Adamica_, in
+1651 the _Lumen de Lumine_; in 1652 the _Aula Lucis_ (p. 211). In 1654
+Valentin Andreae died, and Vaughan succeeded him as _Summus Magister_ of
+the Rosie Cross, the event being announced to him by the homage of three
+demons, Leviathan, Cerberus, and Belphegor (p. 214). In 1655 he
+published his _Euphrates_, and in 1656 made his head-quarters at
+Amsterdam or Eirenaeopolis. In 1659 came his _Fraternity of R. C._; in
+1664 his _Medulla Alchymiae_.[30] In 1666 he exhibited the philosopher's
+stone to Helvetius at La Haye and converted him to occultism: in 1667 he
+at last resolved to publish his Opus Magnum, the _Introitus Apertus_,
+already written in 1645 (p. 215). In 1668 this was followed by the
+_Experimenta de Praeparatione Mercurii Sophici_ and the _Tractatus Tres_
+(p. 236). The time was now approaching when Vaughan, in fulfilment of
+the pact of 1644, must disappear from earth. He named Charles Blount as
+his successor (p. 237), and was granted a magical vision of his
+grandson, the child of Diana Wulisso-Waghan and a Lenni-Lennap (p. 239).
+He finished his _Memoirs_, published the _Ripley Revised_[31] and the
+_Enarratio Methodica trium Gebri Medicinarum_, left his poems to his
+brother Henry, who published them in the next year as the _Thalia
+Rediviva_,[32] and on March 25, 1678, disappeared in the company of
+_Lucifer Dieu-Bon_ himself (p. 240). This event is vouched for, not only
+by a written statement of Henry Vaughan (p. 114), but also by the
+existence in a masonic triangle at Valetta of a magical talisman into
+which, when properly evoked, the spirit of Philalethes enters and
+records his glorious end for the edification of the Luciferians
+present[33] (p. 243).
+
+I fear that I have taken Miss Vaughan with undue seriousness. Her
+account of Thomas Vaughan is not only unsupported by direct
+evidence,[34] but much of it is of a character which we should not be
+justified in accepting, even were direct evidence forthcoming. And it is
+all discordant with the little that we do happen to know of Thomas
+Vaughan from other sources. The whole thing is, in fact, a pretty
+obvious romance of very modern fabrication. It appears to have been
+compiled from such information as to the alchemical and mystical writers
+of the seventeenth century as was within the reach of Albert Pike and
+the brothers Vaughan about the year 1870.[35] It is always better to
+explain than to refute an error; and the nature of the Luciferian
+tradition of Thomas Vaughan is pretty clearly shown by the fact that it
+is not corroborated in a single particular by any of the new facts about
+him that have come to light since this probable date of its
+composition.[36] The fabricator put Thomas Vaughan's birth-place in
+Monmouth instead of Brecon, because he had never seen Dr. Grosart's
+_Fuller Worthies_ Edition of Henry Vaughan. He makes no mention of any
+of the facts contained in Sloane MS. 1741, because that MS. was still
+unknown. And, most fatal of all, he puts Thomas Vaughan's birth in 1612
+instead of 1621-2, because Foster's _Alumni Oxonienses_ being yet
+unpublished, he was ignorant of the record of that date preserved in the
+University Registers. But we can go a step further. We can confute him,
+not only by pointing to the books he did not use, but by pointing to
+those he did. It has already been shown that the ascription to Vaughan
+of the English translation of Maier's _Themis Aurea_ is due to a
+misunderstanding of a phrase used by Anthony à Wood. The _Athenae
+Oxonienses_ then was one source of the compilation. Another was the
+_Histoire de la Philosophie Hermétique_, written by Lenglet-Dufresnoy in
+1742. Here is the proof. Miss Vaughan supports her statement as to the
+birth-date in 1612 by a quotation from the _Introitus Apertus_, in which
+the writer states it to have been composed "en l'an 1645 de notre salut,
+et le trente-troisième de mon age." This she professes to translate from
+the _editio princeps_ published by Jean Lange in 1667. As a matter of
+fact it is taken from the version given in Lenglet-Dufresnoy's book. And
+Lenglet-Dufresnoy followed, not the edition of 1667, but the later
+edition published by J. M. Faust at Frankfort in 1706. In this the words
+are "trigesimo tertio," whereas in the _editio princeps_ they are
+"vicesimo tertio," and in W. Cooper's English translation of 1669, "in
+the 23rd year of my age," thus bringing the date of the birth of
+Eirenaeus Philalethes not to 1612, but to 1622. The "legend of
+Philalethes" need detain us no longer. Miss Vaughan's narrative is a
+very insufficient basis for regarding the pious minister and mystic
+which Thomas Vaughan appears to have been as a secret enemy of
+Christianity and a worshipper of Lucifer.
+
+But when the legend is set aside, there still remain certain questions
+suggested by it which may be considered without much reference to the
+statements of Miss Vaughan. Was Thomas Vaughan a Rosicrucian? And was
+he, admittedly the author of a series of tracts under the name of
+Eugenius Philalethes, also the author of those which bear the name of
+Eirenaeus Philalethes? The first question is, I am afraid, insoluble,
+until it has been decided whether the Fraternity of R. C. ever had an
+actual existence. Anthony à Wood states that Thomas Vaughan was a
+zealous Rosicrucian, but probably Anthony à Wood took the term in the
+general sense of mystic and alchemist. On the other hand Vaughan
+himself, in his preface to the English translation of the Rosicrucian
+manifestoes, seems to disavow any personal acquaintance with the members
+of the fraternity. Even this is not conclusive, for the Rosicrucian
+rule, as given in the _Laws of the Brotherhood_, published by Sincerus
+Renatus in 1710,[37] obliges the members to deny their membership.
+
+There is more material for the discussion of the second question, but I
+do not know that it is more possible to come to a definite conclusion.
+The personality of the anonymous adept who took the name of Eirenaeus
+Philalethes was shrouded in mystery even to his contemporaries. The
+fullest account given of him on any of his title-pages is on that of the
+_Experimenta de Praeparatione Mercurii Sophici_ (1668), which is said to
+be "ex manuscripto Philosophi Americani alias Eyrenaei Philalethis,
+natu Angli, habitatione Cosmopolitae."[38] We have also the description
+given by George Starkey, or whoever it was, in the _Marrow of Alchemy_
+(1654-5), p. 25. Starkey says:--
+
+    "His present place in which he doth abide
+         I know not, for the world he walks about,
+    Of which he is a citizen; this tide
+         He is to visit artists and seek out
+            Antiquities a voyage gone and will
+            Return when he of travel hath his fill.
+
+    "By nation an Englishman, of note
+         His family is in the place where he
+    Was born, his fortune's good, and eke his coat
+         Of arms is of a great antiquity;
+            His learning rare, his years scarce thirty-three;
+            Fuller description get you not from me."
+
+
+Starkey gives the age of Eirenaeus Philalethes as 33 in 1654. This
+precisely confirms the writer's own statement in the earlier editions of
+the _Introitus Apertus_ that he was 23 in 1645, and fixes the birth-date
+as 1621 or 1622. Now this agrees remarkably with the birth-date
+ascertained from other sources of Thomas Vaughan. But Thomas died in
+1666, and it is usually asserted that Eirenaeus Philalethes lived until
+at least 1678. Miss Vaughan states that he must have been alive in that
+year, because he then published the _Ripley Revived_, and the _Enarratio
+Trium Gebri Medicinarum_. She declares that the author of the
+_Enarratio_ mentions the pains taken about that edition (p. 240). I do
+not find any prefatory matter in this book at all. There is a preface to
+the _Ripley Revived_, but this was written long before 1678, for it
+mentions the _Introitus Apertus_, published in 1667, as still in
+manuscript. Neither Jean Lange, the editor of the _Introitus Apertus_ of
+1667, writing 9th December, 1666, nor William Cooper, the editor of the
+English translation[39] of 1669, writing 15th September, 1668, know
+whether the author is still alive. In fact he cannot be shown to have
+outlived Thomas Vaughan, for there is no proof that the adept who showed
+the philosopher's stone to Helvetius on December 27th, 1666,[40] was the
+same as he who showed it to George Starkey many years before. I will
+briefly enumerate a few other links which connect Eirenaeus Philalethes
+with Thomas Vaughan. A German translation of the _Introitus Apertus_,
+published at Hamburg under the title of _Abyssus Alchemiae_ (1704), is
+said on the title-page to be "von T. de Vagan." Miss Vaughan states that
+a similar translation of the first of the _Tres Tractatus_, published at
+Hamburg in 1705, also bears this name (p. 237), and this is borne out by
+Lenglet-Dufresnoy (iii. 261-6), who speaks of a French MS. of the _Tres
+Tractatus_ inscribed "par Thomas de Vagan, dit Philalèthe ou Martin
+Birrhius." Birrhius, however, was only the editor. These ascriptions are
+probably made on the authority of G. W. Wedelius, who in his preface,
+dated 2nd Sept., 1698, to an edition of the _Introitus Apertus_,
+published at Jena in 1699, says of the author:--"Ex Anglia tamen vulgo
+habetur oriundus ... et Thomas De Vagan appellatus." The English _Three
+Tracts_ (1694) are stated on the title-page to have been written in
+Latin by Eirenaeus Philalethes; but there is a note in the British
+Museum Catalogue to the effect that the Latin original has the name
+_Eugenius_ Philalethes. Unfortunately this Latin _Tres Tractatus_,
+published in 1668 by Martin Birrhius at Amsterdam, is not in the
+Library, and I cannot verify the statement. Finally, I may note that the
+_Ripley Revived_ (1678) has an engraved title-page by Robert Vaughan,
+who also did the title-page to _Olor Iscanus_, and that Starkey's
+_Marrow of Alchemy_ contains, at the end of the preface to Part ii.,
+some lines by William Sampson, which mention
+
+                    "Harry Mastix Moor
+    Who judged of Nature when he did not know her";
+
+clearly an allusion to More's controversy with Thomas Vaughan.
+
+It will be seen that there is some _primâ facie_ evidence for
+identifying Eirenaeus Philalethes with Thomas Vaughan, whereas he was
+probably not George Starkey (Eirenaeus Philoponos Philalethes), and
+cannot be shown to have been anyone else. But I am not satisfied. We do
+not know that Thomas Vaughan was ever in America, and there is the
+strong evidence of Anthony à Wood, who distinguishes between Eirenaeus
+and Eugenius, and who appears to have had information from Henry Vaughan
+himself. Mr. A. E. Waite argues against the identification on the ground
+that Eirenaeus Philalethes was a "physical alchemist," whereas Thomas
+Vaughan's alchemy was spiritual and mystical. But we have Vaughan's
+authority for saying that he had pursued the physical alchemy also.[41]
+And he was clearly doing so when he wrote Sloane MS. 1741. A more
+pertinent objection is perhaps that Eirenaeus Philalethes appears to
+have been in possession of the grand secret when he wrote the _Introitus
+Apertus_ in 1645, whereas Thomas Vaughan was still seeking it in 1658.
+To pursue the matter further would require a wide knowledge of the
+alchemical writings of the seventeenth century, which unfortunately I do
+not possess.[42]
+
+My gratitude is due for help received in compiling the biographical and
+other notes in these volumes to Dr. Grosart, Mr. C. H. Firth, Mr. W. C.
+Hazlitt, Mr. A. E. Waite, and the Rev. Llewellyn Thomas; notably to Miss
+G. E. F. Morgan of Brecon, whose knowledge of local genealogy and
+antiquities has been invaluable.
+
+   July, 1896.                              E. K. Chambers.
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[1] Dr. Grosart, however, says (ii. 298), "In all the pedigrees that
+have been submitted to me, Thomas is placed as the first of the twins."
+But, as Henry inherited Newton, and Thomas took orders, Anthony à Wood
+is probably right.
+
+[2] The tombstone says 73. G. T. Clark repeats Jones' error.
+
+[3] The tombstone is actually in the north aisle of the church itself.
+
+[4] Obviously Mr. Clark has confused Lucy Jones with her daughter,
+Denise Jones.
+
+[5] This was noted by Mr W. B. Rye in _The Genealogist_, iii. 33, from
+the Entry Book of the Registry at Hereford. Since then Mr. Clark of
+Hereford has kindly sent me, through Miss Morgan, a copy of the bond
+entered into by the administratrix, Elizabetha Vaughan de Llansanfread,
+and her son-in-law and surety, Roger Prosser de Villa Brecon. The bond,
+or the copy, is dated in error "30 May, 1694, et 7th Wm. iii."
+Administration was granted on May 29, 1695. The inventory of the
+personal property amounted to £49 4s. 0d. The witnesses are Walter
+Prosser and David Thomas.
+
+[6] An old alphabetical catalogue of wills in the Hereford Registry,
+between 1660-1677, has the following entries:--
+
+Thomas Vaughan, Lansamfread, 11 Dec., 1660.
+Franca Vaughan, Lansamfread, 16 Nov., 1677.
+
+The wills cannot, in the present state of the Registry, be found
+(_Genealogist_, iii., 33). These dates are much too early for the poet's
+son and daughter-in-law; but whose are the wills?
+
+[7] The _Turberville_ and _Jones_ lines are taken from Theophilus Jones'
+_History of Brecknockshire_ (ii. 444), and from Harl. MS. 2289, f. 70,
+respectively. Miss Morgan has kindly traced the Prossers from the
+_Registers_ of St. John's and St. Mary's Churches, Brecon.
+
+[8] Miss Morgan tells me that David Morgan David Howel's father, Morgan
+ap Howel, is described in a pedigree as "of Trenewydd in Penkelley"; and
+I find from Harl. MS. 2289, ff. 84 (b), 85, that the Powells "of Newton
+Penkelley" were related to the Powells of Cantreff. (_See_ vol. ii., p.
+57, _note_.)
+
+[9] The will of this Charles Vaughan has been abstracted by Mr. W. B.
+Rye (_Genealogist_, iii. 33) from the Hereford Will Office. It was made
+9th April, 1707, and proved 29th May, 1707. The testator is described as
+of Skellrog, Llansanffread, and mention is made of his wife Margaret
+Powell, and of a son William. This William, therefore, and not a
+grandson of Henry Vaughan, may be the William Vaughan of Llansantffread,
+who married Mary Games of Tregaer (p. xxi). Skellrog appears to have
+passed to another and probably elder son, Charles.
+
+[10] S. W. Williams, _Llansaintffread Church_ in _Archaeologia
+Cambrensis_ (1887.)
+
+[11] W. B. Rye in _Genealogist_, iii. 36, from Entry Book in Hereford
+Will Office.
+
+[12] An account of the part played by Beeston Castle during the Civil
+War will be found in Ormerod's _History of Cheshire_ (ed. Helsby), ii.
+272 _sqq._
+
+[13] Gardiner, _The Great Civil War_, ch. xxxvi.; J. R. Phillips, _The
+Civil War in Wales and the Marches_, i. 329; ii. 270.
+
+[14] Ormerod, i. 243.
+
+[15] Phillips, i. 314.
+
+[16] Phillips, ii. 272.
+
+[17] Both Wood and Foster give the father's name as Thomas, but it
+appears to be Henry in all the pedigrees.
+
+[18] The following list of Vaughan's admitted prose treatises is mainly
+taken from Dr. Grosart:--_Anthroposophia Theomagica_ (1650); _Anima
+Magica Abscondita_ (1650); _Magia Adamica_ with the _Coelum Terrae_
+(1650); _The Man-Mouse taken in a Trap_ (1650); _The Second Wash; or,
+the Moor scoured once more_ (1651) [These two are polemics against Henry
+More]; _Lumen de Lumine_, with the _Aphorismi Magici Eugeniani_ (1651);
+_The Fame and Confession of the Fraternity of R:C:_ (1653); _Aula Lucis_
+(1652); _Euphrates_ (1655); _Nollius' Chymist's Key_ (1657); _A Brief
+Natural History_ (1669); [Wood ascribes this to another writer, as it
+was not in the list furnished him by Henry Vaughan].--Henry More's
+pamphlets against Vaughan are the _Observations upon Anthroposophia
+Theomagica and Anima Magica Abscondita_ (1650), issued under the name of
+Alazonomastix Philalethes and _The Second Lash of Alazonomastix_ (1651).
+
+[19] Walker falls into the curious confusion of supposing that there
+were two Thomas Vaughans, one rector of Llansantffread, the other of
+Newton St. Bridget. But "St. Bridget" is only the English form of the
+Welsh "Santffread."
+
+[20] Printed from the Rawl. MSS. in Thurloe's _State Papers_, ii. 120.
+
+[21] Is this the inn of that name once in the Gray's Inn Road?
+(Cunningham and Wheatley, _Handbook to London_.)
+
+[22] The Rev. Henry Howlett has kindly sent me the following extract
+from the registers of Meppershall:--
+
+                "1658.
+                Buried.
+    Rebecka, the Wife of Mr. Vahanne
+          the 26th of Aprill."
+
+
+
+[23] An entire literature has grown up in Paris during the last year
+around the question whether the cultus of Lucifer is practised in
+certain Masonic Lodges. A number of Catholic journalists and
+pamphleteers assert very categorically that this is the case, that the
+centre of this cultus, containing the full Luciferian initiates, is the
+33^rd^ degree of a so-called New and Reformed Palladian Rite, having its
+head-quarters at Charlestown, and that the chiefs of this Rite have
+obtained a controlling influence over the whole of Freemasonry. The
+creed is described as Manichaean in character, with Lucifer as Dieu-Bon
+and Adonai, the God of the Catholics, as Dieu-Mauvais. Adonai is the
+principle of asceticism, Lucifer of natural humanity and _la joie de
+vivre_. The rituals and the accepted interpretation of the Masonic
+symbolism used in the lodges, or "triangles," are of a phallic type.
+Women are admitted to membership. Immorality, a parody of the Eucharist,
+known as the black mass, and the practice of black magic, take place at
+the meetings. Lucifer is worshipped in the form of Baphomet, but from
+time to time he is personally evoked, and manifested to his followers.
+Luciferianism tends to become identical with Satanism, in which Lucifer
+and Satan are identified and frankly worshipped as evil. The first
+mention of Luciferian Freemasonry was in the _Y-a-t-il des Femmes dans
+la Franc Maçonnerie?_ (1891), of the somewhat notorious Leo Taxil. But
+the case rests mainly on the alleged revelations of writers who claim to
+have themselves been members of the Palladian Rite. The chief of these
+are Dr. Hacke or Bataille, Signor Margiotta and Miss Diana Vaughan.
+Unfortunately very little evidence is forthcoming as to the identity of
+any of these personages. Many leading Masons, _e.g._, M. Papus in his
+_Le Diable et l'Occultisme_, deny that Luciferian Freemasonry exists at
+all, and it is freely stated (_cf._ _Light_ for 27 June and 4 July,
+1896, pp. 305, 322) that Miss Diana Vaughan is a myth, and that her
+_Mémoires_ with the rest of the revelations are the ingenious concoction
+of a band of irresponsible journalists of whom Leo Taxil is the chief.
+No one appears to have seen Miss Vaughan, and she is alleged to be
+hiding in some convent from the vengeance of the Luciferians. Probably
+there will be some further light thrown on the matter before long: in
+the meantime a good summary of the evidence up-to-date may be found in
+A. E. Waite's _Devil-Worship in France_ (1896). Assuming that
+Luciferianism really exists, I do not for a moment believe that it has
+the antiquity which Miss Vaughan claims for it. The various Rites of
+modern Freemasonry, with their fantastic and high-sounding degrees, are
+comparatively recent excrescences upon the original Craft Masonry. The
+New and Reformed Palladian Rite is said to have been founded at
+Charlestown by the well-known Mason, Albert Pike, in 1870. It is based
+on the Ancient and Accepted Scottish Rite, which dates from the
+beginning of the century. If there is such a thing as Luciferianism, I
+do not think we need look further back than 1870 for its origin. As
+expounded by Miss Vaughan and others, it is pretty clearly a compilation
+from Eliphaz Levi and other occultist and Cabbalistic writers, with a
+good deal of modern American Spiritualism thrown in. Albert Pike, a man
+of considerable learning, could easily have invented it. Masonic
+symbolism lends itself readily enough to a wide range of
+interpretations. I do not say that seventeenth-century occultism has
+left no traces upon Freemasonry which modern ritual-mongers may have
+elaborated; but it is a far cry from this to the belief that Thomas
+Vaughan and Luther were Manichaean worshippers of Lucifer and
+Protestantism an organized warfare on Adonai.
+
+[24] Miss Vaughan quotes from Allibone's _History of English
+Literature_. Allibone only repeats Anthony à Wood's account.
+
+[25] Robert Vaughan belonged to quite a different branch from the
+Vaughans of Newton: and, as Sl. MS. 1741 shows, the father of Henry and
+Thomas Vaughan did not die until 1658.
+
+[26] Miss Vaughan gives an elaborate account of the Rosicrucians and of
+their famous manifestoes, which I have no room to reproduce.
+
+[27] Miss Vaughan states that Thomas Vaughan signed "not _Eugenius
+Philalethes_, but _Eirenaeus Philalethes_" (p. 114). But she ascribes to
+him the _Anthroposophia Theomagica_ and other writings which are signed,
+though she does not mention it, _Eugenius Philalethes_ (p. 211). She
+quotes from Anthony à Wood the assertion, which he does not make, that
+the English translations of the _Fama Fraternitatis Rosae Crucis_ (1652)
+and of Maier's _Themis Aurea_ (1656) both bear the name of Eugenius, and
+were by another Thomas Vaughan! The manuscripts of both are, she says,
+signed _Eirenaeus_ (p. 163). What Wood says is that he has seen a
+translation of Maier's tract, dedicated to Elias Ashmole by [N. L.]/[T.
+S.] H. S., and that Ashmole has forgotten whose the initials are. He
+does not suggest that this translation is by a Thomas Vaughan. (_Ath.
+Oxon._, iii. 724.)
+
+[28] This episode has previously done duty in the _Vingt Ans Après_
+(vol. iii., ch. 8-10), of Alexandre Dumas, in which Mordaunt acts as the
+executioner of Charles. There is a Latin poem amongst Vaughan's remains
+in _Thalia Rediviva_ entitled _Epitaphium Gulielmi Laud Episcopi
+Cantuariensis_, full of sorrow for the archbishop's death.
+
+[29] Miss Vaughan refers to Lenglet-Dufresnoy's _Histoire de la
+Philosophie Hermétique_ as an authority on Starkey's relations with
+Eirenaeus Philalethes. Lenglet-Dufresnoy probably took his account from
+_The Marrow of Alchemy_ (1654-5). The prefaces to this are signed with
+anagrams of George Starkey's name. But he ascribes the poem to a friend,
+who is called in the _Breve Manuductorium ad Campum Sophiae_ Agricola
+Rhomaeus. Perhaps Starkey himself was the real author. The title-page
+has the name Eirenaeus Philoponus Philalethes, apparently a distinct
+designation from that of Eirenaeus Philalethes.
+
+[30] The _Medulla Alchemiae_ (1664) is only a Latin translation of the
+_Marrow of Alchemy_ (1654-5) of Eirenaeus Philoponos Philalethes.
+
+[31] The actual name of the tract is _Ripley Revived_.
+
+[32] The _Thalia Rediviva_ was actually published in 1678, not 1679.
+
+[33] Miss Vaughan has herself witnessed this, in the presence of
+Lucifer. Moreover, the spirit of Philalethes has appeared, and conversed
+with her (pp. 257-267).
+
+[34] Miss Vaughan refers to several family documents, but does not offer
+them for inspection. They include (a) the will of her grandfather James,
+enumerating the proofs of his descent (p. 111); (b) the autobiographical
+Memoirs of Philalethes, from which Miss Vaughan quotes largely (pp. 174,
+240); (c) a letter from Fludd to Andreae (pp. 114, 149); (d) a MS. of
+the _Introitus Apertus_, of which the margin has been covered by Vaughan
+with a comment for Luciferian initiates (pp. 111, 217, 225); (e) a
+letter from Andreae in the archives of the Sovereign Patriarchal Council
+of Hamburg (p. 197); (f) Henry Vaughan's account of his brother's
+disappearance in the archives of the Supreme Dogmatic Directory of
+Charleston (p. 114); (g) Masonic rituals in the archives of Masonic
+chapters at Bristol and Gibraltar (p. 200); (h) Rosicrucian rituals
+drawn up by one Nick Stone in the hands of Dr. W. W. W[estcott] of
+London (p. 141). The documents in Masonic hands are presumably, like the
+Valetta talisman, now out of Miss Vaughan's reach. A communication
+signed Q. V. in _Light_ for May 16, 1896, denies, on Dr. Westcott's
+authority, that his rituals have anything to do with Nick Stone, or that
+Miss Vaughan ever saw them. Dr. Westcott is the head of the modern
+_Societas Rosicruciana in Anglia_. This body does not even pretend to be
+the _Fraternity of R. C._ Finally, there is (i) Thomas Vaughan's
+original pact with Lucifer, now, according to Miss Vaughan, in holy
+hands, and to be destroyed on the day she takes the veil.
+
+[35] Miss Vaughan somewhat naïvely gives us a lead. After describing
+Thomas Vaughan's sojourn with Venus-Astarte among the Lenni-Lennaps, she
+adds: "This legend is not accepted by all the Elect Mages; there are
+those who regard it as fabricated by my grandfather James of Boston, who
+was, they believe, of Delaware origin, or, at any rate, a half-breed;
+and they even assert that, in the desire to Anglicize himself, he
+invented an entirely false genealogy, by way of justifying his change of
+the Lennap name Waghan into Vaughan. Herein the opponents of the
+Luciferian legend of Thomas Vaughan go too far" (p. 181).
+
+[36] I have already pointed out that Miss Vaughan is quite possibly a
+myth. But, if she exists, I do not see any reason to suppose that she
+personally invented the "legend of Philalethes." It lies between Leo
+Taxil and his friends in 1895, and the alleged founders of Palladism in
+or about 1870, that is Albert Pike and Miss Vaughan's father and uncle.
+And, so far as it goes, the ignorance shown in the legend of all books
+published in the last twenty years is evidence for the earlier date, and
+therefore, to some extent, for the actual existence of Luciferianism.
+
+[37] _Cf._ A. E. Waite, _Real History of the Rosicrucians_, p. 274.
+
+[38] The principal writings ascribed to Eirenaeus Philalethes are
+_Introitus Apertus in Occlusum Regis Palatium_ (1667), _Tres Tractatus_
+(1668), _Experimenta de Praeparatione Mercurii Sophici_ (1668), _Ripley
+Revived_ (1678), _Enarratio Trium Gebri Medicinarum_ (1678). The works
+of Eirenaeus Philoponos Philalethes (George Starkey?) are often
+attributed to him in error. The B. M. Catalogue, s.vv. _Philaletha,
+Philalethes_, is a mass of confusions. Lenglet-Dufresnoy, _Histoire de
+la Philosophie Hermétique_ (iii. 261-266), gives a long list of printed
+and manuscript works. Most of these he had probably never seen. He
+probably took many items in his list from one in J. M. Faust's edition
+of the _Introitus Apertus_ (Frankfort, 1706); and this, in its turn, was
+based on what Eirenaeus Philalethes himself says he has written in the
+preface to _Ripley Revived_. He there says, after naming other works:
+"Two English Poems I wrote, declaring the whole secret, which are lost.
+Also an Enchiridion of Experiments, together with a Diurnal of
+Meditations, in which were many Philosophical receipts, declaring the
+whole secret, with an Aenigma annexed; which also fell into such hands
+which I conceive will never restore it. This last was written in
+English." Can this Enchiridion and Diurnal be Sl. MS. 1741? I find no
+"Aenigma." Can Starkey have stolen the poems and published them as the
+_Marrow of Alchemy_?
+
+[39] The preface to _Ripley Revived_ makes it clear that the _Introitus
+Apertus_ was originally written in Latin, not in English.
+
+[40] This is recorded in Helvetius' _Vitulus Aureus_ (1667). Helvetius
+describes his master as 43 or 44 years old, and calls him Elias
+Artistes.
+
+[41] _See_ the passage from the Epistle to _Euphrates_, quoted by
+Grosart (Vol. ii., p. 312).
+
+[42] The "legend of Philalethes" has already been exposed by Mr. A. E.
+Waite in his _Devil Worship in France_ (ch. xiii.). I am also indebted
+to what Mr. Waite has written on Eirenaeus Philalethes in that book, as
+well as in his _True History of the Rosicrucians_ (1887) and his _Lives
+of Alchymistical Philosophers_ (1888).
+
+
+
+
+BIBLIOGRAPHY OF HENRY VAUGHAN'S WORKS.
+
+
+(1)
+
+POEMS, | WITH | The tenth SATYRE of | IUVENAL | ENGLISHED. | By _Henry
+Vaughan_, Gent. |--_Tam nil, nulla tibi vendo_ | _Illiade_--| _LONDON_,
+| Printed for _G. Badger_, and are to be sold at his | shop under Saint
+_Dunstan's_ Church in | Fleet-street. 1646. [8^vo^.]
+
+The translation from Juvenal has a separate title-page.
+
+IVVENAL'S | TENTH | SATYRE | TRANSLATED. | _Nèc verbum verbo curabit
+reddere fidus_ | _Interpres_--| _LONDON_, | Printed for G. B., and are
+to be sold at his Shop | under Saint _Dunstan's_ Church. 1646.
+
+
+(2)
+
+[Emblem] | Silex Scintillans: | _or_ | _SACRED POEMS_ | _and_ | _Priuate
+Eiaculations_ | _By_ | Henry Vaughan _Silurist_ | LONDON | _Printed by
+T. W. for H. Blunden_ | _at ye Castle in Cornehill._ 1650. [8^vo^.]
+
+
+(3)
+
+_OLOR ISCANUS._ | A COLLECTION | OF SOME SELECT | POEMS, | AND |
+TRANSLATIONS, | Formerly written by | _Mr._ Henry Vaughan _Silurist_. |
+Published by a Friend. | Virg. Georg. | _Flumina amo, Sylvasq.
+Inglorius_--| LONDON | Printed by _T. W._ for _Humphrey Moseley_, | and
+are to be sold at his shop, at the | Signe of the Princes Arms in St.
+_Pauls_ | Church-yard, 1651. [8^vo^.]
+
+The Preface is dated "Newton by Usk this 17 of Decemb. 1647."
+
+The prose translations in this volume have separate title-pages:
+
+(a) OF THE | BENEFIT | Wee may get by our | ENEMIES. | A DISCOURSE |
+Written originally in the | Greek by _Plutarchus Chaeronensis_, |
+translated in to Latin by _I. Reynolds_ Dr. | of Divinitie and lecturer
+of the Greeke Tongue | In _Corpus Christi_ College In _Oxford_. |
+_Englished By_ H: V: _Silurist_. |--_Dolus, an virtus quis in hoste
+requirat._ |--_fas est, et ab hoste doceri._ | LONDON. | Printed for
+_Humphry Moseley_ [etc.].
+
+(b) OF THE | DISEASES | OF THE | MIND | And the BODY. | A DISCOURSE |
+Written originally in the | Greek by _Plutarchus Chaeronensis_, | put in
+to latine by _I. Reynolds D.D._ | Englished by _H: V:_ Silurist. |
+_Omnia perversae poterunt Corrumpere mentes._ | LONDON. | Printed for
+_Humphry Moseley_ [etc.].
+
+(c) OF THE DISEASES | OF THE | MIND, | AND THE | BODY, | and which of
+them is | most pernicious. | The Question stated, and decided | by
+_Maximus Tirius_, a Platonick Philosopher, written originally in | the
+Greek, put into Latine by | _John Reynolds_ D.D. | _Englished_ by Henry
+Vaughan _Silurist_. | LONDON, | Printed for _Humphry Moseley_ [etc.].
+
+(d) THE | PRAISE | AND | HAPPINESSE | OF THE | _COUNTRIE-LIFE_; |
+Written Originally in | _Spanish_ by _Don Antonio de Guevara_, | Bishop
+of _Carthagena_, and | Counsellour of Estate to | _Charls_ the Fifth
+Emperour | of _Germany_. |_Put into English by_ H. Vaughan _Silurist._ |
+Virgil. Georg. | _O fortunatos nimiùm, bona si sua nôrint,_ |
+_Agricolas!_--| LONDON, | Printed for _Humphry Moseley_ [etc.].
+
+
+(4)
+
+THE | MOUNT of OLIVES: | OR, | SOLITARY DEVOTIONS. | By | HENRY VAUGHAN
+_Silurist_. | With | An excellent Discourse of the | blessed State of
+MAN in GLORY, | written by the most Reverend and | holy Father ANSELM
+Arch-| Bishop of _Canterbury_, and now | done into English. | Luke 21,
+v. 39, 37. | [quoted in full]. | LONDON, Printed for WILLIAM LEAKE at
+the | Crown in Fleet-Street between the two | Temple-Gates. 1652
+[12^mo^].
+
+The preface is dated "Newton by Usk this first of October 1651."
+
+The translation from Anselm has a separate title-page:
+
+MAN | IN | GLORY: | OR, | A Discourse of the blessed | state of the
+Saints in the | New JERUSALEM. | Written in Latin by the most | Reverend
+and holy Father | _ANSELMUS_ | Archbishop of _Canterbury_, and now |
+done into English. | Printed _Anno Dom._ 1652.
+
+
+(5)
+
+_Flores Solitudinis._ | Certaine Rare and Elegant | PIECES; | _Viz._ |
+Two Excellent Discourses | Of 1. _Temperance, and Patience_; | 2. _Life
+and Death_. | BY | _I. E._ NIEREMBERGIUS. | THE WORLD | CONTEMNED; | BY
+| EUCHERIUS, Bp. of LYONS. | And the Life of | PAULINUS, | Bp. of
+_NOLA_. | Collected in his Sicknesse and Retirement, | BY | _HENRY
+VAUGHAN_, Silurist. | _Tantus Amor Florum, & generandi gloria Mellis._ |
+_London_, Printed for _Humphry Moseley_ at the | _Princes Armes_ in St.
+_Pauls_ Church-yard. 1654. [12^mo^.]
+
+The Preface is dated "Newton by Usk, in South-Wales, April 17, 1652."
+The pieces have separate title-pages:
+
+(a) Two Excellent | DISCOURSES | Of 1. Temperance and Patience. | 2.
+Life and Death. | Written in Latin by | _Johan: Euseb: Nierembergius_. |
+Englished by | HENRY VAUGHAN, Silurist. | ... _Mors vitam temperet, &
+vita Mortem_. | _LONDON:_ | Printed for _Humphrey Moseley_, etc.
+
+The Preface is dated "Newton by Uske neare Sketh-Rock. 1653."
+
+(b) THE WORLD | CONTEMNED, | IN A | Parenetical Epistle written by | the
+Reverend Father | _EUCHERIUS_, | Bishop of _Lyons_, to his Kinsman |
+_VALERIANUS_. | [Texts] | _London_, Printed for _Humphrey Moseley_ [etc.].
+
+(c) Primitive Holiness, | Set forth in the | LIFE | of blessed |
+PAULINUS, | The most Reverend, and | Learned BISHOP of | _NOLA_: |
+Collected out of his own Works, | and other Primitive Authors by |
+_Henry Vaughan_, Silurist. | 2 Kings _cap._ 2. _ver._ 12 | _My Father,
+my Father, the Chariot of_ | Israel, _and the Horsmen thereof._ |
+_LONDON_, | Printed for _Humphry Moseley_ [etc.].
+
+
+(6)
+
+Silex Scintillans: | SACRED | POEMS | And private | EJACULATIONS. | The
+second Edition, In two Books; | By _Henry Vaughan_, Silurist. | Job
+chap. 35 ver. 10, 11. | [quoted in full] | _London_, Printed for _Henry
+Crips_, and _Lodo-_ | _wick Lloyd_, next to the Castle in _Cornhil_, |
+and in _Popes-head Alley_. 1655. [8^vo^.]
+
+A reissue, with additions and a fresh title-page, of (2). The Preface is
+dated "Newton by Usk, near Sketh-rock Septem. 30, 1654."
+
+
+(7)
+
+HERMETICAL | PHYSICK: | _OR_, | The right way to pre-| serve, and to
+restore | HEALTH | _BY_ | That famous and faith-| full Chymist, | _HENRY
+NOLLIUS_. | Englished by | HENRY UAUGHAN, Gent. | _LONDON._ | Printed
+for _Humphrey Moseley_, and | are to be sold at his shop, at the |
+_Princes Armes_, in S^t _Pauls Church-Yard_, 1655. [12^mo^.]
+
+
+(8)
+
+_Thalia Rediviva:_ | THE | _Pass-Times_ and _Diversions_ | OF A |
+COUNTREY-MUSE, | In Choice | POEMS | On several Occasions. | WITH | Some
+Learned _Remains_ of the Eminent | _Eugenius Philalethes_. | Never made
+Publick till now. |--Nec erubuit sylvas habitare Thalia. _Virgil._ |
+Licensed, _Roger L'Estrange_. | _London_, Printed for _Robert Pawlet_ at
+the Bible in | _Chancery-lane_, near _Fleetstreet_, 1678 [8^vo^.]
+
+The Remains of Eugenius Philalethes [Thomas Vaughan] have a separate
+title-page.
+
+_Eugenii Philalethis_, | VIRI | INSIGNISSIMI | ET | Poetarum | Sui
+Saeculi, meritò Principis: | _VERTUMNUS_ | ET | _CYNTHIA_, &c. | Q.
+Horat. |--_Qui praegravat artes Infra se positas,_ | _extinctus
+am[a]bitur._--| _LONDINI_, | Impensis _Roberti Pawlett_, M.DC.LXXVIII.
+[12^mo^.]
+
+
+(9)
+
+Olor Iscanus. A collection of some Select Poems, Together with these
+Translations following, etc. All Englished by H. Vaughan, Silurist.
+London: Printed and are to be sold by Peter Parker ... 1679. [8^vo^.]
+
+A reissue, according to Dr. Grosart (ii. 59) and W. C. Hazlitt
+(_Supplement to Third Series Of Collections_, p. 106), of the 1651 _Olor
+Iscanus_, with a fresh title-page. I have not seen a copy.
+
+
+(10)
+
+[Miss L. I. Guiney writes in her essay on _Henry Vaughan, the Silurist_
+(Atlantic Monthly, May, 1894): "Mr. Carew Hazlitt has been fortunate
+enough to discover the advertisement of an eighteenth-century Vaughan
+reprint."
+
+As to this Mr. Hazlitt writes to me: "I cannot tell where Miss Guiney
+heard about the Vaughan--not certainly from me. But there is an edition
+of his 'Spiritual Songs,' 8^vo^, 1706, of which, however, I don't at
+present know the whereabouts."]
+
+
+(11)
+
+Silex Scintillans: Sacred Poems and Private Ejaculations of Henry
+Vaughan, with Memoir by the Rev. H. F. Lyte. London: William Pickering,
+1847. [12^mo^.]
+
+An edition of (6) and part of (8).
+
+
+(12)
+
+The Sacred Poems and Private Ejaculations of Henry Vaughan, with a
+Memoir by the Rev. H. F. Lyte. Boston [U. S. A.]: Little, Brown and
+Company, 1856. [8^vo^.]
+
+A reprint of (11).
+
+
+(13)
+
+Silex Scintillans, etc.: Sacred Poems and Private Ejaculations, by Henry
+Vaughan. London: Bell and Daldy. 1858.
+
+A reprint, with a revised text, of (11).
+
+
+(14)
+
+The Fuller Worthies' Library. The Works in Verse and Prose complete of
+Henry Vaughan, Silurist, for the first time collected and edited: with
+Memorial-Introduction: Essay on Life and Writings: and Notes: by the
+Rev. Alexander B. Grosart, St. George's, Blackburn, Lancashire. In four
+Volumes.... Printed for Private Circulation. 1871.
+
+A reprint of the original editions, with biographical and critical
+matter. Only 50 4^to^, 106 8^vo^, and 156 12^mo^ copies printed. In Vol.
+II. are included the Poems of Thomas Vaughan, with a separate
+title-page.
+
+The English and Latin Verse-Remains of Thomas Vaughan ('Eugenius
+Philalethes'), twin-brother of the Silurist. For the first time
+collected and edited: with Memorial-Introduction and Notes: by the Rev.
+Alexander B. Grosart [etc.].
+
+
+(15)
+
+Silex Scintillans, etc. Sacred Poems and Pious Ejaculations. By Henry
+Vaughan, "Silurist." With a Memoir by the Rev. H. F. Lyte. Job xxxv. 10,
+11 [in full]. London: George Bell and Sons, York Street, Covent Garden.
+1883. [8^vo^.]
+
+A reprint, with a text further revised, of (11) and (13), forming a
+volume of the _Aldine Poets_. Since reprinted in 1891.
+
+
+(16)
+
+The Jewel Poets. Henry Vaughan. Edinburgh. Macniven and Wallace. 1884.
+
+A selection, with a short preface by W. R. Nicoll.
+
+
+(17)
+
+Silex Scintillans. Sacred Poems and Private Ejaculations, by Henry
+Vaughan (Silurist). Being a facsimile of the First Edition, published in
+1650, with an Introduction by the Rev. William Clare, B.A. (Adelaide).
+London: Elliot Stock, 62, Paternoster Row. 1885. [12^mo^.]
+
+A facsimile reprint of (2).
+
+
+(18)
+
+Secular Poems by Henry Vaughan, Silurist. Including a few pieces by his
+twin-brother Thomas ("Eugenius Philalethes"). Selected and arranged,
+with Notes and Bibliography, by J. R. Tutin, Editor of "Poems of Richard
+Crashaw," etc. Hull: J. R. Tutin. 1893.
+
+A selection from Vol. II. of (14).
+
+
+(19)
+
+The Poems of Henry Vaughan, Silurist. With an Introduction by H. C.
+Beeching, Rector of Yattendon. [Publishers' Device.] London: Lawrence
+and Bullen, 16, Henrietta Street, W.C. New York: Charles Scribner's
+Sons, 153-157 Fifth Avenue. 1896. [Two vols. 8^vo^.]
+
+The present edition. A hundred copies are printed on large paper.
+
+
+                   POEMS,
+
+                  WITH THE
+
+          TENTH SATIRE OF JUVENAL
+
+                 ENGLISHED.
+
+                    1646.
+
+
+
+
+TO ALL INGENIOUS LOVERS OF POESY.
+
+
+Gentlemen,
+
+To you alone, whose more refined spirits out-wing these dull times, and
+soar above the drudgery of dirty intelligence, have I made sacred these
+fancies: I know the years, and what coarse entertainment they afford
+poetry. If any shall question that courage that durst send me abroad so
+late, and revel it thus in the dregs of an age, they have my silence:
+only,
+
+    Languescente seculo, liceat ægrotari.
+
+My more calm ambition, amidst the common noise, hath thus exposed me to
+the world: you have here a flame, bright only in its own innocence, that
+kindles nothing but a generous thought: which though it may warm the
+blood, the fire at highest is but Platonic; and the commotion, within
+these limits, excludes danger. For the satire, it was of purpose
+borrowed to feather some slower hours; and what you see here is but the
+interest: it is one of his whose Roman pen had as much true passion for
+the infirmities of that state, as we should have pity to the
+distractions of our own: honest--I am sure--it is, and offensive cannot
+be, except it meet with such spirits that will quarrel with antiquity,
+or purposely arraign themselves. These indeed may think that they have
+slept out so many centuries in this satire and are now awakened; which,
+had it been still Latin, perhaps their nap had been everlasting. But
+enough of these,--it is for you only that I have adventured thus far,
+and invaded the press with verse; to whose more noble indulgence I shall
+now leave it, and so am gone.--
+
+                                                                 H. V.
+
+
+
+
+TO MY INGENUOUS FRIEND, R. W.
+
+
+    When we are dead, and now, no more
+    Our harmless mirth, our wit, and score
+    Distracts the town; when all is spent
+    That the base niggard world hath lent
+    Thy purse, or mine; when the loath'd noise
+    Of drawers, 'prentices and boys
+    Hath left us, and the clam'rous bar
+    Items no pints i' th' Moon or Star;
+    When no calm whisp'rers wait the doors,
+    To fright us with forgotten scores;
+    And such aged long bills carry,
+    As might start an antiquary;
+    When the sad tumults of the maze,
+    Arrests, suits, and the dreadful face
+    Of sergeants are not seen, and we
+    No lawyers' ruffs, or gowns must fee:
+    When all these mulcts are paid, and I
+    From thee, dear wit, must part, and die;
+    We'll beg the world would be so kind,
+    To give's one grave as we'd one mind;
+    There, as the wiser few suspect,
+    That spirits after death affect,
+    Our souls shall meet, and thence will they,
+    Freed from the tyranny of clay,
+    With equal wings, and ancient love
+    Into the Elysian fields remove,
+    Where in those blessèd walks they'll find
+    More of thy genius, and my mind.
+      First, in the shade of his own bays,
+    Great Ben they'll see, whose sacred lays
+    The learnèd ghosts admire, and throng
+    To catch the subject of his song.
+    Then Randolph in those holy meads,
+    His _Lovers_ and _Amyntas_ reads,
+    Whilst his Nightingale, close by,
+    Sings his and her own elegy.
+    From thence dismiss'd, by subtle roads,
+    Through airy paths and sad abodes,
+    They'll come into the drowsy fields
+    Of Lethe, which such virtue yields,
+    That, if what poets sing be true,
+    The streams all sorrow can subdue.
+    Here, on a silent, shady green,
+    The souls of lovers oft are seen,
+    Who, in their life's unhappy space,
+    Were murder'd by some perjur'd face.
+    All these th' enchanted streams frequent,
+    To drown their cares, and discontent,
+    That th' inconstant, cruel sex
+    Might not in death their spirits vex.
+      And here our souls, big with delight
+    Of their new state, will cease their flight:
+    And now the last thoughts will appear,
+    They'll have of us, or any here;
+    But on those flow'ry banks will stay,
+    And drink all sense and cares away.
+      So they that did of these discuss,
+      Shall find their fables true in us.
+
+
+
+
+LES AMOURS
+
+
+    Tyrant, farewell! this heart, the prize
+    And triumph of thy scornful eyes,
+    I sacrifice to heaven, and give
+    To quit my sins, that durst believe
+    A woman's easy faith, and place
+    True joys in a changing face.
+      Yet ere I go: by all those tears
+    And sighs I spent 'twixt hopes and fears;
+    By thy own glories, and that hour
+    Which first enslav'd me to thy power;
+    I beg, fair one, by this last breath,
+    This tribute from thee after death.
+    If, when I'm gone, you chance to see
+    That cold bed where I lodgèd be,
+    Let not your hate in death appear,
+    But bless my ashes with a tear:
+    This influx from that quick'ning eye,
+    By secret pow'r, which none can spy,
+    The cold dust shall inform, and make
+    Those flames, though dead, new life partake
+    Whose warmth, help'd by your tears, shall bring
+    O'er all the tomb a sudden spring
+    Of crimson flowers, whose drooping heads
+    Shall curtain o'er their mournful beds:
+    And on each leaf, by Heaven's command,
+    These emblems to the life shall stand
+      Two hearts, the first a shaft withstood;
+    The second, shot and wash'd in blood;
+    And on this heart a dew shall stay,
+    Which no heat can court away;
+    But fix'd for ever, witness bears
+    That hearty sorrow feeds on tears.
+    Thus Heaven can make it known, and true
+    That you kill'd me, 'cause I lov'd you.
+
+
+
+
+TO AMORET.
+
+
+The Sigh.
+
+    Nimble sigh, on thy warm wings,
+      Take this message and depart;
+    Tell Amoret, that smiles and sings,
+    At what thy airy voyage brings,
+      That thou cam'st lately from my heart.
+
+    Tell my lovely foe that I
+    Have no more such spies to send,
+      But one or two that I intend,
+    Some few minutes ere I die,
+      To her white bosom to commend.
+
+    Then whisper by that holy spring,
+      Where for her sake I would have died,
+    Whilst those water-nymphs did bring
+      Flowers to cure what she had tried;
+    And of my faith and love did sing.
+
+    That if my Amoret, if she
+      In after-times would have it read,
+    How her beauty murder'd me,
+    With all my heart I will agree,
+      If she'll but love me, being dead.
+
+
+
+
+TO HIS FRIEND BEING IN LOVE.
+
+
+    Ask, lover, ere thou diest; let one poor breath
+    Steal from thy lips, to tell her of thy death;
+    Doating idolater! can silence bring
+    Thy saint propitious? or will Cupid fling
+    One arrow for thy paleness? leave to try
+    This silent courtship of a sickly eye.
+    Witty to tyranny, she too well knows
+    This but the incense of thy private vows,
+    That breaks forth at thine eyes, and doth betray
+    The sacrifice thy wounded heart would pay;
+    Ask her, fool, ask her; if words cannot move,
+    The language of thy tears may make her love.
+      Flow nimbly from me then; and when you fall
+    On her breast's warmer snow, O may you all,
+    By some strange fate fix'd there, distinctly lie,
+    The much lov'd volume of my tragedy.
+    Where, if you win her not, may this be read,
+    The cold that freez'd you so, did strike me dead.
+
+
+
+
+SONG.
+
+
+    Amyntas go, thou art undone,
+      Thy faithful heart is cross'd by fate;
+    That love is better not begun,
+      Where love is come to love too late.[43]
+
+    Had she professèd[44] hidden fires,
+      Or show'd one[45] knot that tied her heart,
+    I could have quench'd my first desires,
+      And we had only met to part.
+
+    But, tyrant, thus to murder men,
+      And shed a lover's harmless blood,
+    And burn him in those flames again,
+      Which he at first might have withstood.
+
+    Yet, who that saw fair Chloris weep
+      Such sacred dew, with such pure[46] grace;
+    Durst think them feignèd tears, or seek
+      For treason in an angel's face.
+
+    This is her art, though this be true,
+      Men's joys are kill'd with[47] griefs and fears,
+    Yet she, like flowers oppress'd with dew,
+      Doth thrive and flourish in her tears.
+
+
+    This, cruel, thou hast done, and thus
+      That face hath many servants slain,
+    Though th' end be not to ruin us,
+      But to seek glory by our pain.[48]
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[43] MS. _Whose pure offering comes too late._
+
+[44] MS. _profess'd her._
+
+[45] MS. _the._
+
+[46] MS. _such a._
+
+[47] MS. _by._
+
+[48]
+
+    MS. _Your aime is sure to ruine us._
+        _Seeking your glory by our paine_
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+TO AMORET.
+
+Walking in a Starry Evening.
+
+
+    If, Amoret, that glorious eye,
+        In the first birth of light,
+          And death of Night,
+    Had with those elder fires you spy
+          Scatter'd so high,
+      Receivèd form and sight;
+
+    We might suspect in the vast ring,
+      Amidst these golden glories,
+        And fiery stories;[49]
+    Whether the sun had been the king
+        And guide of day,
+      Or your brighter eye should sway.
+
+    But, Amoret, such is my fate,
+      That if thy face a star
+        Had shin'd from far,
+    I am persuaded in that state,
+        'Twixt thee and me,
+    Of some predestin'd sympathy.[50]
+
+
+    For sure such two conspiring minds,
+      Which no accident, or sight,
+        Did thus unite;
+    Whom no distance can confine,
+        Start, or decline,
+    One for another were design'd.
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[49] MS.
+
+    MS. _We may suspect in the vast ring_,
+          _Which rolls those fiery spheres_
+            _Thro' years and years._
+
+
+
+[50] MS. _There would be perfect sympathy._
+
+
+
+
+
+TO AMORET GONE FROM HIM.
+
+
+    Fancy and I, last evening, walk'd,
+    And Amoret, of thee we talk'd;
+    The West just then had stolen the sun,
+    And his last blushes were begun:
+    We sate, and mark'd how everything
+    Did mourn his absence: how the spring
+    That smil'd and curl'd about his beams,
+    Whilst he was here, now check'd her streams:
+    The wanton eddies of her face
+    Were taught less noise, and smoother grace;
+    And in a slow, sad channel went,
+    Whisp'ring the banks their discontent:
+    The careless ranks of flowers that spread
+    Their perfum'd bosoms to his head.
+    And with an open, free embrace,
+    Did entertain his beamy face,
+    Like absent friends point to the West,
+    And on that weak reflection feast.
+    If creatures then that have no sense,
+    But the loose tie of influence,
+    Though fate and time each day remove
+    Those things that element their love,
+    At such vast distance can agree,
+    Why, Amoret, why should not we?
+
+
+
+
+A SONG TO AMORET.
+
+
+    If I were dead, and in my place
+      Some fresher youth design'd
+    To warm thee with new fires, and grace
+      Those arms I left behind;
+
+    Were he as faithful as the sun,
+      That's wedded to the sphere;
+    His blood as chaste and temp'rate run,
+      As April's mildest tear;
+
+    Or were he rich, and with his heaps
+      And spacious share of earth,
+    Could make divine affection cheap,
+      And court his golden birth:
+
+    For all these arts I'd not believe,
+      --No, though he should be thine--
+    The mighty amorist could give
+      So rich a heart as mine.
+
+    Fortune and beauty thou might'st find,
+      And greater men than I:
+    But my true resolvèd mind
+      They never shall come nigh.[51]
+
+    For I not for an hour did love,
+      Or for a day desire,
+    But with my soul had from above
+      This endless, holy fire.
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[51]
+
+    MS. _But with my true steadfast minde_
+        _None can pretend to vie._
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+AN ELEGY.
+
+
+    'Tis true, I am undone: yet, ere I die,
+    I'll leave these sighs and tears a legacy
+    To after-lovers: that, rememb'ring me,
+    Those sickly flames which now benighted be,
+    Fann'd by their warmer sighs, may love; and prove
+    In them the metempsychosis of love.
+    'Twas I--when others scorn'd--vow'd you were fair,
+    And sware that breath enrich'd the coarser air,
+    Lent roses to your cheeks, made Flora bring
+    Her nymphs with all the glories of the spring
+    To wait upon thy face, and gave my heart
+    A pledge to Cupid for a quicker dart,
+    To arm those eyes against myself; to me
+    Thou ow'st that tongue's bewitching harmony.
+    I courted angels from those upper joys,
+    And made them leave their spheres to hear thy voice.
+    I made the Indian curse the hours he spent
+    To seek his pearls, and wisely to repent
+    His former folly, and confess a sin,
+    Charm'd by the brighter lustre of thy skin.
+    I borrow'd from the winds the gentler wing
+    Of Zephyrus, and soft souls of the spring;
+    And made--to air those cheeks with fresher grace--
+    The warm inspirers dwell upon thy face.
+                  _Oh! jam satis_ ...
+
+
+
+
+A RHAPSODIS:
+
+_Occasionally written upon a meeting with some of his friends at the
+      Globe Tavern, in a chamber painted overhead with a cloudy sky and
+      some few dispersed stars, and on the sides with landscapes, hills,
+      shepherds and sheep._
+
+
+    Darkness, and stars i' th' mid-day! They invite
+    Our active fancies to believe it night:
+    For taverns need no sun, but for a sign,
+    Where rich tobacco and quick tapers shine;
+    And royal, witty sack, the poet's soul,
+    With brighter suns than he doth gild the bowl;
+    As though the pot and poet did agree,
+    Sack should to both illuminator be.
+    That artificial cloud, with its curl'd brow,
+    Tells us 'tis late; and that blue space below
+    Is fir'd with many stars: mark! how they break
+    In silent glances o'er the hills, and speak
+    The evening to the plains, where, shot from far,
+    They meet in dumb salutes, as one great star.
+      The room, methinks, grows darker; and the air
+    Contracts a sadder colour, and less fair.
+    Or is't the drawer's skill? hath he no arts
+    To blind us so we can't know pints from quarts?
+    No, no, 'tis night: look where the jolly clown
+    Musters his bleating herd and quits the down.
+    Hark! how his rude pipe frets the quiet air,
+    Whilst ev'ry hill proclaims Lycoris fair.
+    Rich, happy man! that canst thus watch and sleep,
+    Free from all cares, but thy wench, pipe and sheep!
+    But see, the moon is up; view, where she stands
+    Sentinel o'er the door, drawn by the hands
+    Of some base painter, that for gain hath made
+    Her face the landmark to the tippling trade.
+    This cup to her, that to Endymion give;
+    'Twas wit at first, and wine that made them live.
+    Choke may the painter! and his box disclose
+    No other colours than his fiery nose;
+    And may we no more of his pencil see
+    Than two churchwardens, and mortality.
+      Should we go now a-wand'ring, we should meet
+    With catchpoles, whores and carts in ev'ry street:
+    Now when each narrow lane, each nook and cave,
+    Sign-posts and shop-doors, pimp for ev'ry knave,
+    When riotous sinful plush, and tell-tale spurs
+    Walk Fleet Street and the Strand, when the soft stirs
+    Of bawdy, ruffled silks, turn night to day;
+    And the loud whip and coach scolds all the way;
+    When lust of all sorts, and each itchy blood
+    From the Tower-wharf to Cymbeline, and Lud,
+    Hunts for a mate, and the tir'd footman reels
+    'Twixt chairmen, torches, and the hackney wheels.
+      Come, take the other dish; it is to him
+    That made his horse a senator: each brim
+    Look big as mine: the gallant, jolly beast
+    Of all the herd--you'll say--was not the least.
+      Now crown the second bowl, rich as his worth
+    I'll drink it to; he, that like fire broke forth
+    Into the Senate's face, cross'd Rubicon,
+    And the State's pillars, with their laws thereon,
+    And made the dull grey beards and furr'd gowns fly
+    Into Brundusium to consult, and lie.
+      This, to brave Sylla! why should it be said
+    We drink more to the living than the dead?
+    Flatt'rers and fools do use it: let us laugh
+    At our own honest mirth; for they that quaff
+    To honour others, do like those that sent
+    Their gold and plate to strangers to be spent.
+      Drink deep; this cup be pregnant, and the wine
+    Spirit of wit, to make us all divine,
+    That big with sack and mirth we may retire
+    Possessors of more souls, and nobler fire;
+    And by the influx of this painted sky,
+    And labour'd forms, to higher matters fly;
+    So, if a nap shall take us, we shall all,
+    After full cups, have dreams poetical.
+
+    Let's laugh now, and the press'd grape drink,
+    Till the drowsy day-star wink;
+    And in our merry, mad mirth run
+    Faster, and further than the sun;
+    And let none his cup forsake,
+    Till that star again doth wake;
+    So we men below shall move
+    Equally with the gods above.
+
+
+
+
+TO AMORET, OF THE DIFFERENCE 'TWIXT HIM AND OTHER LOVERS,
+AND WHAT TRUE LOVE IS.
+
+
+    Mark, when the evening's cooler wings
+      Fan the afflicted air, how the faint sun,
+                  Leaving undone,
+                  What he begun,
+    Those spurious flames suck'd up from slime and earth
+                  To their first, low birth,
+                  Resigns, and brings.
+
+    They shoot their tinsel beams and vanities,
+        Threading with those false fires their way;
+                  But as you stay
+                  And see them stray,
+    You lose the flaming track, and subtly they
+                  Languish away,
+                  And cheat your eyes.
+
+    Just so base, sublunary lovers' hearts
+        Fed on loose profane desires,
+                  May for an eye
+                  Or face comply:
+    But those remov'd, they will as soon depart,
+                  And show their art,
+                  And painted fires.
+
+
+    Whilst I by pow'rful love, so much refin'd,
+        That my absent soul the same is,
+                  Careless to miss
+                  A glance or kiss,
+    Can with those elements of lust and sense
+                  Freely dispense,
+                  And court the mind.
+
+    Thus to the North the loadstones move,
+      And thus to them th' enamour'd steel aspires:
+                  Thus Amoret
+                  I do affect;
+    And thus by wingèd beams, and mutual fire,
+                  Spirits and stars conspire:
+                  And this is Love.
+
+
+
+
+TO AMORET WEEPING.
+
+
+    Leave Amoret, melt not away so fast
+    Thy eyes' fair treasure; Fortune's wealthiest cast
+    Deserves not one such pearl; for these, well spent,
+    Can purchase stars, and buy a tenement
+    For us in heaven; though here the pious streams
+    Avail us not; who from that clue of sunbeams
+    Could ever steal one thread? or with a kind
+    Persuasive accent charm the wild loud wind?
+      Fate cuts us all in marble, and the Book
+    Forestalls our glass of minutes; we may look
+    But seldom meet a change; think you a tear
+    Can blot the flinty volume? shall our fear
+    Or grief add to their triumphs? and must we
+    Give an advantage to adversity?
+    Dear, idle prodigal! is it not just
+    We bear our stars? What though I had not dust
+    Enough to cabinet a worm? nor stand
+    Enslav'd unto a little dirt, or sand?
+    I boast a better purchase, and can show
+    The glories of a soul that's simply true.
+      But grant some richer planet at my birth
+    Had spied me out, and measur'd so much earth
+    Or gold unto my share: I should have been
+    Slave to these lower elements, and seen
+    My high-born soul flag with their dross, and lie
+    A pris'ner to base mud, and alchemy.
+    I should perhaps eat orphans, and suck up
+    A dozen distress'd widows in one cup;
+    Nay, further, I should by that lawful stealth,
+    Damn'd usury, undo the commonwealth;
+    Or patent it in soap, and coals, and so
+    Have the smiths curse me, and my laundress too;
+    Geld wine, or his friend tobacco; and so bring
+    The incens'd subject rebel to his king;
+    And after all--as those first sinners fell--
+    Sink lower than my gold, and lie in hell.
+      Thanks then for this deliv'rance! blessed pow'rs,
+    You that dispense man's fortune and his hours,
+    How am I to you all engag'd! that thus
+    By such strange means, almost miraculous,
+    You should preserve me; you have gone the way
+    To make me rich by taking all away.
+    For I--had I been rich--as sure as fate,
+    Would have been meddling with the king, or State,
+    Or something to undo me; and 'tis fit,
+    We know, that who hath wealth should have no wit,
+    But, above all, thanks to that Providence
+    That arm'd me with a gallant soul, and sense,
+    'Gainst all misfortunes, that hath breath'd so much
+    Of Heav'n into me, that I scorn the touch
+    Of these low things; and can with courage dare
+    Whatever fate or malice can prepare:
+    I envy no man's purse or mines: I know
+    That, losing them, I've lost their curses too;
+    And Amoret--although our share in these
+    Is not contemptible, nor doth much please--
+    Yet, whilst content and love we jointly vie,
+    We have a blessing which no gold can buy.
+
+
+
+
+UPON THE PRIORY GROVE, HIS USUAL RETIREMENT.
+
+
+    Hail, sacred shades! cool, leafy house!
+    Chaste treasurer of all my vows
+    And wealth! on whose soft bosom laid
+    My love's fair steps I first betray'd:
+      Henceforth no melancholy flight,
+    No sad wing, or hoarse bird of night,
+    Disturb this air, no fatal throat
+    Of raven, or owl, awake the note
+    Of our laid echo, no voice dwell
+    Within these leaves, but Philomel.
+    The poisonous ivy here no more
+    His false twists on the oak shall score;
+    Only the woodbine here may twine,
+    As th' emblem of her love, and mine;
+    The amorous sun shall here convey
+    His best beams, in thy shades to play;
+    The active air the gentlest show'rs
+    Shall from his wings rain on thy flowers;
+    And the moon from her dewy locks
+    Shall deck thee with her brightest drops.
+    Whatever can a fancy move,
+    Or feed the eye, be on this grove!
+      And when at last the winds and tears
+    Of heaven, with the consuming years,
+    Shall these green curls bring to decay,
+    And clothe thee in an aged grey
+    --If ought a lover can foresee,
+    Or if we poets prophets be--
+    From hence transplanted, thou shalt stand
+    A fresh grove in th' Elysian land;
+    Where--most bless'd pair!--as here on earth
+    Thou first didst eye our growth, and birth;
+    So there again, thou'lt see us move
+    In our first innocence and love;
+    And in thy shades, as now, so then,
+    We'll kiss, and smile, and walk again.
+
+
+
+
+JUVENAL'S TENTH SATIRE TRANSLATED.
+
+
+    In all the parts of earth, from farthest West,
+    And the Atlantic Isles, unto the East
+    And famous Ganges, few there be that know
+    What's truly good, and what is good, in show,
+    Without mistake: for what is't we desire,
+    Or fear discreetly? to whate'er aspire,
+    So throughly bless'd, but ever as we speed,
+    Repentance seals the very act, and deed?
+    The easy gods, mov'd by no other fate
+    Than our own pray'rs, whole kingdoms ruinate,
+    And undo families: thus strife, and war
+    Are the sword's prize, and a litigious bar
+    The gown's prime wish. Vain confidence to share
+    In empty honours and a bloody care
+    To be the first in mischief, makes him die
+    Fool'd 'twixt ambition and credulity.
+    An oily tongue with fatal, cunning sense,
+    And that sad virtue ever, eloquence,
+    Are th' other's ruin, but the common curse;
+    And each day's ill waits on the rich man's purse;
+    He, whose large acres and imprison'd gold
+    So far exceeds his father's store of old,
+    As British whales the dolphins do surpass.
+      In sadder times therefore, and when the laws
+    Of Nero's fiat reign'd, an armèd band
+    Seiz'd on Longinus, and the spacious land
+    Of wealthy Seneca, besieg'd the gates
+    Of Lateranus, and his fair estate
+    Divided as a spoil: in such sad feasts
+    Soldiers--though not invited--are the guests.
+      Though thou small pieces of the blessèd mine
+    Hast lodg'd about thee, travelling in the shine
+    Of a pale moon, if but a reed doth shake,
+    Mov'd by the wind, the shadow makes thee quake.
+    Wealth hath its cares, and want has this relief,
+    It neither fears the soldier nor the thief;
+      Thy first choice vows, and to the gods best known,
+    Are for thy stores' increase, that in all town
+    Thy stock be greatest, but no poison lies
+    I' th' poor man's dish; he tastes of no such spice.
+    Be that thy care, when, with a kingly gust,
+    Thou suck'st whole bowls clad in the gilded dust
+    Of some rich mineral, whilst the false wine
+    Sparkles aloft, and makes the draught divine.
+      Blam'st thou the sages, then? because the one
+    Would still be laughing, when he would be gone
+    From his own door; the other cried to see
+    His times addicted to such vanity?
+    Smiles are an easy purchase, but to weep
+    Is a hard act; for tears are fetch'd more deep.
+    Democritus his nimble lungs would tire
+    With constant laughter, and yet keep entire
+    His stock of mirth, for ev'ry object was
+    Addition to his store; though then--alas!--
+    Sedans, and litters, and our Senate gowns,
+    With robes of honour, fasces, and the frowns
+    Of unbrib'd tribunes were not seen; but had
+    He liv'd to see our Roman prætor clad
+    In Jove's own mantle, seated on his high
+    Embroider'd chariot 'midst the dust and cry
+    Of the large theatre, loaden with a crown,
+    Which scarce he could support--for it would down,
+    But that his servant props it--and close by
+    His page, a witness to his vanity:
+    To these his sceptre and his eagle add,
+    His trumpets, officers, and servants clad
+    In white and purple; with the rest that day,
+    He hir'd to triumph, for his bread, and pay;
+    Had he these studied, sumptuous follies seen,
+    'Tis thought his wanton and effusive spleen
+    Had kill'd the Abderite, though in that age
+    --When pride and greatness had not swell'd the stage
+    So high as ours--his harmless and just mirth
+    From ev'ry object had a sudden birth.
+    Nor was't alone their avarice or pride,
+    Their triumphs or their cares he did deride;
+    Their vain contentions or ridiculous fears,
+    But even their very poverty and tears.
+    He would at Fortune's threats as freely smile
+    As others mourn; nor was it to beguile
+    His crafty passions; but this habit he
+    By nature had, and grave philosophy.
+    He knew their idle and superfluous vows,
+    And sacrifice, which such wrong zeal bestows,
+    Were mere incendiaries; and that the gods,
+    Not pleas'd therewith, would ever be at odds.
+    Yet to no other air, nor better place
+    Ow'd he his birth, than the cold, homely Thrace;
+    Which shows a man may be both wise and good,
+    Without the brags of fortune, or his blood.
+      But envy ruins all: what mighty names
+    Of fortune, spirit, action, blood, and fame,
+    Hath this destroy'd? yea, for no other cause
+    Than being such; their honour, worth and place,
+    Was crime enough; their statues, arms and crowns
+    Their ornaments of triumph, chariots, gowns,
+    And what the herald, with a learnèd care,
+    Had long preserv'd, this madness will not spare.
+      So once Sejanus' statue Rome allow'd
+    Her demi-god, and ev'ry Roman bow'd
+    To pay his safety's vows; but when that face
+    Had lost Tiberius once, its former grace
+    Was soon eclips'd; no diff'rence made--alas!--
+    Betwixt his statue then, and common brass,
+    They melt alike, and in the workman's hand
+    For equal, servile use, like others stand.
+      Go, now fetch home fresh bays, and pay new vows
+    To thy dumb Capitol gods! thy life, thy house,
+    And state are now secur'd: Sejanus lies
+    I' th' lictors' hands. Ye gods! what hearts and eyes
+    Can one day's fortune change? the solemn cry
+    Of all the world is, "Let Sejanus die!"
+    They never lov'd the man, they swear; they know
+    Nothing of all the matter, when, or how,
+    By what accuser, for what cause, or why,
+    By whose command or sentence he must die.
+    But what needs this? the least pretence will hit,
+    When princes fear, or hate a favourite.
+    A large epistle stuff'd with idle fear,
+    Vain dreams, and jealousies, directed here
+    From Caprea does it; and thus ever die
+    Subjects, when once they grow prodigious high.
+      'Tis well, I seek no more; but tell me how
+    This took his friends? no private murmurs now?
+    No tears? no solemn mourner seen? must all
+    His glory perish in one funeral?
+    O still true Romans! State-wit bids them praise
+    The moon by night, but court the warmer rays
+    O' th' sun by day; they follow fortune still,
+    And hate or love discreetly, as their will
+    And the time leads them. This tumultuous fate
+    Puts all their painted favours out of date.
+      And yet this people that now spurn, and tread
+    This mighty favourite's once honour'd head,
+    Had but the Tuscan goddess, or his stars
+    Destin'd him for an empire, or had wars,
+    Treason, or policy, or some higher pow'r
+    Oppress'd secure Tiberius; that same hour
+    That he receiv'd the sad Gemonian doom,
+    Had crown'd him emp'ror of the world and Rome
+      But Rome is now grown wise, and since that she
+    Her suffrages, and ancient liberty
+    Lost in a monarch's name, she takes no care
+    For favourite or prince; nor will she share
+    Their fickle glories, though in Cato's days
+    She rul'd whole States and armies with her voice.
+    Of all the honours now within her walls,
+    She only dotes on plays and festivals.
+    Nor is it strange; for when these meteors fall,
+    They draw an ample ruin with them: all
+    Share in the storm; each beam sets with the sun,
+    And equal hazard friends and flatt'rers run.
+    This makes, that circled with distractive fear
+    The lifeless, pale Sejanus' limbs they tear,
+    And lest the action might a witness need,
+    They bring their servants to confirm the deed;
+    Nor is it done for any other end,
+    Than to avoid the title of his friend.
+    So falls ambitious man, and such are still
+    All floating States built on the people's will:
+      Hearken all you! whom this bewitching lust
+    Of an hour's glory, and a little dust
+    Swells to such dear repentance! you that can
+    Measure whole kingdoms with a thought or span!
+    Would you be as Sejanus? would you have,
+    So you might sway as he did, such a grave?
+    Would you be rich as he? command, dispose,
+    All acts and offices? all friends and foes?
+    Be generals of armies and colleague
+    Unto an emperor? break or make a league?
+    No doubt you would; for both the good and bad
+    An equal itch of honour ever had.
+    But O! what state can be so great or good,
+    As to be bought with so much shame and blood?
+    Alas! Sejanus will too late confess
+    'Twas only pride and greatness made him less:
+    For he that moveth with the lofty wind
+    Of Fortune, and Ambition, unconfin'd
+    In act or thought, doth but increase his height,
+    That he may loose it with more force and weight;
+    Scorning a base, low ruin, as if he
+    Would of misfortune make a prodigy.
+      Tell, mighty Pompey, Crassus, and O thou
+    That mad'st Rome kneel to thy victorious brow,
+    What but the weight of honours, and large fame
+    After your worthy acts, and height of name,
+    Destroy'd you in the end? The envious Fates,
+    Easy to further your aspiring States,
+    Us'd them to quell you too; pride, and excess.
+    In ev'ry act did make you thrive the less.
+    Few kings are guilty of grey hairs, or die
+    Without a stab, a draught, or treachery.
+    And yet to see him, that but yesterday
+    Saw letters first, how he will scrape, and pray;
+    And all her feast-time tire Minerva's ears
+    For fame, for eloquence, and store of years
+    To thrive and live in; and then lest he dotes,
+    His boy assists him with his box and notes.
+    Fool that thou art! not to discern the ill
+    These vows include; what, did Rome's consul kill
+    Her Cicero? what, him whose very dust
+    Greece celebrates as yet; whose cause, though just,
+    Scarce banishment could end; nor poison save
+    His free-born person from a foreign grave?
+    All this from eloquence! both head and hand
+    The tongue doth forfeit; petty wits may stand
+    Secure from danger, but the nobler vein
+    With loss of blood the bar doth often stain.
+
+                                               } Carmen
+    _O fortunatam natam me Consule Romam._     } Ciceronianum
+                                               }
+
+    Had all been thus, thou might'st have scorn'd the sword
+    Of fierce Antonius; here is not one word
+    Doth pinch; I like such stuff, 'tis safer far
+    Than thy Philippics, or Pharsalia's war.
+    What sadder end than his, whom Athens saw
+    At once her patriot, oracle, and law?
+    Unhappy then is he, and curs'd in stars
+    Whom his poor father, blind with soot and scars,
+    Sends from the anvil's harmless chine, to wear
+    The factious gown, and tire his client's ear
+    And purse with endless noise. Trophies of war,
+    Old rusty armour, with an honour'd scar,
+    And wheels of captiv'd chariots, with a piece
+    Of some torn British galley, and to these
+    The ensign too, and last of all the train
+    The pensive pris'ner loaden with his chain,
+    Are thought true Roman honours; these the Greek
+    And rude barbarians equally do seek.
+    Thus air, and empty fame, are held a prize
+    Beyond fair virtue; for all virtue dies
+    Without reward; and yet by this fierce lust
+    Of fame, and titles to outlive our dust,
+    And monuments--though all these things must die
+    And perish like ourselves--whole kingdoms lie
+    Ruin'd and spoil'd: put Hannibal i' th' scale,
+    What weight affords the mighty general?
+    This is the man, whom Afric's spacious land
+    Bounded by th' Indian Sea, and Nile's hot sand
+    Could not contain--Ye gods! that give to men
+    Such boundless appetites, why state you them
+    So short a time? either the one deny,
+    Or give their acts and them eternity.
+    All Æthiopia, to the utmost bound
+    Of Titan's course,--than which no land is found
+    Less distant from the sun--with him that ploughs
+    That fertile soil where fam'd[52] Iberus flows,
+    Are not enough to conquer; pass'd now o'er
+    The Pyrrhene hills, the Alps with all its store
+    Of ice, and rocks clad in eternal snow,
+    --As if that Nature meant to give the blow--
+    Denies him passage; straight on ev'ry side
+    He wounds the hill, and by strong hand divides
+    The monstrous pile; nought can ambition stay.
+    The world and Nature yield to give him way.
+    And now pass'd o'er the Alps, that mighty bar
+    'Twixt France and Rome, fear of the future war
+    Strikes Italy; success and hope doth fire
+    His lofty spirits with a fresh desire.
+    All is undone as yet--saith he--unless
+    Our Pænish forces we advance, and press
+    Upon Rome's self; break down her gates and wall,
+    And plant our colours in Suburra's vale.
+    O the rare sight! if this great soldier we
+    Arm'd on his Getick elephant might see!
+    But what's the event? O glory, how the itch
+    Of thy short wonders doth mankind bewitch!
+    He that but now all Italy and Spain
+    Had conquer'd o'er, is beaten out again;
+    And in the heart of Afric, and the sight
+    Of his own Carthage, forc'd to open flight.
+    Banish'd from thence, a fugitive he posts
+    To Syria first, then to Bithynia's coasts,
+    Both places by his sword secur'd, though he
+    In this distress must not acknowledg'd be;
+    Where once a general he triumphed, now
+    To show what Fortune can, he begs as low.
+      And thus that soul which through all nations hurl'd
+    Conquest and war, and did amaze the world,
+    Of all those glories robb'd, at his last breath,
+    Fortune would not vouchsafe a soldier's death.
+    For all that blood the field of Cannæ boasts,
+    And sad Apulia fill'd with Roman ghosts,
+    No other end--freed from the pile and sword--
+    Than a poor ring would Fortune him afford.
+      Go now, ambitious man! new plots design,
+    March o'er the snowy Alps and Apennine;
+    That, after all, at best thou may'st but be
+    A pleasing story to posterity!
+      The Macedon one world could not contain,
+    We hear him of the narrow earth complain,
+    And sweat for room, as if Seriphus Isle
+    Or Gyara had held him in exile;
+    But Babylon this madness can allay,
+    And give the great man but his length of clay.
+    The highest thoughts and actions under heaven
+    Death only with the lowest dust lays even.
+    It is believed--if what Greece writes be true--
+    That Xerxes with his Persian fleet did hew
+    Their ways through mountains, that their sails full blown
+    Like clouds hung over Athos and did drown
+    The spacious continent, and by plain force
+    Betwixt the mount and it, made a divorce;
+    That seas exhausted were, and made firm land,
+    And Sestos joined unto Abydos strand;
+    That on their march his Medes but passing by
+    Drank thee, Scamander, and Melenus dry;
+    With whatsoe'er incredible design
+    Sostratus sings, inspir'd with pregnant wine.
+    But what's the end? He that the other day
+    Divided Hellespont, and forc'd his way
+    Through all her angry billows, that assign'd
+    New punishments unto the waves, and wind,
+    No sooner saw the Salaminian seas
+    But he was driven out by Themistocles,
+    And of that fleet--supposed to be so great,
+    That all mankind shar'd in the sad defeat--
+    Not one sail sav'd, in a poor fisher's boat,
+    Chas'd o'er the working surge, was glad to float,
+    Cutting his desp'rate course through the tir'd flood,
+    And fought again with carcases, and blood.
+    O foolish mad Ambition! these are still
+    The famous dangers that attend thy will.
+      Give store of days, good Jove, give length of years,
+    Are the next vows; these with religious fears
+    And constancy we pay; but what's so bad
+    As a long, sinful age? what cross more sad
+    Than misery of years? how great an ill
+    Is that which doth but nurse more sorrow still?
+    It blacks the face, corrupt and dulls the blood,
+    Benights the quickest eye, distastes the food,
+    And such deep furrows cuts i' th' checker'd skin
+    As in th' old oaks of Tabraca are seen.
+      Youth varies in most things; strength, beauty, wit,
+    Are several graces; but where age doth hit
+    It makes no difference; the same weak voice,
+    And trembling ague in each member lies:
+    A general hateful baldness, with a curs'd
+    Perpetual pettishness; and, which is worst,
+    A foul, strong flux of humours, and more pain
+    To feed, than if he were to nurse again;
+    So tedious to himself, his wife, and friends,
+    That his own sons, and servants, wish his end.
+    His taste and feeling dies; and of that fire
+    The am'rous lover burns in, no desire:
+    Or if there were, what pleasure could it be,
+    Where lust doth reign without ability?
+    Nor is this all: what matters it, where he
+    Sits in the spacious stage? who can nor see,
+    Nor hear what's acted, whom the stiller voice
+    Of spirited, wanton airs, or the loud noise
+    Of trumpets cannot pierce; whom thunder can
+    But scarce inform who enters, or what man
+    He personates, what 'tis they act, or say?
+    How many scenes are done? what time of day?
+    Besides that little blood his carcase holds
+    Hath lost[53] its native warmth, and fraught with colds
+    Catarrhs, and rheums, to thick black jelly turns,
+    And never but in fits and fevers burns.
+    Such vast infirmities, so huge a stock
+    Of sickness and diseases to him flock,
+    That Hyppia ne'er so many lovers knew,
+    Nor wanton Maura; physic never slew
+    So many patients, nor rich lawyers spoil
+    More wards and widows; it were lesser toil
+    To number out what manors and domains
+    Licinius' razor purchas'd: one complains
+    Of weakness in the back, another pants
+    For lack of breath, the third his eyesight wants;
+    Nay, some so feeble are, and full of pain,
+    That infant-like they must be fed again.
+    These faint too at their meals; their wine they spill,
+    And like young birds, that wait the mother's bill,
+    They gape for meat; but sadder far than this
+    Their senseless ignorance and dotage is;
+    For neither they, their friends, nor servants know,
+    Nay, those themselves begot, and bred up too,
+    No longer now they'll own; for madly they
+    Proscribe them all, and what, on the last day,
+    The misers cannot carry to the grave
+    For their past sins, their prostitutes must have.
+      But grant age lack'd these plagues: yet must they see
+    As great, as many: frail mortality,
+    In such a length of years, hath many falls,
+    And deads a life with frequent funerals.
+    The nimblest hour in all the span can steal
+    A friend, or brother from's; there's no repeal
+    In death, or time; this day a wife we mourn,
+    To-morrow's tears a son; and the next urn
+    A sister fills. Long-livers have assign'd
+    These curses still, that with a restless mind,
+    An age of fresh renewing cares they buy,
+    And in a tide of tears grow old and die.
+      Nestor,--if we great Homer may believe--
+    In his full strength three hundred years did live:
+    Happy--thou'lt say--that for so long a time
+    Enjoy'd free nature, with the grape and wine
+    Of many autumns; but, I prithee thee, hear
+    What Nestor says himself, when he his dear
+    Antilochus had lost; how he complains
+    Of life's too large extent, and copious pains?
+    Of all he meets, he asks what is the cause
+    He liv'd thus long; for what breach of their laws
+    The gods thus punish'd him? what sin had he
+    Done worthy of a long life's misery.
+    Thus Peleus his Achilles mourned, and he
+    Thus wept that his Ulysses lost at sea.
+    Had Priam died before Phereclus' fleet
+    Was built, or Paris stole the fatal Greek,
+    Troy had yet stood, and he perhaps had gone
+    In peace unto the lower shades; his son
+    Sav'd with his plenteous offspring, and the rest
+    In solemn pomp bearing his fun'ral chest.
+    But long life hinder'd this: unhappy he,
+    Kept for a public ruin, liv'd to see
+    All Asia lost, and ere he could aspire,
+    In his own house saw both the sword and fire;
+    All white with age and cares, his feeble arm
+    Had now forgot the war; but this alarm
+    Gathers his dying spirits; and as we
+    An aged ox worn out with labour see
+    By his ungrateful master, after all
+    His years of toil, a thankless victim fall:
+    So he by Jove's own altar; which shows we
+    Are nowhere safe from heaven, and destiny:
+    Yet died a man; but his surviving queen,
+    Freed from the Greekish sword, was barking seen.
+    I haste to Rome, and Pontus' king let pass,
+    With Lydian Cr[oe]sus, whom in vain--alas!--
+    Just Solon's grave advice bad to attend,
+    That happiness came not before the end.
+      What man more bless'd in any age to come
+    Or past, could Nature show the world, or Rome,
+    Than Marius was? if amidst the pomp of war,
+    And triumphs fetch'd with Roman blood from far,
+    His soul had fled; exile and fetters then
+    He ne'er had seen, nor known Minturna's fen;
+    Nor had it, after Carthage got, been said
+    A Roman general had begg'd his bread.
+      Thus Pompey th' envious gods, and Rome's ill stars
+    --Freed from Campania's fevers, and the wars--
+    Doom'd to Achilles' sword: our public vows
+    Made Cæsar guiltless; but sent him to lose
+    His head at Nile: this curse Cethegus miss'd:
+    This Lentulus, and this made him resist
+    That mangled by no lictor's axe, fell dead
+    Entirely Catiline, and sav'd his head.
+      The anxious matrons, with their foolish zeal,
+    Are the last votaries, and their appeal
+    Is all for beauty; with soft speech, and slow,
+    They pray for sons, but with a louder vow
+    Commend a female feature: all that can
+    Make woman pleasing now they shift, and scan
+    And when[54] reprov'd, they say, Latona's pair
+    The mother never thinks can be too fair.
+      But sad Lucretia warns to wish no face
+    Like hers: Virginia would bequeath her grace
+    To crook-back Rutila in exchange; for still
+    The fairest children do their parents fill
+    With greatest cares; so seldom chastity
+    Is found with beauty; though some few there be
+    That with a strict, religious care contend
+    Th' old, modest, Sabine customs to defend:
+    Besides, wise Nature to some faces grants
+    An easy blush, and where she freely plants
+    A less instruction serves: but both these join'd,
+    At Rome would both be forc'd or else purloin'd.
+      So steel'd a forehead Vice hath, that dares win,
+    And bribe the father to the children's sin;
+    But whom have gifts defiled not? what good face
+    Did ever want these tempters? pleasing grace
+    Betrays itself; what time did Nero mind
+    A coarse, maim'd shape? what blemish'd youth confin'd
+    His goatish pathic? whence then flow these joys
+    Of a fair issue? whom these sad annoys
+    Wait, and grow up with; whom perhaps thou'lt see
+    Public adulterers, and must be
+    Subject to all the curses, plagues, and awe
+    Of jealous madmen, and the Julian law;
+    Nor canst thou hope they'll find a milder star,
+    Or more escapes than did the god of war.
+    But worse than all, a jealous brain confines
+    His fury to no law; what rage assigns
+    Is present justice: thus the rash sword spills
+    This lecher's blood; the scourge another kills.
+    But thy spruce boy must touch no other face
+    Than a patrician? is of any race
+    So they be rich; Servilia is as good,
+    With wealth, as she that boasts Iulus' blood.
+    To please a servant all is cheap; what thing
+    In all their stock to the last suit, and king,
+    But lust exacts? the poorest whore in this
+    As generous as the patrician is.
+    But thou wilt say what hurt's a beauteous skin
+    With a chaste soul? Ask Theseus' son, and him
+    That Stenob[oe]a murder'd; for both these
+    Can tell how fatal 'twas in them to please.
+    A woman's spleen then carries most of fate,
+    When shame and sorrow aggravate her hate.
+    Resolve me now, had Silius been thy son,
+    In such a hazard what should he have done?
+    Of all Rome's youth, this was the only best,
+    In whom alone beauty and worth did rest.
+    This Messalina saw, and needs he must
+    Be ruin'd by the emp'ror, or her lust.
+    All in the face of Rome, and the world's eye
+    Though Cæsar's wife, a public bigamy
+    She dares attempt; and that the act might bear
+    More prodigy, the notaries appear,
+    And augurs to't; and to complete the sin
+    In solemn form, a dowry is brought in.
+    All this--thou'lt say--in private might have pass'd
+    But she'll not have it so; what course at last?
+    What should he do? If Messaline be cross'd,
+    Without redress thy Silius will be lost;
+    If not, some two days' length is all he can
+    Keep from the grave; just so much as will span
+    This news to Hostia, to whose fate he owes
+    That Claudius last his own dishonour knows.
+    But he obeys, and for a few hours' lust
+    Forfeits that glory should outlive his dust;
+    Nor was it much a fault; for whether he
+    Obey'd or not, 'twas equal destiny.
+    So fatal beauty is, and full of waste.
+    That neither wanton can be safe, nor chaste.
+    What then should man pray for? what is't that he
+    Can beg of Heaven, without impiety?
+    Take my advice: first to the gods commit
+    All cares; for they things competent and fit
+    For us foresee; besides, man is more dear
+    To them than to himself; we blindly here,
+    Led by the world and lust, in vain assay
+    To get us portions, wives and sons; but they
+    Already know all that we can intend,
+    And of our children's children see the end.
+      Yet that thou may'st have something to commend
+    With thanks unto the gods for what they send;
+    Pray for a wise and knowing soul; a sad,
+    Discreet, true valour, that will scorn to add
+    A needless horror to thy death; that knows
+    'Tis but a debt which man to nature owes;
+    That starts not at misfortunes, that can sway
+    And keep all passions under lock and key;
+    That covets nothing, wrongs none, and prefers
+    An honest want, before rich injurers.
+    All this thou hast within thyself, and may
+    Be made thy own, if thou wilt take the way;
+    What boots the world's wild, loose applause? what [can]
+    Frail, perilous honours add unto a man?
+    What length of years, wealth, or a rich fair wife?
+    Virtue alone can make a happy life.
+    To a wise man nought comes amiss: but we
+    Fortune adore, and make our deity.
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[52] The original has _framed_.
+
+[53] The original has _low_.
+
+[54] The original has _why_
+
+
+
+              OLOR ISCANUS.
+
+                  1651.
+
+
+    ----O quis me gelidis in vallibus Iscæ
+    Sistat, et ingenti ramorum protegat umbra!
+
+
+
+
+AD POSTEROS.
+
+
+    Diminuat ne sera dies præsentis honorem
+      Quis, qualisque fui, percipe Posteritas.
+    Cambria me genuit, patulis ubi vallibus errans
+      Subjacet aeriis montibus Isca pater.
+    Inde sinu placido suscepit maximus arte
+      Herbertus, Latiæ gloria prima scholæ.
+    Bis ternos, illo me conducente, per annos
+      Profeci, et geminam contulit unus opem;
+    Ars et amor, mens atque manus certare solebant,
+      Nec lassata illi mensue, manusue fuit.
+    Hinc qualem cernis crevisse: sed ut mea certus
+      Tempora cognoscas, dura mere, scias.
+    Vixi, divisos cum fregerat hæresis Anglos
+      Inter Tysiphonas presbyteri et populi.
+    His primum miseris per am[oe]na furentibus arva
+      Prostravit sanctam vilis avena rosam,
+    Turbarunt fontes, et fusis pax perit undis,
+      Moestaque coelestes obruit umbra dies.
+    Duret ut integritas tamen, et pia gloria, partem
+      Me nullam in tanta strage fuisse, scias;
+    Credidimus nempe insonti vocem esse cruori,
+      Et vires quæ post funera flere docent.
+    Hinc castæ, fidæque pati me more parentis
+      Commonui, et lachrymis fata levare meis;
+    Hinc nusquam horrendis violavi sacra procellis,
+      Nec mihi mens unquam, nec manus atra fuit.
+    Si pius es, ne plura petas; satur ille recedat
+      Qui sapit et nos non scripsimus insipidis.
+
+
+
+
+TO THE TRULY NOBLE AND MOST EXCELLENTLY ACCOMPLISHED,
+THE LORD KILDARE DIGBY.
+
+
+My Lord,
+
+It is a position anciently known, and modern experience hath allowed it
+for a sad truth, that absence and time,--like cold weather, and an
+unnatural dormition--will blast and wear out of memory the most
+endearing obligations; and hence it was that some politicians in love
+have looked upon the former of these two as a main remedy against the
+fondness of that passion. But for my own part, my Lord, I shall deny
+this aphorism of the people, and beg leave to assure your Lordship,
+that, though these reputed obstacles have lain long in my way, yet
+neither of them could work upon me: for I am now--without adulation--as
+warm and sensible of those numerous favours and kind influences received
+sometimes from your Lordship, as I really was at the instant of
+fruition. I have no plot by preambling thus to set any rate upon this
+present address, as if I should presume to value a return of this nature
+equal with your Lordship's deserts, but the design is to let you see
+that this habit I have got of being troublesome flows from two
+excusable principles, gratitude and love. These inward counsellors--I
+know not how discreetly--persuaded me to this attempt and intrusion upon
+your name, which if your Lordship will vouchsafe to own as the genius to
+these papers, you will perfect my hopes, and place me at my full height.
+This was the aim, my Lord, and is the end of this work, which though but
+a _pazzarello_ to the _voluminose insani_, yet as jessamine and the
+violet find room in the bank as well as roses and lilies, so happily may
+this, and--if shined upon by your Lordship--please as much. To whose
+protection, sacred as your name and those eminent honours which have
+always attended upon it through so many generations, I humbly offer it,
+and remain in all numbers of gratitude,
+
+                        My honoured Lord,
+       Your most affectionate, humblest Servant,
+                                      Vaughan.
+Newton by Usk this 17 of Decemb. 1647.
+
+
+
+
+THE PUBLISHER TO THE READER.
+
+
+It was the glorious Maro that referred his legacies to the fire, and
+though princes are seldom executors, yet there came a Cæsar to his
+testament, as if the act of a poet could not be repealed but by a king.
+I am not, Reader, _Augustus vindex_: here is no royal rescue, but here
+is a Muse that deserves it. The Author had long ago condemned these
+poems to obscurity, and the consumption of that further fate which
+attends it. This censure gave them a gust of death, and they have partly
+known that oblivion which our best labours must come to at last. I
+present thee then not only with a book, but with a prey, and in this
+kind the first recoveries from corruption. Here is a flame hath been
+sometimes extinguished, thoughts that have been lost and forgot, but now
+they break out again like the Platonic reminiscency. I have not the
+Author's approbation to the fact, but I have law on my side, though
+never a sword. I hold it no man's prerogative to fire his own house.
+Thou seest how saucy I am grown, and it thou dost expect I should
+commend what is published, I must tell thee, I cry no Seville oranges. I
+will not say, Here is fine or cheap: that were an injury to the verse
+itself, and to the effects it can produce. Read on, and thou wilt find
+thy spirit engaged: not by the deserts of what we call tolerable, but by
+the commands of a pen that is above it.
+
+
+
+
+UPON THE MOST INGENIOUS PAIR OF TWINS,
+EUGENIUS PHILALETHES, AND THE AUTHOR OF THESE POEMS.
+
+
+    What planet rul'd your birth? what witty star?
+    That you so like in souls as bodies are!
+    So like in both, that you seem born to free
+    The starry art from vulgar calumny.
+    My doubts are solv'd, from hence my faith begins,
+    Not only your faces but your wits are twins.
+
+    When this bright Gemini shall from Earth ascend,
+    They will new light to dull-ey'd mankind lend,
+    Teach the star-gazers, and delight their eyes,
+    Being fix'd a constellation in the skies.
+
+                                                T. Powell, Oxoniensis.
+
+
+
+
+TO MY FRIEND THE AUTHOR UPON THESE HIS POEMS.
+
+
+    I call'd it once my sloth: in such an age
+    So many volumes deep, I not a page?
+    But I recant, and vow 'twas thrifty care
+    That kept my pen from spending on slight ware,
+    And breath'd it for a prize, whose pow'rful shine
+    Doth both reward the striver, and refine.
+    Such are thy poems, friend: for since th' hast writ,
+    I can't reply to any name, but wit;
+    And lest amidst the throng that make us groan,
+    Mine prove a groundless heresy alone,
+    Thus I dispute, Hath there not rev'rence been
+    Paid to the beard at door, for Lord within?
+    Who notes the spindle-leg or hollow eye
+    Of the thin usher, the fair lady by?
+    Thus I sin freely, neighbour to a hand
+    Which, while I aim to strengthen, gives command
+    For my protection; and thou art to me
+    At once my subject and security.
+
+                                            I. Rowlandson, Oxoniensis.
+
+
+
+
+UPON THE FOLLOWING POEMS.
+
+
+    I write not here, as if thy last in store
+    Of learnèd friends; 'tis known that thou hast more;
+    Who, were they told of this, would find a way
+    To raise a guard of poets without pay,
+    And bring as many hands to thy edition,
+    As th' City should unto their May'r's petition.
+    But thou wouldst none of this, lest it should be
+    Thy muster rather than our courtesy;
+    Thou wouldst not beg as knights do, and appear
+    Poet by voice and suffrage of the shire;
+    That were enough to make my Muse advance
+    Amongst the crutches; nay, it might enhance
+    Our charity, and we should think it fit
+    The State should build an hospital for wit.
+      But here needs no relief: thy richer verse
+    Creates all poets, that can but rehearse,
+    And they, like tenants better'd by their land,
+    Should pay thee rent for what they understand.
+    Thou art not of that lamentable nation
+    Who make a blessed alms of approbation,
+    Whose fardel-notes are briefs in ev'rything,
+    But, that they are not _Licens'd by the king_.
+    Without such scrape-requests thou dost come forth
+    Arm'd--though I speak it--with thy proper worth,
+    And needest not this noise of friends, for we
+    Write out of love, not thy necessity.
+    And though this sullen age possessèd be
+    With some strange desamour to poetry,
+    Yet I suspect--thy fancy so delights--
+    The Puritans will turn thy proselytes,
+    And that thy flame, when once abroad it shines,
+    Will bring thee as many friends as thou hast lines.
+
+                                     Eugenius Philalethes, Oxoniensis.
+
+
+
+
+OLOR ISCANUS.
+
+
+
+
+TO THE RIVER ISCA.
+
+
+    When Daphne's lover here first wore the bays,
+    Eurotas' secret streams heard all his lays,
+    And holy Orpheus, Nature's busy child,
+    By headlong Hebrus his deep hymns compil'd;
+    Soft Petrarch--thaw'd by Laura's flames--did weep
+    On Tiber's banks, when she--proud fair!--could sleep;
+    Mosella boasts Ausonius, and the Thames
+    Doth murmur Sidney's Stella to her streams;
+    While Severn, swoln with joy and sorrow, wears
+    Castara's smiles mix'd with fair Sabrin's tears.
+    Thus poets--like the nymphs, their pleasing themes--
+    Haunted the bubbling springs and gliding streams;
+    And happy banks! whence such fair flow'rs have sprung,
+    But happier those where they have sat and sung!
+    Poets--like angels--where they once appear
+    Hallow the place, and each succeeding year
+    Adds rev'rence to't, such as at length doth give
+    This aged faith, that there their genii live.
+    Hence th' ancients say, that from this sickly air
+    They pass to regions more refin'd and fair,
+    To meadows strew'd with lilies and the rose,
+    And shades whose youthful green no old age knows;
+    Where all in white they walk, discourse, and sing
+    Like bees' soft murmurs, or a chiding spring.
+      But Isca, whensoe'er those shades I see,
+    And thy lov'd arbours must no more know me,
+    When I am laid to rest hard by thy streams,
+    And my sun sets, where first it sprang in beams,
+    I'll leave behind me such a large, kind light,
+    As shall redeem thee from oblivious night,
+    And in these vows which--living yet--I pay,
+    Shed such a previous and enduring ray,
+    As shall from age to age thy fair name lead,
+    'Till rivers leave to run, and men to read.
+        First, may all bards born after me
+        --When I am ashes--sing of thee!
+        May thy green banks or streams,--or none--
+        Be both their hill and Helicon!
+        May vocal groves grow there, and all
+        The shades in them prophetical,
+        Where laid men shall more fair truths see
+        Than fictions were of Thessaly!
+        May thy gentle swains--like flow'rs--
+        Sweetly spend their youthful hours,
+        And thy beauteous nymphs--like doves--
+        Be kind and faithful to their loves!
+        Garlands, and songs, and roundelays,
+        Mild, dewy nights, and sunshine days,
+        The turtle's voice, joy without fear,
+        Dwell on thy bosom all the year!
+        May the evet and the toad
+        Within thy banks have no abode,
+        Nor the wily, winding snake
+        Her voyage through thy waters make!
+        In all thy journey to the main
+        No nitrous clay, nor brimstone-vein
+        Mix with thy streams, but may they pass
+        Fresh on the air, and clear as glass,
+        And where the wand'ring crystal treads
+        Roses shall kiss, and couple heads!
+        The factor-wind from far shall bring
+        The odours of the scatter'd Spring,
+        And loaden with the rich arrear,
+        Spend it in spicy whispers there.
+        No sullen heats, nor flames that are
+        Offensive, and canicular,
+        Shine on thy sands, nor pry to see
+        Thy scaly, shading family,
+        But noons as mild as Hesper's rays,
+        Or the first blushes of fair days!
+        What gifts more Heav'n or Earth can add,
+        With all those blessings be thou clad!
+              Honour, Beauty,
+              Faith and Duty,
+              Delight and Truth,
+              With Love and Youth,
+    Crown all about thee! and whatever Fate
+    Impose elsewhere, whether the graver state
+    Or some toy else, may those loud, anxious cares
+    For dead and dying things--the common wares
+    And shows of Time--ne'er break thy peace, nor make
+    Thy repos'd arms to a new war awake!
+        But freedom, safety, joy and bliss,
+        United in one loving kiss,
+        Surround thee quite, and style thy borders
+        The land redeem'd from all disorders!
+
+
+
+
+THE CHARNEL-HOUSE.
+
+
+    Bless me! what damps are here! how stiff an air!
+    Kelder of mists, a second fiat's care,
+    Front'spiece o' th' grave and darkness, a display
+    Of ruin'd man, and the disease of day,
+    Lean, bloodless shamble, where I can descry
+    Fragments of men, rags of anatomy,
+    Corruption's wardrobe, the transplantive bed
+    Of mankind, and th' exchequer of the dead!
+    How thou arrests my sense! how with the sight
+    My winter'd blood grows stiff to all delight!
+    Torpedo to the eye! whose least glance can
+    Freeze our wild lusts, and rescue headlong man.
+    Eloquent silence! able to immure
+    An atheist's thoughts, and blast an epicure.
+    Were I a Lucian, Nature in this dress
+    Would make me wish a Saviour, and confess.
+      Where are you, shoreless thoughts, vast tenter'd hope,
+    Ambitious dreams, aims of an endless scope,
+    Whose stretch'd excess runs on a string too high,
+    And on the rack of self-extension die?
+    Chameleons of state, air-monging band,
+    Whose breath--like gunpowder--blows up a land,
+    Come see your dissolution, and weigh
+    What a loath'd nothing you shall be one day.
+    As th' elements by circulation pass
+    From one to th' other, and that which first was
+    I so again, so 'tis with you; the grave
+    And Nature but complot; what the one gave
+    The other takes; think, then, that in this bed
+    There sleep the relics of as proud a head,
+    As stern and subtle as your own, that hath
+    Perform'd, or forc'd as much, whose tempest-wrath
+    Hath levell'd kings with slaves, and wisely then
+    Calm these high furies, and descend to men.
+    Thus Cyrus tam'd the Macedon; a tomb
+    Check'd him, who thought the world too straight a room.
+      Have I obey'd the powers of face,
+    A beauty able to undo the race
+    Of easy man? I look but here, and straight
+    I am inform'd, the lovely counterfeit
+    Was but a smoother clay. That famish'd slave
+    Beggar'd by wealth, who starves that he may save,
+    Brings hither but his sheet; nay, th' ostrich-man
+    That feeds on steel and bullet, he that can
+    Outswear his lordship, and reply as tough
+    To a kind word, as if his tongue were buff,
+    Is chap-fall'n here: worms without wit or fear
+    Defy him now; Death hath disarm'd the bear.
+    Thus could I run o'er all the piteous score
+    Of erring men, and having done, meet more,
+    Their shuffled wills, abortive, vain intents,
+    Fantastic humours, perilous ascents,
+    False, empty honours, traitorous delights,
+    And whatsoe'er a blind conceit invites;
+    But these and more which the weak vermins swell,
+    Are couch'd in this accumulative cell,
+    Which I could scatter; but the grudging sun
+    Calls home his beams, and warns me to be gone;
+    Day leaves me in a double night, and I
+    Must bid farewell to my sad library.
+    Yet with these notes--Henceforth with thought of thee
+    I'll season all succeeding jollity,
+    Yet damn not mirth, nor think too much is fit;
+    Excess hath no religion, nor wit;
+    But should wild blood swell to a lawless strain,
+    One check from thee shall channel it again.
+
+
+
+
+IN AMICUM F[OE]NERATOREM.
+
+
+    Thanks, mighty Silver! I rejoice to see
+    How I have spoil'd his thrift, by spending thee.
+    Now thou art gone, he courts my wants with more,
+    His decoy gold, and bribes me to restore.
+    As lesser lode-stones with the North consent,
+    Naturally moving to their element,
+    As bodies swarm to th' centre, and that fire
+    Man stole from heaven, to heav'n doth still aspire,
+    So this vast crying sum draws in a less;
+    And hence this bag more Northward laid I guess,
+    For 'tis of pole-star force, and in this sphere
+    Though th' least of many, rules the master-bear.
+    Prerogative of debts! how he doth dress
+    His messages in chink! not an express
+    Without a fee for reading; and 'tis fit,
+    For gold's the best restorative of wit.
+    Oh how he gilds them o'er! with what delight
+    I read those lines, which angels do indite!
+      But wilt have money, Og? must I dispurse
+    Will nothing serve thee but a poet's curse?
+    Wilt rob an altar thus? and sweep at once
+    What Orpheus-like I forc'd from stocks and stones?
+    'Twill never swell thy bag, nor ring one peal
+    In thy dark chest. Talk not of shreeves, or gaol;
+    I fear them not. I have no land to glut
+    Thy dirty appetite, and make thee strut
+    Nimrod of acres; I'll no speech prepare
+    To court the hopeful cormorant, thine heir.
+    For there's a kingdom at thy beck if thou
+    But kick this dross: Parnassus' flow'ry brow
+    I'll give thee with my Tempe, and to boot
+    That horse which struck a fountain with his foot.
+    A bed of roses I'll provide for thee,
+    And crystal springs shall drop thee melody.
+    The breathing shades we'll haunt, where ev'ry leaf
+    Shall whisper us asleep, though thou art deaf.
+    Those waggish nymphs, too, which none ever yet
+    Durst make love to, we'll teach the loving fit;
+    We'll suck the coral of their lips, and feed
+    Upon their spicy breath, a meal at need:
+    Rove in their amber-tresses, and unfold
+    That glist'ring grove, the curled wood of gold;
+    Then peep for babies, a new puppet play,
+    And riddle what their prattling eyes would say.
+    But here thou must remember to dispurse,
+    For without money all this is a curse.
+    Thou must for more bags call, and so restore
+    This iron age to gold, as once before.
+    This thou must do, and yet this is not all,
+    For thus the poet would be still in thrall,
+    Thou must then--if live thus--my nest of honey
+    Cancel old bonds, and beg to lend more money.
+
+
+
+
+TO HIS FRIEND----
+
+
+    I wonder, James, through the whole history
+    Of ages, such entails of poverty
+    Are laid on poets; lawyers--they say--have found
+    A trick to cut them; would they were but bound
+    To practise on us, though for this thing we
+    Should pay--if possible--their bribes and fee.
+    Search--as thou canst--the old and modern store
+    Of Rome and ours, in all the witty score
+    Thou shalt not find a rich one; take each clime,
+    And run o'er all the pilgrimage of time,
+    Thou'lt meet them poor, and ev'rywhere descry
+    A threadbare, goldless genealogy.
+    Nature--it seems--when she meant us for earth
+    Spent so much of her treasure in the birth
+    As ever after niggards her, and she,
+    Thus stor'd within, beggars us outwardly.
+    Woful profusion! at how dear a rate
+    Are we made up! all hope of thrift and state
+    Lost for a verse. When I by thoughts look back
+    Into the womb of time, and see the rack
+    Stand useless there, until we are produc'd
+    Unto the torture, and our souls infus'd
+    To learn afflictions, I begin to doubt
+    That as some tyrants use from their chain'd rout
+    Of slaves to pick out one whom for their sport
+    They keep afflicted by some ling'ring art;
+    So we are merely thrown upon the stage
+    The mirth of fools and legend of the age.
+    When I see in the ruins of a suit
+    Some nobler breast, and his tongue sadly mute
+    Feed on the vocal silence of his eye,
+    And knowing cannot reach the remedy;
+    When souls of baser stamp shine in their store,
+    And he of all the throng is only poor;
+    When French apes for foreign fashions pay,
+    And English legs are dress'd th' outlandish way,
+    So fine too, that they their own shadows woo,
+    While he walks in the sad and pilgrim shoe;
+    I'm mad at Fate, and angry ev'n to sin,
+    To see deserts and learning clad so thin;
+    To think how th' earthly usurer can brood
+    Upon his bags, and weigh the precious food
+    With palsied hands, as if his soul did fear
+    The scales could rob him of what he laid there.
+    Like devils that on hid treasures sit, or those
+    Whose jealous eyes trust not beyond their nose,
+    They guard the dirt and the bright idol hold
+    Close, and commit adultery with gold.
+    A curse upon their dross! how have we sued
+    For a few scatter'd chips? how oft pursu'd
+    Petitions with a blush, in hope to squeeze
+    For their souls' health, more than our wants, a piece?
+    Their steel-ribb'd chests and purse--rust eat them both!--
+    Have cost us with much paper many an oath,
+    And protestations of such solemn sense,
+    As if our souls were sureties for the pence.
+    Should we a full night's learnèd cares present,
+    They'll scarce return us one short hour's content.
+    'Las! they're but quibbles, things we poets feign,
+    The short-liv'd squibs and crackers of the brain.
+      But we'll be wiser, knowing 'tis not they
+    That must redeem the hardship of our way.
+    Whether a Higher Power, or that star
+    Which, nearest heav'n, is from the earth most far,
+    Oppress us thus, or angell'd from that sphere
+    By our strict guardians are kept luckless here,
+    It matters not, we shall one day obtain
+    Our native and celestial scope again.
+
+
+
+
+TO HIS RETIRED FRIEND, AN INVITATION TO BRECKNOCK.
+
+
+    Since last we met, thou and thy horse--my dear--
+    Have not so much as drunk, or litter'd here;
+    I wonder, though thyself be thus deceas'd,
+    Thou hast the spite to coffin up thy beast;
+    Or is the palfrey sick, and his rough hide
+    With the penance of one spur mortified?
+    Or taught by thee--like Pythagoras's ox--
+    Is then his master grown more orthodox
+    Whatever 'tis, a sober cause't must be
+    That thus long bars us of thy company.
+    The town believes thee lost, and didst thou see
+    But half her suff'rings, now distress'd for thee,
+    Thou'ldst swear--like Rome--her foul, polluted walls
+    Were sack'd by Brennus and the savage Gauls.
+    Abominable face of things! here's noise
+    Of banged mortars, blue aprons, and boys,
+    Pigs, dogs, and drums, with the hoarse, hellish notes
+    Of politicly-deaf usurers' throats,
+    With new fine Worships, and the old cast team
+    Of Justices vex'd with the cough and phlegm.
+    'Midst these the Cross looks sad, and in the Shire-
+    Hall furs of an old Saxon fox appear,
+    With brotherly ruffs and beards, and a strange sight
+    Of high monumental hats, ta'en at the fight
+    Of 'Eighty-eight; while ev'ry burgess foots
+    The mortal pavement in eternal boots.
+      Hadst thou been bach'lor, I had soon divin'd
+    Thy close retirements, and monastic mind;
+    Perhaps some nymph had been to visit, or
+    The beauteous churl was to be waited for,
+    And like the Greek, ere you the sport would miss,
+    You stay'd, and strok'd the distaff for a kiss.
+    But in this age, when thy cool, settled blood
+    Is ti'd t'one flesh, and thou almost grown good,
+    I know not how to reach the strange device,
+    Except--Domitian-like--thou murder'st flies.
+    Or is't thy piety? for who can tell
+    But thou may'st prove devout, and love a cell,
+    And--like a badger--with attentive looks
+    In the dark hole sit rooting up of books.
+    Quick hermit! what a peaceful change hadst thou,
+    Without the noise of haircloth, whip, or vow!
+    But there is no redemption? must there be
+    No other penance but of liberty?
+    Why, two months hence, if thou continue thus,
+    Thy memory will scarce remain with us,
+    The drawers have forgot thee, and exclaim
+    They have not seen thee here since Charles, his reign,
+    Or if they mention thee, like some old man,
+    That at each word inserts--"Sir, as I can
+    Remember"--so the cyph'rers puzzle me
+    With a dark, cloudy character of thee.
+    That--certs!--I fear thou wilt be lost, and we
+    Must ask the fathers ere't be long for thee.
+      Come! leave this sullen state, and let not wine
+    And precious wit lie dead for want of thine.
+    Shall the dull market-landlord with his rout
+    Of sneaking tenants dirtily swill out
+    This harmless liquor? shall they knock and beat
+    For sack, only to talk of rye and wheat?
+    O let not such prepost'rous tippling be
+    In our metropolis; may I ne'er see
+    Such tavern-sacrilege, nor lend a line
+    To weep the rapes and tragedy of wine!
+    Here lives that chymic, quick fire which betrays
+    Fresh spirits to the blood, and warms our lays.
+    I have reserv'd 'gainst thy approach a cup
+    That were thy Muse stark dead, shall raise her up,
+    And teach her yet more charming words and skill
+    Than ever C[oe]lia, Chloris, Astrophil,
+    Or any of the threadbare names inspir'd
+    Poor rhyming lovers with a mistress fir'd.
+    Come then! and while the slow icicle hangs
+    At the stiff thatch, and Winter's frosty pangs
+    Benumb the year, blithe--as of old--let us
+    'Midst noise and war of peace and mirth discuss.
+    This portion thou wert born for: why should we
+    Vex at the time's ridiculous misery?
+    An age that thus hath fool'd itself, and will
+    --Spite of thy teeth and mine--persist so still.
+    Let's sit then at this fire, and while we steal
+    A revel in the town, let others seal,
+    Purchase or cheat, and who can, let them pay,
+    Till those black deeds bring on the darksome day.
+    Innocent spenders we! a better use
+    Shall wear out our short lease, and leave th' obtuse
+    Rout to their husks; they and their bags at best
+    Have cares in earnest; we care for a jest.
+
+
+
+
+MONSIEUR GOMBAULD.
+
+
+    I've read thy soul's fair nightpiece, and have seen
+    Th' amours and courtship of the silent Queen,
+    Her stoln descents to Earth, and what did move her
+    To juggle first with Heav'n, then with a lover,
+    With Latmos' louder rescue, and--alas!--
+    To find her out a hue and cry in brass;
+    Thy journal of deep mysteries, and sad
+    Nocturnal pilgrimage, with thy dreams clad
+    In fancies darker than thy cave, thy glass
+    Of sleepy draughts; and as thy soul did pass
+    In her calm voyage what discourse she heard
+    Of spirits, what dark groves and ill-shap'd guard
+    Ismena led thee through, with thy proud flight
+    O'er Periardes, and deep, musing night
+    Near fair Eurotas' banks; what solemn green
+    The neighbour shades wear, and what forms are seen
+    In their large bowers, with that sad path and seat
+    Which none but light-heel'd nymphs and fairies beat;[55]
+    Their solitary life, and how exempt
+    From common frailty, the severe contempt
+    They have of man, their privilege to live
+    A tree, or fountain, and in that reprieve
+    What ages they consume, with the sad vale
+    Of Diophania, and the mournful tale,
+    Of th' bleeding vocal myrtle; these and more
+    Thy richer thoughts, we are upon the score
+    To thy rare fancy for, nor dost thou fall
+    From thy first majesty, or ought at all
+    Betray consumption; thy full vig'rous bays
+    Wear the same green, and scorn the lean decays
+    Of style, or matter. Just so have I known
+    Some crystal spring, that from the neighbour down
+    Deriv'd her birth, in gentle murmurs steal
+    To their next vale, and proudly there reveal
+    Her streams in louder accents, adding still
+    More noise and waters to her channel, till
+    At last swoln with increase she glides along
+    The lawns and meadows in a wanton throng
+    Of frothy billows, and in one great name
+    Swallows the tributary brooks' drown'd fame.
+      Nor are they mere inventions, for we
+    In th' same piece find scatter'd philosophy
+    And hidden, dispers'd truths that folded lie
+    In the dark shades of deep allegory;
+    So neatly weav'd, like arras, they descry
+    Fables with truth, fancy with history.
+    So that thou hast in this thy curious mould
+    Cast that commended mixture wish'd of old,
+    Which shall these contemplations render far
+    Less mutable, and lasting as their star,
+    And while there is a people or a sun,
+    Endymion's story with the moon shall run.
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[55] So Grosart, for the _heat_ of the original.
+
+
+
+
+AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF MR. R. W., SLAIN IN THE LATE UNFORTUNATE
+DIFFERENCES AT ROUTON HEATH, NEAR CHESTER, 1645.
+
+
+    I am confirmed, and so much wing is given
+    To my wild thoughts, that they dare strike at heav'n.
+    A full year's grief I struggled with, and stood
+    Still on my sandy hopes' uncertain good,
+    So loth was I to yield; to all those fears
+    I still oppos'd thee, and denied my tears.
+    But thou art gone! and the untimely loss
+    Like that one day hath made all others cross.
+    Have you seen on some river's flow'ry brow
+    A well-built elm or stately cedar grow,
+    Whose curled tops gilt with the morning-ray
+    Beckon'd the sun, and whisper'd to the day,
+    When unexpected from the angry North
+    A fatal sullen whirlwind sallies forth,
+    And with a full-mouth'd blast rends from the ground
+    The shady twins, which rushing scatter round
+    Their sighing leaves, whilst overborn with strength
+    Their trembling heads bow to a prostrate length?
+    So forc'd fell he; so immaturely Death
+    Stifled his able heart and active breath.
+    The world scarce knew him yet, his early soul
+    Had but new-broke her day, and rather stole
+    A sight than gave one; as if subtly she
+    Would learn our stock, but hide his treasury.
+    His years--should Time lay both his wings and glass
+    Unto his charge--could not be summ'd--alas!--
+    To a full score; though in so short a span
+    His riper thoughts had purchas'd more of man
+    Than all those worthless livers, which yet quick
+    Have quite outgone their own arithmetic.
+    He seiz'd perfections, and without a dull
+    And mossy grey possess'd a solid skull;
+    No crooked knowledge neither, nor did he
+    Wear the friend's name for ends and policy,
+    And then lay't by; as those lost youths of th' stage
+    Who only flourish'd for the Play's short age
+    And then retir'd; like jewels, in each part
+    He wore his friends, but chiefly at his heart.
+      Nor was it only in this he did excel,
+    His equal valour could as much, as well.
+    He knew no fear but of his God; yet durst
+    No injury, nor--as some have--e'er purs'd
+    The sweat and tears of others, yet would be
+    More forward in a royal gallantry
+    Than all those vast pretenders, which of late
+    Swell'd in the ruins of their king and State.
+    He weav'd not self-ends and the public good
+    Into one piece, nor with the people's blood
+    Fill'd his own veins; in all the doubtful way
+    Conscience and honour rul'd him. O that day
+    When like the fathers in the fire and cloud
+    I miss'd thy face! I might in ev'ry crowd
+    See arms like thine, and men advance, but none
+    So near to lightning mov'd, nor so fell on.
+    Have you observ'd how soon the nimble eye
+    Brings th' object to conceit, and doth so vie
+    Performance with the soul, that you would swear
+    The act and apprehension both lodg'd there;
+    Just so mov'd he: like shot his active hand
+    Drew blood, ere well the foe could understand.
+    But here I lost him. Whether the last turn
+    Of thy few sands call'd on thy hasty urn,
+    Or some fierce rapid fate--hid from the eye--
+    Hath hurl'd thee pris'ner to some distant sky,
+    I cannot tell, but that I do believe
+    Thy courage such as scorn'd a base reprieve.
+    Whatever 'twas, whether that day thy breath
+    Suffer'd a civil or the common death,
+    Which I do most suspect, and that I have
+    Fail'd in the glories of so known a grave;
+    Though thy lov'd ashes miss me, and mine eyes
+    Had no acquaintance with thy exequies,
+    Nor at the last farewell, torn from thy sight
+    On the cold sheet have fix'd a sad delight,
+    Yet whate'er pious hand--instead of mine--
+    Hath done this office to that dust of thine,
+    And till thou rise again from thy low bed
+    Lent a cheap pillow to thy quiet head,
+    Though but a private turf, it can do more
+    To keep thy name and memory in store
+    Than all those lordly fools which lock their bones
+    In the dumb piles of chested brass, and stones
+    Th'art rich in thy own fame, and needest not
+    These marble-frailties, nor the gilded blot
+    Of posthume honours; there is not one sand
+    Sleeps o'er thy grave, but can outbid that hand
+    And pencil too, so that of force we must
+    Confess their heaps show lesser than thy dust.
+      And--blessed soul!--though this my sorrow can
+    Add nought to thy perfections, yet as man
+    Subject to envy, and the common fate,
+    It may redeem thee to a fairer date.
+    As some blind dial, when the day is done,
+    Can tell us at midnight there was a sun,
+    So these perhaps, though much beneath thy fame,
+    May keep some weak remembrance of thy name,
+    And to the faith of better times commend
+    Thy loyal upright life, and gallant end.
+
+      _Nomen et arma locum servant, te, amice, nequivi_
+      _Conspicere_------------
+
+
+
+
+UPON A CLOAK LENT HIM BY MR. J. RIDSLEY.
+
+
+    Here, take again thy sackcloth! and thank heav'n
+    Thy courtship hath not kill'd me; Is't not even
+    Whether we die by piecemeal, or at once?
+    Since both but ruin, why then for the nonce
+    Didst husband my afflictions, and cast o'er
+    Me this forc'd hurdle to inflame the score?
+    Had I near London in this rug been seen
+    Without doubt I had executed been
+    For some bold Irish spy, and 'cross a sledge
+    Had lain mess'd up for their four gates and bridge.
+    When first I bore it, my oppressèd feet
+    Would needs persuade me 'twas some leaden sheet;
+    Such deep impressions, and such dangerous holes
+    Were made, that I began to doubt my soles,
+    And ev'ry step--so near necessity--
+    Devoutly wish'd some honest cobbler by;
+    Besides it was so short, the Jewish rag
+    Seem'd circumcis'd, but had a Gentile shag.
+    Hadst thou been with me on that day, when we
+    Left craggy Biston, and the fatal Dee,
+    When beaten with fresh storms and late mishap
+    It shar'd the office of a cloak, and cap,
+    To see how 'bout my clouded head it stood
+    Like a thick turban, or some lawyer's hood,
+    While the stiff, hollow pleats on ev'ry side
+    Like conduit-pipes rain'd from the bearded hide:
+    I know thou wouldst in spite of that day's fate
+    Let loose thy mirth at my new shape and state,
+    And with a shallow smile or two profess
+    Some Saracen had lost the clouted dress.
+    Didst ever see the good wife--as they say--
+    March in her short cloak on the christ'ning day,
+    With what soft motions she salutes the church,
+    And leaves the bedrid mother in the lurch;
+    Just so jogg'd I, while my dull horse did trudge
+    Like a circuit-beast, plagu'd with a gouty judge.
+      But this was civil. I have since known more
+    And worser pranks: one night--as heretofore
+    Th' hast known--for want of change--a thing which I
+    And Bias us'd before me--I did lie
+    Pure Adamite, and simply for that end
+    Resolv'd, and made this for my bosom-friend.
+    O that thou hadst been there next morn, that I
+    Might teach thee new Micro-cosmo-graphy!
+    Thou wouldst have ta'en me, as I naked stood,
+    For one of the seven pillars before the flood.
+    Such characters and hieroglyphics were
+    In one night worn, that thou mightst justly swear
+    I'd slept in cere-cloth, or at Bedlam, where
+    The madmen lodge in straw. I'll not forbear
+    To tell thee all; his wild impress and tricks
+    Like Speed's old Britons made me look, or Picts;
+    His villanous, biting, wire-embraces
+    Had seal'd in me more strange forms and faces
+    Than children see in dreams, or thou hast read
+    In arras, puppet-plays, and gingerbread,
+    With angled schemes, and crosses that bred fear
+    Of being handled by some conjurer;
+    And nearer, thou wouldst think--such strokes were drawn--
+    I'd been some rough statue of Fetter-lane.
+    Nay, I believe, had I that instant been
+    By surgeons or apothecaries seen,
+    They had condemned my raz'd skin to be
+    Some walking herbal, or anatomy.
+      But--thanks to th' day!--'tis off. I'd now advise
+    Thee, friend, to put this piece to merchandise.
+    The pedlars of our age have business yet,
+    And gladly would against the Fair-day fit
+    Themselves with such a roof, that can secure
+    Their wares from dogs and cats rained in shower.
+    It shall perform; or if this will not do
+    'Twill take the ale-wives sure; 'twill make them two
+    Fine rooms of one, and spread upon a stick
+    Is a partition, without lime or brick.
+    Horn'd obstinacy! how my heart doth fret
+    To think what mouths and elbows it would set
+    In a wet day! have you for twopence ere
+    Seen King Harry's chapel at Westminster,
+    Where in their dusty gowns of brass and stone
+    The judges lie, and mark'd you how each one,
+    In sturdy marble-pleats about the knee,
+    Bears up to show his legs and symmetry?
+    Just so would this, that I think't weav'd upon
+    Some stiffneck'd Brownist's exercising loom.
+    O that thou hadst it when this juggling fate
+    Of soldiery first seiz'd me! at what rate
+    Would I have bought it then; what was there but
+    I would have giv'n for the compendious hut?
+    I do not doubt but--if the weight could please--
+    'Twould guard me better than a Lapland-lease.
+    Or a German shirt with enchanted lint
+    Stuff'd through, and th' devil's beard and face weav'd in't.
+      But I have done. And think not, friend, that I
+    This freedom took to jeer thy courtesy.
+    I thank thee for't, and I believe my Muse
+    So known to thee, thou'lt not suspect abuse.
+    She did this, 'cause--perhaps--thy love paid thus
+    Might with my thanks outlive thy cloak, and us.
+
+
+
+
+UPON MR. FLETCHER'S PLAYS, PUBLISHED 1647.
+
+
+    I knew thee not, nor durst attendance strive,
+    Label to wit, verser remonstrative,
+    And in some suburb-page--scandal to thine--
+    Like Lent before a Christmas scatter mine.
+    This speaks thee not, since at the utmost rate
+    Such remnants from thy piece entreat their date;
+    Nor can I dub the copy, or afford
+    Titles to swell the rear of verse with lord;
+    Nor politicly big, to inch low fame,
+    Stretch in the glories of a stranger's name,
+    And clip those bays I court; weak striver I,
+    But a faint echo unto poetry.
+    I have not clothes t'adopt me, nor must sit
+    For plush and velvet's sake, esquire of wit.
+    Yet modesty these crosses would improve,
+    And rags near thee, some reverence may move.
+      I did believe--great Beaumont being dead--
+    Thy widow'd Muse slept on his flow'ry bed;
+    But I am richly cozen'd, and can see
+    Wit transmigrates: his spirit stay'd with thee;
+    Which, doubly advantag'd by thy single pen,
+    In life and death now treads the stage again.
+    And thus are we freed from that dearth of wit
+    Which starv'd the land, since into schisms split,
+    Wherein th' hast done so much, we must needs guess
+    Wit's last edition is now i' th' press.
+    For thou hast drain'd invention, and he
+    That writes hereafter, doth but pillage thee.
+    But thou hast plots; and will not the Kirk strain
+    At the designs of such a tragic brain?
+    Will they themselves think safe, when they shall see
+    Thy most abominable policy?
+    Will not the Ears assemble, and think't fit
+    Their Synod fast and pray against thy wit?
+    But they'll not tire in such an idle quest;
+    Thou dost but kill, and circumvent in jest;
+    And when thy anger'd Muse swells to a blow
+    'Tis but for Field's, or Swansted's overthrow.
+    Yet shall these conquests of thy bays outlive
+    Their Scottish zeal, and compacts made to grieve
+    The peace of spirits: and when such deeds fail
+    Of their foul ends, a fair name is thy bail.
+    But--happy thou!--ne'er saw'st these storms, our air
+    Teem'd with even in thy time, though seeming fair.
+    Thy gentle soul, meant for the shade and ease,
+    Withdrew betimes into the Land of Peace.
+    So nested in some hospitable shore
+    The hermit-angler, when the mid-seas roar,
+    Packs up his lines, and--ere the tempest raves--
+    Retires, and leaves his station to the waves.
+    Thus thou died'st almost with our peace, and we
+    This breathing time thy last fair issue see,
+    Which I think such--if needless ink not soil
+    So choice a Muse--others are but thy foil.
+    This, or that age may write, but never see
+    A wit that dares run parallel with thee.
+    True, Ben must live! but bate him, and thou hast
+    Undone all future wits, and match'd the past.
+
+
+
+
+UPON THE POEMS AND PLAYS OF THE EVER-MEMORABLE MR. WILLIAM CARTWRIGHT.
+
+
+    I did but see thee! and how vain it is
+    To vex thee for it with remonstrances,
+    Though things in fashion; let those judge, who sit
+    Their twelve pence out, to clap their hands at wit
+    I fear to sin thus near thee; for--great saint!--
+    'Tis known true beauty hath no need of paint.
+      Yet, since a label fix'd to thy fair hearse
+    Is all the mode, and tears put into verse
+    Can teach posterity our present grief
+    And their own loss, but never give relief;
+    I'll tell them--and a truth which needs no pass--
+    That wit in Cartwright at her zenith was.
+    Arts, fancy, language, all conven'd in thee,
+    With those grand miracles which deify
+    The old world's writings, kept yet from the fire
+    Because they force these worst times to admire.
+    Thy matchless genius, in all thou didst write,
+    Like the sun, wrought with such staid heat and light,
+    That not a line--to the most critic he--
+    Offends with flashes, or obscurity.
+      When thou the wild of humours track'st, thy pen
+    So imitates that motley stock in men,
+    As if thou hadst in all their bosoms been,
+    And seen those leopards that lurk within.
+    The am'rous youth steals from thy courtly page
+    His vow'd address, the soldier his brave rage;
+    And those soft beauteous readers whose looks can
+    Make some men poets, and make any man
+    A lover, when thy slave but seems to die,
+    Turn all his mourners, and melt at the eye.
+    Thus thou thy thoughts hast dress'd in such a strain
+    As doth not only speak, but rule and reign;
+    Nor are those bodies they assum'd dark clouds,
+    Or a thick bark, but clear, transparent shrouds,
+    Which who looks on, the rays so strongly beat
+    They'll brush and warm him with a quick'ning heat;
+    So souls shine at the eyes, and pearls display
+    Through the loose crystal-streams a glance of day.
+    But what's all this unto a royal test?
+    Thou art the man whom great Charles so express'd!
+    Then let the crowd refrain their needless hum,
+    When thunder speaks, then squibs and winds are dumb.
+
+
+
+
+TO THE BEST AND MOST ACCOMPLISHED COUPLE----
+
+
+    Blessings as rich and fragrant crown your heads
+        As the mild heav'n on roses sheds,
+        When at their cheeks--like pearls--they wear
+        The clouds that court them in a tear!
+        And may they be fed from above
+        By Him which first ordain'd your love!
+
+    Fresh as the hours may all your pleasures be,
+        And healthful as eternity!
+        Sweet as the flowers' first breath, and close
+        As th' unseen spreadings of the rose,
+        When he unfolds his curtain'd head,
+        And makes his bosom the sun's bed!
+
+    Soft as yourselves run your whole lives, and clear
+        As your own glass, or what shines there!
+        Smooth as heav'n's face, and bright as he
+        When without mask or tiffany!
+        In all your time not one jar meet
+        But peace as silent as his feet!
+
+    Like the day's warmth may all your comforts be,
+        Untoil'd for, and serene as he,
+        Yet free and full as is that sheaf
+        Of sunbeams gilding ev'ry leaf,
+        When now the tyrant-heat expires
+        And his cool'd locks breathe milder fires!
+
+    And as those parcell'd glories he doth shed
+        Are the fair issues of his head,
+        Which, ne'er so distant, are soon known
+        By th' heat and lustre for his own;
+        So may each branch of yours we see
+        Your copies and our wonders be!
+
+    And when no more on earth you must remain,
+        Invited hence to heav'n again,
+        Then may your virtuous, virgin-flames
+        Shine in those heirs of your fair names,
+        And teach the world that mystery,
+        Yourselves in your posterity!
+
+    So you to both worlds shall rich presents bring,
+    And, gather'd up to heav'n, leave here a spring.
+
+
+
+
+AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF MR. R. HALL, SLAIN AT PONTEFRACT, 1648.
+
+
+    I knew it would be thus! and my just fears
+    Of thy great spirit are improv'd to tears.
+    Yet flow these not from any base distrust
+    Of a fair name, or that thy honour must
+    Confin'd to those cold relics sadly sit
+    In the same cell an obscure anchorite.
+    Such low distempers murder; they that must
+    Abuse thee so, weep not, but wound thy dust.
+      But I past such dim mourners can descry
+    Thy fame above all clouds of obloquy,
+    And like the sun with his victorious rays
+    Charge through that darkness to the last of days.
+    'Tis true, fair manhood hath a female eye,
+    And tears are beauteous in a victory,
+    Nor are we so high-proof, but grief will find
+    Through all our guards a way to wound the mind;
+    But in thy fall what adds the brackish sum
+    More than a blot unto thy martyrdom?
+    Which scorns such wretched suffrages, and stands
+    More by thy single worth than our whole bands.
+    Yet could the puling tribute rescue ought
+    In this sad loss, or wert thou to be brought
+    Back here by tears, I would in any wise
+    Pay down the sum, or quite consume my eyes.
+    Thou fell'st our double ruin; and this rent
+    Forc'd in thy life shak'd both the Church and tent.
+    Learning in others steals them from the van,
+    And basely wise emasculates the man,
+    But lodg'd in thy brave soul the bookish feat
+    Serv'd only as the light unto thy heat.
+    Thus when some quitted action, to their shame,
+    And only got a discreet coward's name,
+    Thou with thy blood mad'st purchase of renown,
+    And died'st the glory of the sword and gown.
+    Thy blood hath hallow'd Pomfret, and this blow
+    --Profan'd before--hath church'd the Castle now.
+      Nor is't a common valour we deplore,
+    But such as with fifteen a hundred bore,
+    And lightning-like--not coop'd within a wall--
+    In storms of fire and steel fell on them all.
+    Thou wert no woolsack soldier, nor of those
+    Whose courage lies in winking at their foes,
+    That live at loopholes, and consume their breath
+    On match or pipes, and sometimes peep at death;
+    No, it were sin to number these with thee,
+    But that--thus pois'd--our loss we better see.
+    The fair and open valour was thy shield,
+    And thy known station, the defying field.
+      Yet these in thee I would not virtues call,
+    But that this age must know that thou hadst all.
+    Those richer graces that adorn'd thy mind
+    Like stars of the first magnitude, so shin'd,
+    That if oppos'd unto these lesser lights
+    All we can say is this, they were fair nights.
+    Thy piety and learning did unite,
+    And though with sev'ral beams made up one light,
+    And such thy judgment was, that I dare swear
+    Whole councils might as soon and synods err.
+      But all these now are out! and as some star
+    Hurl'd in diurnal motions from far,
+    And seen to droop at night, is vainly said
+    To fall and find an occidental bed,
+    Though in that other world what we judge West
+    Proves elevation, and a new, fresh East;
+    So though our weaker sense denies us sight,
+    And bodies cannot trace the spirit's flight,
+    We know those graces to be still in thee,
+    But wing'd above us to eternity.
+    Since then--thus flown--thou art so much refin'd
+    That we can only reach thee with the mind,
+    I will not in this dark and narrow glass
+    Let thy scant shadow for perfections pass,
+    But leave thee to be read more high, more quaint,
+    In thy own blood a soldier and a saint.
+
+        ----_Salve æternum mihi maxime Palla!_
+        _Æternumque vale!_----
+
+
+
+
+TO MY LEARNED FRIEND, MR. T. POWELL, UPON HIS TRANSLATION OF MALVEZZI'S
+CHRISTIAN POLITICIAN.
+
+
+    We thank you, worthy Sir, that now we see
+    MALVEZZI languag'd like our infancy,
+    And can without suspicion entertain
+    This foreign statesman to our breast or brain;
+    You have enlarg'd his praise, and from your store
+    By this edition made his worth the more.
+    Thus by your learnèd hand--amidst the coil--
+    Outlandish plants thrive in our thankless soil,
+    And wise men after death, by a strange fate,
+    Lie leiger here, and beg to serve our State.
+    Italy now, though mistress of the bays,
+    Waits on this wreath, proud of a foreign praise;
+    For, wise Malvezzi, thou didst lie before
+    Confin'd within the language of one shore,
+    And like those stars which near the poles do steer
+    Were't but in one part of the globe seen clear.
+    Provence and Naples were the best and most
+    Thou couldst shine in; fix'd to that single coast,
+    Perhaps some cardinal, to be thought wise,
+    And honest too, would ask, what was thy price?
+    Then thou must pack to Rome, where thou mightst lie
+    Ere thou shouldst have new clothes eternally,
+    For though so near the sev'n hills, ne'ertheless
+    Thou cam'st to Antwerp for thy Roman dress.
+    But now thou art come hither, thou mayst run
+    Through any clime as well known as the sun,
+    And in thy sev'ral dresses, like the year,
+    Challenge acquaintance with each peopled sphere.
+      Come then, rare politicians of the time,
+    Brains of some standing, elders in our clime,
+    See here the method. A wise, solid State
+    Is quick in acting, friendly in debate,
+    Joint in advice, in resolutions just,
+    Mild in success, true to the common trust.
+    It cements ruptures, and by gentle hand
+    Allays the heat and burnings of a land;
+    Religion guides it, and in all the tract
+    Designs so twist, that Heav'n confirms the act.
+    If from these lists you wander as you steer,
+    Look back, and catechize your actions here.
+    These are the marks to which true statesmen tend,
+    And greatness here with goodness hath one end.
+
+
+
+
+TO MY WORTHY FRIEND, MASTER T. LEWES.
+
+
+    Sees not my friend, what a deep snow
+    Candies our country's woody brow?
+    The yielding branch his load scarce bears,
+    Oppress'd with snow and frozen tears;
+    While the dumb rivers slowly float,
+    All bound up in an icy coat.
+      Let us meet then! and while this world
+    In wild eccentrics now is hurl'd,
+    Keep we, like nature, the same key,
+    And walk in our forefathers' way.
+    Why any more cast we an eye
+    On what may come, not what is nigh?
+    Why vex ourselves with fear, or hope
+    And cares beyond our horoscope?
+    Who into future times would peer,
+    Looks oft beyond his term set here,
+    And cannot go into those grounds
+    But through a churchyard, which them bounds.
+    Sorrows and sighs and searches spend
+    And draw our bottom to an end,
+    But discreet joys lengthen the lease,
+    Without which life were a disease;
+    And who this age a mourner goes,
+    Doth with his tears but feed his foes
+
+
+
+
+TO THE MOST EXCELLENTLY ACCOMPLISHED MRS. K. PHILIPS.
+
+
+    Say, witty fair one, from what sphere
+    Flow these rich numbers you shed here?
+    For sure such incantations come
+    From thence, which strike your readers dumb.
+    A strain, whose measures gently meet
+    Like virgin-lovers or Time's feet;
+    Where language smiles, and accents rise
+    As quick and pleasing as your eyes;
+    The poem smooth, and in each line
+    Soft as yourself, yet masculine;
+    Where not coarse trifles blot the page
+    With matter borrow'd from the age,
+    But thoughts as innocent and high
+    As angels have, or saints that die.
+      These raptures when I first did see
+    New miracles in poetry,
+    And by a hand their good would miss
+    His bays and fountains but to kiss,
+    My weaker genius--cross to fashion--
+    Slept in a silent admiration:
+    A rescue, by whose grave disguise
+    Pretenders oft have pass'd for wise.
+    And yet as pilgrims humbly touch
+    Those shrines to which they bow so much,
+    And clouds in courtship flock, and run
+    To be the mask unto the sun,
+    So I concluded it was true
+    I might at distance worship you,
+    A Persian votary, and say
+    It was your light show'd me the way.
+    So loadstones guide the duller steel,
+    And high perfections are the wheel
+    Which moves the less, for gifts divine
+    Are strung upon a vital line,
+    Which, touch'd by you, excites in all
+    Affections epidemical.
+    And this made me--a truth most fit--
+    Add my weak echo to your wit;
+    Which pardon, Lady, for assays
+    Obscure as these might blast your bays;
+    As common hands soil flow'rs, and make
+    That dew they wear weep the mistake.
+    But I'll wash off the stain, and vow
+    No laurel grows but for your brow.
+
+
+
+
+AN EPITAPH UPON THE LADY ELIZABETH, SECOND DAUGHTER TO HIS LATE MAJESTY.
+
+
+    Youth, beauty, virtue, innocence,
+    Heav'n's royal and select expense,
+    With virgin-tears and sighs divine
+    Sit here the genii of this shrine;
+    Where now--thy fair soul wing'd away--
+    They guard the casket where she lay.
+      Thou hadst, ere thou the light couldst see,
+    Sorrows laid up and stor'd for thee;
+    Thou suck'dst in woes, and the breasts lent
+    Their milk to thee but to lament;
+    Thy portion here was grief, thy years
+    Distill'd no other rain but tears,
+    Tears without noise, but--understood--
+    As loud and shrill as any blood.
+    Thou seem'st a rosebud born in snow,
+    A flower of purpose sprung to bow
+    To headless tempests, and the rage
+    Of an incensèd, stormy age.
+    Others, ere their afflictions grow,
+    Are tim'd and season'd for the blow,
+    But thine, as rheums the tend'rest part,
+    Fell on a young and harmless heart.
+    And yet, as balm-trees gently spend
+    Their tears for those that do them rend,
+    So mild and pious thou wert seen,
+    Though full of suff'rings; free from spleen,
+    Thou didst not murmur, nor revile,
+    But drank'st thy wormwood with a smile.
+      As envious eyes blast and infect,
+    And cause misfortunes by aspèct,
+    So thy sad stars dispens'd to thee
+    No influx but calamity;
+    They view'd thee with eclipsèd rays,
+    And but the back side of bright days.
+
+           *       *       *       *       *
+
+    These were the comforts she had here,
+    As by an unseen Hand 'tis clear,
+    Which now she reads, and, smiling, wears
+    A crown with Him who wipes off tears.
+
+
+
+
+TO SIR WILLIAM D'AVENANT UPON HIS GONDIBERT.
+
+
+    Well, we are rescued! and by thy rare pen
+    Poets shall live, when princes die like men.
+    Th' hast clear'd the prospect to our harmless hill,
+    Of late years clouded with imputed ill,
+    And the soft, youthful couples there may move,
+    As chaste as stars converse and smile above.
+    Th' hast taught their language and their love to flow
+    Calm as rose-leaves, and cool as virgin-snow,
+    Which doubly feasts us, being so refin'd,
+    They both delight and dignify the mind;
+    Like to the wat'ry music of some spring,
+    Whose pleasant flowings at once wash and sing.
+      And where before heroic poems were
+    Made up of spirits, prodigies, and fear,
+    And show'd--through all the melancholy flight--
+    Like some dark region overcast with night,
+    As if the poet had been quite dismay'd,
+    While only giants and enchantments sway'd;
+    Thou like the sun, whose eye brooks no disguise,
+    Hast chas'd them hence, and with discoveries
+    So rare and learnèd fill'd the place, that we
+    Those fam'd grandezas find outdone by thee,
+    And underfoot see all those vizards hurl'd
+    Which bred the wonder of the former world.
+    'Twas dull to sit, as our forefathers did,
+    At crumbs and voiders, and because unbid,
+    Refrain wise appetite. This made thy fire
+    Break through the ashes of thy aged sire,
+    To lend the world such a convincing light
+    As shows his fancy darker than his sight.
+    Nor was't alone the bars and length of days
+    --Though those gave strength and stature to his bays--
+    Encounter'd thee, but what's an old complaint
+    And kills the fancy, a forlorn restraint.
+    How couldst thou, mur'd in solitary stones,
+    Dress Birtha's smiles, though well thou mightst her groans?
+    And, strangely eloquent, thyself divide
+    'Twixt sad misfortunes and a bloomy bride?
+    Through all the tenour of thy ample song,
+    Spun from thy own rich store, and shar'd among
+    Those fair adventurers, we plainly see
+    Th' imputed gifts inherent are in thee.
+    Then live for ever--and by high desert--
+    In thy own mirror, matchless Gondibert,
+    And in bright Birtha leave thy love enshrin'd
+    Fresh as her em'rald, and fair as her mind,
+    While all confess thee--as they ought to do--
+    The prince of poets, and of lovers too.
+
+
+
+
+[OVID,] TRISTIUM, LIB. V. ELEG. III.
+
+TO HIS FELLOW-POETS AT ROME, UPON THE BIRTHDAY OF BACCHUS.
+
+
+    This is the day--blithe god of sack--which we,
+    If I mistake not, consecrate to thee,
+    When the soft rose we marry to the bays,
+    And, warm'd with thy own wine, rehearse thy praise;
+    'Mongst whom--while to thy poet fate gave way--
+    I have been held no small part of the day.
+    But now, dull'd with the cold Bear's frozen seat,
+    Sarmatia holds me, and the warlike Gete.
+    My former life, unlike to this my last,
+    With Rome's best wits of thy full cup did taste,
+    Who since have seen the savage Pontic band,
+    And all the choler of the sea and land.
+    Whether sad chance or Heav'n hath this design'd,
+    And at my birth some fatal planet shin'd,
+    Of right thou shouldst the sisters' knots undo,
+    And free thy votary and poet too;
+    Or are you gods--like us--in such a state
+    As cannot alter the decrees of fate?
+    I know with much ado thou didst obtain
+    Thy jovial godhead, and on earth thy pain
+    Was no whit less, for, wand'ring, thou didst run
+    To the Getes too, and snow-weeping Strymon,
+    With Persia, Ganges, and whatever streams
+    The thirsty Moor drinks in the mid-day beams.
+    But thou wert twice-born, and the Fates to thee
+    --To make all sure--doubled thy misery.
+    My sufferings too are many--if it be
+    Held safe for me to boast adversity--
+    Nor was't a common blow, but from above,
+    Like his that died for imitating Jove;
+    Which, when thou heardst, a ruin so divine
+    And mother-like should make thee pity mine,
+    And on this day, which poets unto thee
+    Crown with full bowls, ask what's become of me?
+      Help, buxom god, then! so may thy lov'd vine
+    Swarm with the num'rous grape, and big with wine
+    Load the kind elm, and so thy orgies be
+    With priests' loud shouts and satyrs' kept to thee!
+    So may in death Lycurgus ne'er be blest,
+    Nor Pentheus' wand'ring ghost find any rest!
+    And so for ever bright--thy chief desires--
+    May thy wife's crown outshine the lesser fires!
+    If but now, mindful of my love to thee,
+    Thou wilt, in what thou canst, my helper be.
+    You gods have commerce with yourselves; try then
+    If Cæsar will restore me Rome again.
+      And you, my trusty friends--the jolly crew
+    Of careless poets! when, without me, you
+    Perform this day's glad myst'ries, let it be
+    Your first appeal unto his deity,
+    And let one of you--touch'd with my sad name--
+    Mixing his wine with tears, lay down the same,
+    And--sighing--to the rest this thought commend,
+    O! where is Ovid now, our banish'd friend?
+    This do, if in your breasts I e'er deserv'd
+    So large a share, nor spitefully reserv'd,
+    Nor basely sold applause, or with a brow
+    Condemning others, did myself allow.
+    And may your happier wits grow loud with fame
+    As you--my best of friends!--preserve my name.
+
+
+
+
+[OVID, EPISTOLARUM] DE PONTO, LIB. III. [EPIST. VII.].
+
+TO HIS FRIENDS--AFTER HIS MANY SOLICITATIONS--REFUSING TO PETITION CÆSAR
+FOR HIS RELEASEMENT.
+
+
+    You have consum'd my language, and my pen,
+    Incens'd with begging, scorns to write again.
+    You grant, you knew my suit: my Muse and I
+    Had taught it you in frequent elegy.
+    That I believe--yet seal'd--you have divin'd
+    Our repetitions, and forestall'd my mind,
+    So that my thronging elegies and I
+    Have made you--more than poets--prophesy.
+      But I am now awak'd; forgive my dream
+    Which made me cross the proverb and the stream,
+    And pardon, friends, that I so long have had
+    Such good thoughts of you; I am not so mad
+    As to continue them. You shall no more
+    Complain of troublesome verse, or write o'er
+    How I endanger you, and vex my wife
+    With the sad legends of a banish'd life.
+    I'll bear these plagues myself: for I have pass'd
+    Through greater ones, and can as well at last
+    These petty crosses. 'Tis for some young beast
+    To kick his bands, or wish his neck releas'd
+    From the sad yoke. Know then, that as for me
+    Whom Fate hath us'd to such calamity,
+    I scorn her spite and yours, and freely dare
+    The highest ills your malice can prepare.
+      'Twas Fortune threw me hither, where I now
+    Rude Getes and Thrace see, with the snowy brow
+    Of cloudy Æmus, and if she decree
+    Her sportive pilgrim's last bed here must be,
+    I am content; nay, more, she cannot do
+    That act which I would not consent unto.
+    I can delight in vain hopes, and desire
+    That state more than her change and smiles; then high'r
+    I hug a strong despair, and think it brave
+    To baffle faith, and give those hopes a grave.
+    Have you not seen cur'd wounds enlarg'd, and he
+    That with the first wave sinks, yielding to th' free
+    Waters, without th' expense of arms or breath,
+    Hath still the easiest and the quickest death.
+    Why nurse I sorrows then? why these desires
+    Of changing Scythia for the sun and fires
+    Of some calm kinder air? what did bewitch
+    My frantic hopes to fly so vain a pitch,
+    And thus outrun myself? Madman! could I
+    Suspect fate had for me a courtesy?
+    These errors grieve: and now I must forget
+    Those pleas'd ideas I did frame and set
+    Unto myself, with many fancied springs
+    And groves, whose only loss new sorrow brings.
+    And yet I would the worst of fate endure,
+    Ere you should be repuls'd, or less secure.
+    But--base, low souls!--you left me not for this,
+    But 'cause you durst not. Cæsar could not miss
+    Of such a trifle, for I know that he
+    Scorns the cheap triumphs of my misery.
+      Then since--degen'rate friends--not he, but you
+    Cancel my hopes, and make afflictions new,
+    You shall confess, and fame shall tell you, I
+    At Ister dare as well as Tiber die.
+
+
+
+
+[OVID, EPISTOLARUM] DE PONTO, LIB. IV. EPIST. III.
+
+TO HIS INCONSTANT FRIEND, TRANSLATED FOR THE USE OF ALL THE JUDASES OF
+THIS TOUCHSTONE-AGE.
+
+
+    Shall I complain, or not? or shall I mask
+    Thy hateful name, and in this bitter task
+    Master my just impatience, and write down
+    Thy crime alone, and leave the rest unknown?
+    Or wilt thou the succeeding years should see
+    And teach thy person to posterity?
+    No, hope it not; for know, most wretched man,
+    'Tis not thy base and weak detraction can
+    Buy thee a poem, nor move me to give
+    Thy name the honour in my verse to live.
+      Whilst yet my ship did with no storms dispute,
+    And temp'rate winds fed with a calm salute
+    My prosp'rous sails, thou wert the only man
+    That with me then an equal fortune ran;
+    But now since angry heav'n with clouds and night
+    Stifled those sunbeams, thou hast ta'en thy flight;
+    Thou know'st I want thee, and art merely gone
+    To shun that rescue I reli'd upon;
+    Nay, thou dissemblest too, and dost disclaim
+    Not only my acquaintance, but my name.
+      Yet know--though deaf to this--that I am he
+    Whose years and love had the same infancy
+    With thine, thy deep familiar that did share
+    Souls with thee, and partake thy joys or care;
+    Whom the same roof lodg'd, and my Muse those nights
+    So solemnly endear'd to her delights.
+    But now, perfidious traitor, I am grown
+    The abject of thy breast, not to be known
+    In that false closet more; nay, thou wilt not
+    So much as let me know I am forgot.
+    If thou wilt say thou didst not love me, then
+    Thou didst dissemble: or if love again,
+    Why now inconstant? Came the crime from me
+    That wrought this change? Sure, if no justice be
+    Of my side, thine must have it. Why dost hide
+    Thy reasons then? For me, I did so guide
+    Myself and actions, that I cannot see
+    What could offend thee, but my misery.
+    'Las! if thou wouldst not from thy store allow
+    Some rescue to my wants, at least I know
+    Thou couldst have writ, and with a line or two
+    Reliev'd my famish'd eye, and eas'd me so.
+    I know not what to think! and yet I hear,
+    Not pleas'd with this, th'art witty, and dost jeer.
+    Bad man! thou hast in this those tears kept back
+    I could have shed for thee, shouldst thou but lack.
+    Know'st not that Fortune on a globe doth stand,
+    Whose upper slipp'ry part without command
+    Turns lowest still? the sportive leaves and wind
+    Are but dull emblems of her fickle mind.
+    In the whole world there's nothing I can see
+    Will throughly parallel her ways but thee.
+    All that we hold hangs on a slender twine,
+    And our best states by sudden chance decline.
+    Who hath not heard of Cr[oe]sus' proverb'd gold,
+    Yet knows his foe did him a pris'ner hold?
+    He that once aw'd Sicilia's proud extent
+    By a poor art could famine scarce prevent;
+    And mighty Pompey, ere he made an end,
+    Was glad to beg his slave to be his friend.
+    Nay, he that had so oft Rome's consul been,
+    And forc'd Jugurtha and the Cimbrians in,
+    Great Marius! with much want and more disgrace,
+    In a foul marsh was glad to hide his face.
+    A Divine hand sways all mankind, and we
+    Of one short hour have not the certainty.
+    Hadst thou one day told me the time should be
+    When the Getes' bows, and th' Euxine I should see,
+    I should have check'd thy madness, and have thought
+    Th' hadst need of all Anticyra in a draught.
+    And yet 'tis come to pass! nor, though I might
+    Some things foresee, could I procure a sight
+    Of my whole destiny, and free my state
+    From those eternal, higher ties of fate.
+    Leave then thy pride, and though now brave and high,
+    Think thou mayst be as poor and low as I.
+
+
+
+
+[OVID,] TRISTIUM, LIB. III. ELEG. III.
+
+TO HIS WIFE AT ROME, WHEN HE WAS SICK.
+
+
+    Dearest! if you those fair eyes--wond'ring--stick
+    On this strange character, know I am sick;
+    Sick in the skirts of the lost world, where I
+    Breathe hopeless of all comforts, but to die.
+    What heart--think'st thou?--have I in this sad seat,
+    Tormented 'twixt the Sauromate and Gete?
+    Nor air nor water please: their very sky
+    Looks strange and unaccustom'd to my eye;
+    I scarce dare breathe it, and, I know not how,
+    The earth that bears me shows unpleasant now.
+    Nor diet here's, nor lodging for my ease,
+    Nor any one that studies a disease;
+    No friend to comfort me, none to defray
+    With smooth discourse the charges of the day.
+    All tir'd alone I lie, and--thus--whate'er
+    Is absent, and at Rome, I fancy here.
+    But when thou com'st, I blot the airy scroll,
+    And give thee full possession of my soul.
+    Thee--absent--I embrace, thee only voice.
+    And night and day belie a husband's joys.
+    Nay, of thy name so oft I mention make
+    That I am thought distracted for thy sake.
+    When my tir'd spirits fail, and my sick heart
+    Draws in that fire which actuates each part,
+    If any say, th'art come! I force my pain,
+    And hope to see thee gives me life again.
+    Thus I for thee, whilst thou--perhaps--more blest,
+    Careless of me dost breathe all peace and rest,
+    Which yet I think not, for--dear soul!--too well
+    Know I thy grief, since my first woes befell.
+    But if strict Heav'n my stock of days hath spun,
+    And with my life my error will be gone,
+    How easy then--O Cæsar!--were't for thee
+    To pardon one, that now doth cease to be?
+    That I might yield my native air this breath,
+    And banish not my ashes after death.
+    Would thou hadst either spar'd me until dead,
+    Or with my blood redeem'd my absent head!
+    Thou shouldst have had both freely, but O! thou
+    Wouldst have me live to die an exile now.
+    And must I then from Rome so far meet death,
+    And double by the place my loss of breath?
+    Nor in my last of hours on my own bed
+    --In the sad conflict--rest my dying head?
+    Nor my soul's whispers--the last pledge of life,--
+    Mix with the tears and kisses of a wife?
+    My last words none must treasure, none will rise
+    And--with a tear--seal up my vanquish'd eyes;
+    Without these rites I die, distress'd in all
+    The splendid sorrows of a funeral;
+    Unpitied, and unmourn'd for, my sad head
+    In a strange land goes friendless to the dead.
+    When thou hear'st this, O! how thy faithful soul
+    Will sink, whilst grief doth ev'ry part control!
+    How often wilt thou look this way, and cry,
+    O! where is't yonder that my love doth lie?
+    Yet spare these tears, and mourn not thou for me,
+    Long since--dear heart!--have I been dead to thee.
+    Think then I died, when thee and Rome I lost,
+    That death to me more grief than this hath cost.
+    Now, if thou canst--but thou canst not--best wife,
+    Rejoice, my cares are ended with my life.
+    At least, yield not to sorrows, frequent use
+    Should make these miseries to thee no news.
+    And here I wish my soul died with my breath,
+    And that no part of me were free from death;
+    For, if it be immortal, and outlives
+    The body, as Pythagoras believes,
+    Betwixt these Sarmates' ghosts, a Roman I
+    Shall wander, vex'd to all eternity.
+      But thou--for after death I shall be free--
+    Fetch home these bones, and what is left of me;
+    A few flow'rs give them, with some balm, and lay
+    Them in some suburb grave, hard by the way;
+    And to inform posterity, who's there,
+    This sad inscription let my marble wear;
+    "Here lies the soft-soul'd lecturer of love,
+    Whose envi'd wit did his own ruin prove.
+    But thou,--whoe'er thou be'st, that, passing by,
+    Lend'st to this sudden stone a hasty eye,
+    If e'er thou knew'st of love the sweet disease,
+    Grudge not to say, May Ovid rest in peace!"
+    This for my tomb: but in my books they'll see
+    More strong and lasting monuments of me,
+    Which I believe--though fatal--will afford
+    An endless name unto their ruin'd lord.
+      And now thus gone, it rests, for love of me,
+    Thou show'st some sorrow to my memory;
+    Thy funeral off'rings to my ashes bear,
+    With wreaths of cypress bath'd in many a tear.
+    Though nothing there but dust of me remain,
+    Yet shall that dust perceive thy pious pain.
+    But I have done, and my tir'd, sickly head,
+    Though I would fain write more, desires the bed;
+    Take then this word--perhaps my last--to tell,
+    Which though I want, I wish it thee, farewell!
+
+
+
+
+AUSONII. IDYLL VI.
+
+CUPIDO [CRUCI AFFIXUS].
+
+
+    In those bless'd fields of everlasting air
+    --Where to a myrtle grove the souls repair
+    Of deceas'd lovers--the sad, thoughtful ghosts
+    Of injur'd ladies meet, where each accosts
+    The other with a sigh, whose very breath
+    Would break a heart, and--kind souls--love in death.
+    A thick wood clouds their walks, where day scarce peeps,
+    And on each hand cypress and poppy sleeps;
+    The drowsy rivers slumber, and springs there
+    Blab not, but softly melt into a tear;
+    A sickly dull air fans them, which can have,
+    When most in force, scarce breath to build a wave.
+    On either bank through the still shades appear
+    A scene of pensive flow'rs, whose bosoms wear
+    Drops of a lover's blood, the emblem'd truths
+    Of deep despair, and love-slain kings and youths.
+    The Hyacinth, and self-enamour'd boy
+    Narcissus flourish there, with Venus' joy,
+    The spruce Adonis, and that prince whose flow'r
+    Hath sorrow languag'd on him to this hour;
+    All sad with love they hang their heads, and grieve
+    As if their passions in each leaf did live;
+    And here--alas!--these soft-soul'd ladies stray,
+    And--O! too late!--treason in love betray.
+      Her blasted birth sad Semele repeats,
+    And with her tears would quench the thund'rer's heats,
+    Then shakes her bosom, as if fir'd again,
+    And fears another lightning's flaming train.
+    The lovely Procris here bleeds, sighs, and swoons,
+    Then wakes, and kisses him that gave her wounds.
+    Sad Hero holds a torch forth, and doth light
+    Her lost Leander through the waves and night,
+    Her boatman desp'rate Sappho still admires,
+    And nothing but the sea can quench her fires.
+    Distracted Phædra with a restless eye
+    Her disdain'd letters reads, then casts them by.
+    Rare, faithful Thisbe--sequest'red from these--
+    A silent, unseen sorrow doth best please;
+    For her love's sake and last good-night poor she
+    Walks in the shadow of a mulberry.
+    Near her young Canace with Dido sits,
+    A lovely couple, but of desp'rate wits;
+    Both di'd alike, both pierc'd their tender breasts,
+    This with her father's sword, that with her guest's.
+    Within the thickest textures of the grove
+    Diana in her silver beams doth rove;
+    Her crown of stars the pitchy air invades,
+    And with a faint light gilds the silent shades,
+    Whilst her sad thoughts, fix'd on her sleepy lover,
+    To Latmos hill and his retirements move her.
+    A thousand more through the wide, darksome wood
+    Feast on their cares, the maudlin lover's food;
+    For grief and absence do but edge desire,
+    And death is fuel to a lover's fire.
+      To see these trophies of his wanton bow,
+    Cupid comes in, and all in triumph now--
+    Rash unadvisèd boy!--disperseth round
+    The sleepy mists; his wings and quiver wound
+    With noise the quiet air. This sudden stir
+    Betrays his godship, and as we from far
+    A clouded, sickly moon observe, so they
+    Through the false mists his eclips'd torch betray.
+    A hot pursuit they make, and, though with care
+    And a slow wing, he softly stems the air,
+    Yet they--as subtle now as he--surround
+    His silenc'd course, and with the thick night bound
+    Surprise the wag. As in a dream we strive
+    To voice our thoughts, and vainly would revive
+    Our entranc'd tongues, but cannot speech enlarge,
+    'Till the soul wakes and reassumes her charge;
+    So, joyous of their prize, they flock about
+    And vainly swell with an imagin'd shout.
+      Far in these shades and melancholy coasts
+    A myrtle grows, well known to all the ghosts,
+    Whose stretch'd top--like a great man rais'd by Fate--
+    Looks big, and scorns his neighbour's low estate;
+    His leafy arms into a green cloud twist,
+    And on each branch doth sit a lazy mist,
+    A fatal tree, and luckless to the gods,
+    Where for disdain in life--Love's worst of odds--
+    The queen of shades, fair Proserpine, did rack
+    The sad Adonis: hither now they pack
+    This little god, where, first disarm'd, they bind
+    His skittish wings, then both his hands behind
+    His back they tie, and thus secur'd at last,
+    The peevish wanton to the tree make fast.
+    Here at adventure, without judge or jury,
+    He is condemn'd, while with united fury
+    They all assail him. As a thief at bar
+    Left to the law, and mercy of his star,
+    Hath bills heap'd on him, and is question'd there
+    By all the men that have been robb'd that year;
+    So now whatever Fate or their own will
+    Scor'd up in life, Cupid must pay the bill.
+    Their servant's falsehood, jealousy, disdain,
+    And all the plagues that abus'd maids can feign,
+    Are laid on him, and then to heighten spleen,
+    Their own deaths crown the sum. Press'd thus between
+    His fair accusers, 'tis at last decreed
+    He by those weapons, that they died, should bleed.
+    One grasps an airy sword, a second holds
+    Illusive fire, and in vain wanton folds
+    Belies a flame; others, less kind, appear
+    To let him blood, and from the purple tear
+    Create a rose. But Sappho all this while
+    Harvests the air, and from a thicken'd pile
+    Of clouds like Leucas top spreads underneath
+    A sea of mists; the peaceful billows breathe
+    Without all noise, yet so exactly move
+    They seem to chide, but distant from above
+    Reach not the ear, and--thus prepar'd--at once
+    She doth o'erwhelm him with the airy sconce.
+    Amidst these tumults, and as fierce as they,
+    Venus steps in, and without thought or stay
+    Invades her son; her old disgrace is cast
+    Into the bill, when Mars and she made fast
+    In their embraces were expos'd to all
+    The scene of gods, stark naked in their fall.
+    Nor serves a verbal penance, but with haste
+    From her fair brow--O happy flow'rs so plac'd!--
+    She tears a rosy garland, and with this
+    Whips the untoward boy; they gently kiss
+    His snowy skin, but she with angry haste
+    Doubles her strength, until bedew'd at last
+    With a thin bloody sweat, their innate red,
+    --As if griev'd with the act--grew pale and dead.
+    This laid their spleen; and now--kind souls--no more
+    They'll punish him; the torture that he bore
+    Seems greater than his crime; with joint consent
+    Fate is made guilty, and he innocent.
+    As in a dream with dangers we contest,
+    And fictious pains seem to afflict our rest,
+    So, frighted only in these shades of night,
+    Cupid--got loose--stole to the upper light,
+    Where ever since--for malice unto these--
+    The spiteful ape doth either sex displease.
+    But O! that had these ladies been so wise
+    To keep his arms, and give him but his eyes!
+
+
+
+
+BOET[HIUS, DE CONSOLATIONE]
+
+LIB. I. METRUM I.
+
+
+    I whose first year flourish'd with youthful verse,
+    In slow, sad numbers now my grief rehearse.
+    A broken style my sickly lines afford,
+    And only tears give weight unto my words.
+    Yet neither fate nor force my Muse could fright,
+    The only faithful consort of my flight.
+    Thus what was once my green years' greatest glory,
+    Is now my comfort, grown decay'd and hoary;
+    For killing cares th' effects of age spurr'd on,
+    That grief might find a fitting mansion;
+    O'er my young head runs an untimely grey,
+    And my loose skin shrinks at my blood's decay.
+    Happy the man, whose death in prosp'rous years
+    Strikes not, nor shuns him in his age and tears!
+    But O! how deaf is she to hear the cry
+    Of th' oppress'd soul, or shut the weeping eye!
+    While treach'rous Fortune with slight honours fed
+    My first estate, she almost drown'd my head,
+    And now since--clouded thus--she hides those rays,
+    Life adds unwelcom'd length unto my days.
+    Why then, my friends, judg'd you my state so good?
+    He that may fall once, never firmly stood.
+
+
+
+
+METRUM II.
+
+
+    O in what haste, with clouds and night
+    Eclips'd, and having lost her light,
+    The dull soul whom distraction rends
+    Into outward darkness tends!
+    How often--by these mists made blind--
+    Have earthly cares oppress'd the mind!
+      This soul, sometimes wont to survey
+    The spangled Zodiac's fiery way,
+    Saw th' early sun in roses dress'd,
+    With the cool moon's unstable crest,
+    And whatsoever wanton star,
+    In various courses near or far,
+    Pierc'd through the orbs, he could full well
+    Track all her journey, and would tell
+    Her mansions, turnings, rise and fall,
+    By curious calculation all.
+    Of sudden winds the hidden cause,
+    And why the calm sea's quiet face
+    With impetuous waves is curl'd,
+    What spirit wheels th' harmonious world,
+    Or why a star dropp'd in the west
+    Is seen to rise again by east,
+    Who gives the warm Spring temp'rate hours,
+    Decking the Earth with spicy flow'rs,
+    Or how it comes--for man's recruit--
+    That Autumn yields both grape and fruit,
+    With many other secrets, he
+    Could show the cause and mystery.
+      But now that light is almost out,
+    And the brave soul lies chain'd about
+    With outward cares, whose pensive weight
+    Sinks down her eyes from their first height.
+    And clean contrary to her birth
+    Pores on this vile and foolish Earth.
+
+
+
+
+METRUM IV.
+
+
+    Whose calm soul in a settled state
+    Kicks under foot the frowns of Fate,
+    And in his fortunes, bad or good,
+    Keeps the same temper in his blood;
+    Not him the flaming clouds above,
+    Nor Ætna's fiery tempests move;
+    No fretting seas from shore to shore,
+    Boiling with indignation o'er,
+    Nor burning thunderbolt that can
+    A mountain shake, can stir this man.
+    Dull cowards then! why should we start
+    To see these tyrants act their part?
+    Nor hope, nor fear what may befall,
+    And you disarm their malice all.
+    But who doth faintly fear or wish,
+    And sets no law to what is his,
+    Hath lost the buckler, and--poor elf!--
+    Makes up a chain to bind himself.
+
+
+
+
+METRUM V.
+
+
+    O Thou great builder of this starry frame,
+    Who fix'd in Thy eternal throne doth tame
+    The rapid spheres, and lest they jar
+    Hast giv'n a law to ev'ry star.
+    Thou art the cause that now the moon
+    With fall orb dulls the stars, and soon
+    Again grows dark, her light being done,
+    The nearer still she's to the sun.
+    Thou in the early hours of night
+    Mak'st the cool evening-star shine bright,
+    And at sun-rising--'cause the least--
+    Look pale and sleepy in the east.
+    Thou, when the leaves in winter stray,
+    Appoint'st the sun a shorter way,
+    And in the pleasant summer light,
+    With nimble hours dost wing the night.
+    Thy hand the various year quite through
+    Discreetly tempers, that what now
+    The north-wind tears from ev'ry tree
+    In spring again restor'd we see.
+    Then what the winter stars between
+    The furrows in mere seed have seen,
+    The dog-star since--grown up and born--
+    Hath burnt in stately, full-ear'd corn.
+      Thus by creation's law controll'd
+    All things their proper stations hold,
+    Observing--as Thou didst intend--
+    Why they were made, and for what end.
+    Only human actions Thou
+    Hast no care of, but to the flow
+    And ebb of Fortune leav'st them all.
+    Hence th' innocent endures that thrall
+    Due to the wicked; whilst alone
+    They sit possessors of his throne.
+    The just are kill'd, and virtue lies
+    Buried in obscurities;
+    And--which of all things is most sad--
+    The good man suffers by the bad.
+    No perjuries, nor damn'd pretence
+    Colour'd with holy, lying sense
+    Can them annoy, but when they mind
+    To try their force, which most men find,
+    They from the highest sway of things
+    Can pull down great and pious kings.
+      O then at length, thus loosely hurl'd,
+    Look on this miserable world,
+    Whoe'er Thou art, that from above
+    Dost in such order all things move!
+    And let not man--of divine art
+    Not the least, nor vilest part--
+    By casual evils thus bandied, be
+    The sport of Fate's obliquity.
+    But with that faith Thou guid'st the heaven
+    Settle this earth, and make them even.
+
+
+
+
+METRUM VI.
+
+
+    When the Crab's fierce constellation
+    Burns with the beams of the bright sun,
+    Then he that will go out to sow,
+    Shall never reap, where he did plough,
+    But instead of corn may rather
+    The old world's diet, acorns, gather.
+    Who the violet doth love,
+    Must seek her in the flow'ry grove,
+    But never when the North's cold wind
+    The russet fields with frost doth bind.
+    If in the spring-time--to no end--
+    The tender vine for grapes we bend,
+    We shall find none, for only--still--
+    Autumn doth the wine-press fill.
+      Thus for all things--in the world's prime--
+    The wise God seal'd their proper time,
+    Nor will permit those seasons, He
+    Ordain'd by turns, should mingled be;
+    Then whose wild actions out of season
+    Cross to Nature, and her reason,
+    Would by new ways old orders rend,
+    Shall never find a happy end.
+
+
+
+
+METRUM VII.
+
+
+    Curtain'd with clouds in a dark night,
+    The stars cannot send forth their light.
+    And if a sudden southern blast
+    The sea in rolling waves doth cast,
+    That angry element doth boil,
+    And from the deep with stormy coil
+    Spews up the sands, which in short space
+    Scatter, and puddle his curl'd face.
+    Then those calm waters, which but now
+    Stood clear as heaven's unclouded brow,
+    And like transparent glass did lie
+    Open to ev'ry searcher's eye,
+    Look foully stirr'd and--though desir'd--
+    Resist the sight, because bemir'd.
+    So often from a high hill's brow
+    Some pilgrim-spring is seen to flow,
+    And in a straight line keep her course,
+    'Till from a rock with headlong force
+    Some broken piece blocks up the way,
+    And forceth all her streams astray.
+      Then thou that with enlighten'd rays
+    Wouldst see the truth, and in her ways
+    Keep without error; neither fear
+    The future, nor too much give ear
+    To present joys; and give no scope
+    To grief, nor much to flatt'ring hope.
+    For when these rebels reign, the mind
+    Is both a pris'ner, and stark blind.
+
+
+
+
+LIB. II. METRUM I.
+
+
+    Fortune--when with rash hands she quite turmoils
+    The state of things, and in tempestuous foils
+    Comes whirling like Euripus--beats quite down
+    With headlong force the highest monarch's crown,
+    And in his place, unto the throne doth fetch
+    The despis'd looks of some mechanic wretch:
+    So jests at tears and miseries, is proud,
+    And laughs to hear her vassals groan aloud.
+    These are her sports, thus she her wheel doth drive,
+    And plagues man with her blind prerogative;
+    Nor is't a favour of inferior strain,
+    If once kick'd down, she lets him rise again.
+
+
+
+
+METRUM II.
+
+
+        If with an open, bounteous hand
+        --Wholly left at man's command--
+        Fortune should in one rich flow
+        As many heaps on him bestow
+        Of massy gold, as there be sands
+        Toss'd by the waves and winds rude bands,
+        Or bright stars in a winter night
+        Decking their silent orbs with light;
+        Yet would his lust know no restraints,
+        Nor cease to weep in sad complaints.
+        Though Heaven should his vows regard,
+        And in a prodigal reward
+        Return him all he could implore,
+        Adding new honours to his store,
+        Yet all were nothing. Goods in sight
+        Are scorn'd, and lust in greedy flight
+        Lays out for more; what measure then
+        Can tame these wild desires of men?
+        Since all we give both last and first
+        Doth but inflame, and feed their thirst.
+    For how can he be rich, who 'midst his store
+    Sits sadly pining, and believes he's poor.
+
+
+
+
+METRUM III.
+
+
+        When the sun from his rosy bed
+        The dawning light begins to shed,
+        The drowsy sky uncurtains round,
+        And the--but now bright--stars all drown'd
+        In one great light look dull and tame,
+        And homage his victorious flame.
+        Thus, when the warm Etesian wind
+        The Earth's seal'd bosom doth unbind,
+        Straight she her various store discloses,
+        And purples every grove with roses;
+        But if the South's tempestuous breath
+        Breaks forth, those blushes pine to death.
+        Oft in a quiet sky the deep
+        With unmov'd waves seems fast asleep,
+        And oft again the blust'ring North
+        In angry heaps provokes them forth.
+          If then this world, which holds all nations,
+        Suffers itself such alterations,
+        That not this mighty massy frame,
+        Nor any part of it can claim
+        One certain course, why should man prate,
+        Or censure the designs of Fate?
+        Why from frail honours, and goods lent
+        Should he expect things permanent?
+    Since 'tis enacted by Divine decree
+    That nothing mortal shall eternal be.
+
+
+
+
+METRUM IV.
+
+
+    Who wisely would for his retreat
+    Build a secure and lasting seat,
+    Where stov'd in silence he may sleep
+    Beneath the wind, above the deep;
+    Let him th' high hills leave on one hand,
+    And on the other the false sand.
+    The first to winds lies plain and even,
+    From all the blust'ring points of heaven;
+    The other, hollow and unsure,
+    No weight of building will endure.
+    Avoiding then the envied state
+    Of buildings bravely situate,
+    Remember thou thyself to lock
+    Within some low neglected rock.
+    There when fierce heaven in thunder chides,
+    And winds and waves rage on all sides,
+    Thou happy in the quiet sense
+    Of thy poor cell, with small expense
+    Shall lead a life serene and fair,
+    And scorn the anger of the air.
+
+
+
+
+METRUM V.
+
+
+    Happy that first white age! when we
+    Lived by the Earth's mere charity.
+    No soft luxurious diet then
+    Had effeminated men,
+    No other meat, nor wine had any
+    Than the coarse mast, or simple honey,
+    And by the parents' care laid up
+    Cheap berries did the children sup.
+    No pompous wear was in those days
+    Of gummy silks, or scarlet baize,
+    Their beds were on some flow'ry brink,
+    And clear spring-water was their drink.
+    The shady pine in the sun's heat
+    Was their cool and known retreat,
+    For then 'twas not cut down, but stood
+    The youth and glory of the wood.
+    The daring sailor with his slaves
+    Then had not cut the swelling waves,
+    Nor for desire of foreign store
+    Seen any but his native shore.
+    No stirring drum had scarr'd that age,
+    Nor the shrill trumpet's active rage,
+    No wounds by bitter hatred made
+    With warm blood soil'd the shining blade;
+    For how could hostile madness arm
+    An age of love, to public harm?
+    When common justice none withstood,
+    Nor sought rewards for spilling blood.
+      O that at length our age would raise
+    Into the temper of those days!
+    But--worse than Ætna's fires!--debate
+    And avarice inflame our State.
+    Alas! who was it that first found
+    Gold, hid of purpose under ground,
+    That sought our pearls, and div'd to find
+    Such precious perils for mankind!
+
+
+
+
+METRUM VII.
+
+
+    He that thirsts for glory's prize,
+        Thinking that the top of all,
+    Let him view th' expansèd skies,
+        And the earth's contracted ball;
+    'Twill shame him then: the name he wan
+    Fills not the short walk of one man.
+
+
+2.
+
+    O why vainly strive you then
+        To shake off the bands of Fate,
+    Though Fame through the world of men
+        Should in all tongues your names relate,
+    And with proud titles swell that story:
+    The dark grave scorns your brightest glory.
+
+
+3.
+
+    There with nobles beggars sway,
+        And kings with commons share one dust.
+    What news of Brutus at this day,
+        Or Fabricius the just?
+    Some rude verse, cut in stone, or lead,
+        Keeps up the names, but they are dead.
+
+
+4.
+
+    So shall you one day--past reprieve--
+        Lie--perhaps--without a name.
+    But if dead you think to live
+        By this air of human fame,
+    Know, when Time stops that posthume breath,
+    You must endure a second death.
+
+
+
+
+METRUM VIII.
+
+
+    That the world in constant force
+    Varies her concordant course;
+    That seeds jarring hot and cold
+    Do the breed perpetual hold;
+    That in his golden coach the sun
+    Brings the rosy day still on;
+    That the moon sways all those lights
+    Which Hesper ushers to dark nights;
+    That alternate tides be found
+    The sea's ambitious waves to bound,
+    Lest o'er the wide earth without end
+    Their fluid empire should extend;
+    All this frame of things that be,
+    Love which rules heaven, land, and sea,
+    Chains, keeps, orders as we see.
+    This, if the reins he once cast by,
+    All things that now by turns comply
+    Would fall to discord, and this frame
+    Which now by social faith they tame,
+    And comely orders, in that fight
+    And jar of things would perish quite.
+    This in a holy league of peace
+    Keeps king and people with increase;
+    And in the sacred nuptial bands
+    Ties up chaste hearts with willing hands;
+    And this keeps firm without all doubt
+    Friends by his bright instinct found out.
+      O happy nation then were you,
+    If love, which doth all things subdue,
+    That rules the spacious heav'n, and brings
+    Plenty and peace upon his wings,
+    Might rule you too! and without guile
+    Settle once more this floating isle!
+
+
+
+
+CASIMIRUS, [LYRICORUM] LIB. IV. ODE XXVIII.
+
+
+    Almighty Spirit! Thou that by
+    Set turns and changes from Thy high
+    And glorious throne dost here below
+    Rule all, and all things dost foreknow!
+    Can those blind plots we here discuss
+    Please Thee, as Thy wise counsels us?
+    When Thou Thy blessings here doth strow,
+    And pour on earth, we flock and flow,
+    With joyous strife and eager care,
+    Struggling which shall have the best share
+    In Thy rich gifts, just as we see
+    Children about nuts disagree.
+    Some that a crown have got and foil'd
+    Break it; another sees it spoil'd
+    Ere it is gotten. Thus the world
+    Is all to piecemeals cut, and hurl'd
+    By factious hands. It is a ball
+    Which Fate and force divide 'twixt all
+    The sons of men. But, O good God!
+    While these for dust fight, and a clod,
+    Grant that poor I may smile, and be
+    At rest and perfect peace with Thee!
+
+
+
+
+CASIMIRUS, [LYRICORUM] LIB. II. ODE VII.
+
+
+    It would less vex distressèd man
+    If Fortune in the same pace ran
+    To ruin him, as he did rise.
+    But highest States fall in a trice;
+    No great success held ever long;
+    A restless fate afflicts the throng
+    Of kings and commons, and less days
+    Serve to destroy them than to raise.
+    Good luck smiles once an age, but bad
+    Makes kingdoms in a minute sad,
+    And ev'ry hour of life we drive,
+    Hath o'er us a prerogative.
+      Then leave--by wild impatience driv'n,
+    And rash resents--to rail at heav'n;
+    Leave an unmanly, weak complaint
+    That death and fate have no restraint.
+    In the same hour that gave thee breath,
+    Thou hadst ordain'd thy hour of death,
+    But he lives most who here will buy,
+    With a few tears, eternity.
+
+
+
+
+CASIMIRUS, [LYRICORUM] LIB. III. ODE XXII.
+
+
+    Let not thy youth and false delights
+    Cheat thee of life; those heady flights
+    But waste thy time, which posts away
+    Like winds unseen, and swift as they.
+    Beauty is but mere paint, whose dye
+    With Time's breath will dissolve and fly;
+    'Tis wax, 'tis water, 'tis a glass,
+    It melts, breaks, and away doth pass.
+    'Tis like a rose which in the dawn
+    The air with gentle breath doth fawn
+    And whisper to, but in the hours
+    Of night is sullied with smart showers.
+    Life spent is wish'd for but in vain,
+    Nor can past years come back again.
+      Happy the man, who in this vale
+    Redeems his time, shutting out all
+    Thoughts of the world, whose longing eyes
+    Are ever pilgrims in the skies,
+    That views his bright home, and desires
+    To shine amongst those glorious fires!
+
+
+
+
+CASIMIRUS, LYRIC[ORUM] LIB. III. ODE XXIII.
+
+
+    'Tis not rich furniture and gems,
+    With cedar roofs and ancient stems,
+    Nor yet a plenteous, lasting flood
+    Of gold, that makes man truly good.
+    Leave to inquire in what fair fields
+    A river runs which much gold yields;
+    Virtue alone is the rich prize
+    Can purchase stars, and buy the skies.
+    Let others build with adamant,
+    Or pillars of carv'd marble plant,
+    Which rude and rough sometimes did dwell
+    Far under earth, and near to hell.
+    But richer much--from death releas'd--
+    Shines in the fresh groves of the East
+    The ph[oe]nix, or those fish that dwell
+    With silver'd scales in Hiddekel.
+    Let others with rare, various pearls
+    Their garments dress, and in forc'd curls
+    Bind up their locks, look big and high,
+    And shine in robes of scarlet dye.
+    But in my thoughts more glorious far
+    Those native stars and speckles are
+    Which birds wear, or the spots which we
+    In leopards dispersèd see.
+    The harmless sheep with her warm fleece
+    Clothes man, but who his dark heart sees
+    Shall find a wolf or fox within,
+    That kills the castor for his skin.
+    Virtue alone, and nought else can
+    A diff'rence make 'twixt beasts and man;
+    And on her wings above the spheres
+    To the true light his spirit bears.
+
+
+
+
+CASIMIRUS, [LYRICORUM] LIB. IV. ODE XV.
+
+
+    Nothing on earth, nothing at all
+    Can be exempted from the thrall
+    Of peevish weariness! The sun,
+    Which our forefathers judg'd to run
+    Clear and unspotted, in our days
+    Is tax'd with sullen eclips'd rays.
+    Whatever in the glorious sky
+    Man sees, his rash audacious eye
+    Dares censure it, and in mere spite
+    At distance will condemn the light.
+    The wholesome mornings, whose beams clear
+    Those hills our fathers walk'd on here,
+    We fancy not; nor the moon's light
+    Which through their windows shin'd at night
+    We change the air each year, and scorn
+    Those seats in which we first were born.
+    Some nice, affected wand'rers love
+    Belgia's mild winters, others remove,
+    For want of health and honesty,
+    To summer it in Italy;
+    But to no end; the disease still
+    Sticks to his lord, and kindly will
+    To Venice in a barge repair,
+    Or coach it to Vienna's air;
+    And then--too late with home content--
+    They leave this wilful banishment.
+      But he, whose constancy makes sure
+    His mind and mansion, lives secure
+    From such vain tasks, can dine and sup
+    Where his old parents bred him up.
+    Content--no doubt!--most times doth dwell
+    In country shades, or to some cell
+    Confines itself; and can alone
+    Make simple straw a royal throne.
+
+
+
+
+CASIMIRUS, [LYRICORUM] LIB. IV. ODE XIII.
+
+
+    If weeping eyes could wash away
+    Those evils they mourn for night and day,
+    Then gladly I to cure my fears
+    With my best jewels would buy tears.
+    But as dew feeds the growing corn,
+    So crosses that are grown forlorn
+    Increase with grief, tears make tears' way,
+    And cares kept up keep cares in pay.
+    That wretch whom Fortune finds to fear,
+    And melting still into a tear,
+    She strikes more boldly, but a face
+    Silent and dry doth her amaze.
+    Then leave thy tears, and tedious tale
+    Of what thou dost misfortunes call.
+    What thou by weeping think'st to ease,
+    Doth by that passion but increase;
+    Hard things to soft will never yield,
+    'Tis the dry eye that wins the field;
+    A noble patience quells the spite
+    Of Fortune, and disarms her quite.
+
+
+
+
+THE PRAISE OF A RELIGIOUS LIFE BY MATHIAS CASIMIRUS. [EPODON ODE III.]
+IN ANSWER TO THAT ODE OF HORACE, BEATUS ILLE QUI PROCUL NEGOTIIS, &c.
+
+
+    Flaccus, not so! that worldly he
+    Whom in the country's shade we see
+    Ploughing his own fields, seldom can
+    Be justly styl'd the blessed man.
+      That title only fits a saint,
+    Whose free thoughts, far above restraint
+    And weighty cares, can gladly part
+    With house and lands, and leave the smart,
+    Litigious troubles and loud strife
+    Of this world for a better life.
+    He fears no cold nor heat to blast
+    His corn, for his accounts are cast;
+    He sues no man, nor stands in awe
+    Of the devouring courts of law;
+    But all his time he spends in tears
+    For the sins of his youthful years;
+    Or having tasted those rich joys
+    Of a conscience without noise,
+    Sits in some fair shade, and doth give
+    To his wild thoughts rules how to live.
+      He in the evening, when on high
+    The stars shine in the silent sky,
+    Beholds th' eternal flames with mirth,
+    And globes of light more large than Earth;
+    Then weeps for joy, and through his tears
+    Looks on the fire-enamell'd spheres,
+    Where with his Saviour he would be
+    Lifted above mortality.
+    Meanwhile the golden stars do set,
+    And the slow pilgrim leave all wet
+    With his own tears, which flow so fast
+    They make his sleeps light, and soon past.
+    By this, the sun o'er night deceas'd
+    Breaks in fresh blushes from the East,
+    When, mindful of his former falls,
+    With strong cries to his God he calls,
+    And with such deep-drawn sighs doth move
+    That He turns anger into love.
+      In the calm Spring, when the Earth bears,
+    And feeds on April's breath and tears,
+    His eyes, accustom'd to the skies,
+    Find here fresh objects, and like spies
+    Or busy bees, search the soft flow'rs,
+    Contemplate the green fields and bow'rs,
+    Where he in veils and shades doth see
+    The back parts of the Deity.
+    Then sadly sighing says, "O! how
+    These flow'rs with hasty, stretch'd heads grow
+    And strive for heav'n, but rooted here
+    Lament the distance with a tear!
+    The honeysuckles clad in white,
+    The rose in red, point to the light;
+    And the lilies, hollow and bleak,
+    Look as if they would something speak;
+    They sigh at night to each soft gale,
+    And at the day-spring weep it all.
+    Shall I then only--wretched I!--
+    Oppress'd with earth, on earth still lie?"
+    Thus speaks he to the neighbour trees,
+    And many sad soliloquies
+    To springs and fountains doth impart,
+    Seeking God with a longing heart.
+      But if to ease his busy breast
+    He thinks of home, and taking rest,
+    A rural cot and common fare
+    Are all his cordials against care.
+    There at the door of his low cell,
+    Under some shade, or near some well
+    Where the cool poplar grows, his plate
+    Of common earth without more state
+    Expect their lord. Salt in a shell,
+    Green cheese, thin beer, draughts that will tell
+    No tales, a hospitable cup,
+    With some fresh berries, do make up
+    His healthful feast; nor doth he wish
+    For the fat carp, or a rare dish
+    Of Lucrine oysters; the swift quist
+    Or pigeon sometimes--if he list--
+    With the slow goose that loves the stream,
+    Fresh, various salads, and the bean
+    By curious palates never sought,
+    And, to close with, some cheap unbought
+    Dish for digestion, are the most
+    And choicest dainties he can boast.
+      Thus feasted, to the flow'ry groves
+    Or pleasant rivers he removes,
+    Where near some fair oak, hung with mast,
+    He shuns the South's infectious blast.
+    On shady banks sometimes he lies,
+    Sometimes the open current tries,
+    Where with his line and feather'd fly
+    He sports, and takes the scaly fry.
+    Meanwhile each hollow wood and hill
+    Doth ring with lowings long and shrill,
+    And shady lakes with rivers deep
+    Echo the bleating of the sheep;
+    The blackbird with the pleasant thrush
+    And nightingale in ev'ry bush
+    Choice music give, and shepherds play
+    Unto their flock some loving lay!
+    The thirsty reapers, in thick throngs,
+    Return home from the field with songs,
+    And the carts, laden with ripe corn,
+    Come groaning to the well-stor'd barn.
+      Nor pass we by, as the least good,
+    A peaceful, loving neighbourhood,
+    Whose honest wit, and chaste discourse
+    Make none--by hearing it--the worse,
+    But innocent and merry, may
+    Help--without sin--to spend the day.
+    Could now the tyrant usurer,
+    Who plots to be a purchaser
+    Of his poor neighbour's seat, but taste
+    These true delights, O! with what haste
+    And hatred of his ways, would he
+    Renounce his Jewish cruelty,
+    And those curs'd sums, which poor men borrow
+    On use to-day, remit to-morrow!
+
+
+
+
+AD FLUVIUM ISCAM.
+
+
+    Isca parens florum, placido qui spumeus ore
+            Lambis lapillos aureos;
+    Qui mæstos hyacinthos, et picti [Greek: anthea] tophi
+            Mulces susurris humidis;
+    Dumque novas pergunt menses consumere lunas
+            C[oe]lumque mortales terit,
+    Accumulas cum sole dies, ævumque per omne
+            Fidelis induras latex;
+    O quis inaccessos et quali murmure lucos
+            Mutumque solaris nemus!
+    Per te discerpti credo Thracis ire querelas
+            Plectrumque divini senis.
+
+
+
+
+VENERABILI VIRO PRÆCEPTORI SUO OLIM ET SEMPER COLENDISSIMO MAGISTRO
+MATHÆO HERBERT.
+
+
+    Quod vixi, Mathæe, dedit pater, hæc tamen olim
+      Vita fluat, nec erit fas meminisse datam.
+    Ultra curasti solers, perituraque mecum
+      Nomina post cineres das resonare meos.
+    Divide discipulum: brevis hæc et lubrica nostri
+      Pars vertat patri, posthuma vita tibi.
+
+
+
+
+PRÆSTANTISSIMO VIRO THOMÆ POËLLO IN SUUM DE ELEMENTIS OPTICÆ
+LIBELLUM.[56]
+
+
+    Vivaces oculorum ignes et lumina dia
+      Fixit in angusto maximus orbe Deus;
+    Ille explorantes radios dedit, et vaga lustra
+      In quibus intuitus lexque, modusque latent.
+    Hos tacitos jactus, lususque, volubilis orbis
+      Pingis in exiguo, magne[57] Poëlle, libro,
+    Excursusque situsque ut Lynceus opticus, edis,
+      Quotque modis fallunt, quotque adhibenda fides.
+    Æmula Naturæ manus! et mens conscia c[oe]li.
+      Ilia videre dedit, vestra videre docet.
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[56] The version in _Elementa Opticæ_ has _Eximio viro, et amicorum
+longè optimo, T. P. in hunc suum de Elementis Opticæ libellum_.
+
+[57] _El. Opt._ has _docte_.
+
+
+
+
+
+AD ECHUM.
+
+
+    O quæ frondosæ per am[oe]na cubilia silvæ
+    Nympha volas, lucoque loquax spatiaris in alto,
+    Annosi numen nemoris, saltusque verendi
+    Effatum, cui sola placent postrema relatus!
+    Te per Narcissi morientis verba, precesque
+    Per pueri lassatam animam, et conamina vitæ
+    Ultima, palantisque precor suspiria linguæ.
+    Da quo secretæ hæc incædua devia silvæ,
+    Anfractusque loci dubios, et lustra repandam.
+    Sic tibi perpetua--meritoque--hæc regna juventa
+    Luxurient, dabiturque tuis, sine fine, viretis
+    Intactas lunæ lachrymas, et lambere rorem
+    Virgineum, c[oe]lique animas haurire tepentis.
+    Nec cedant ævo stellis, sed lucida semper
+    Et satiata sacro æterni medicamine veris
+    Ostendant longe vegetos, ut sidera, vultus!
+    Sic spiret muscata comas, et cinnama passim!
+    Diffundat levis umbra, in funere qualia spargit
+    Ph[oe]nicis rogus aut Pancheæ nubila flammæ!
+
+
+             THALIA REDIVIVA.
+
+                   1678.
+
+
+
+
+TO THE MOST HONOURABLE AND TRULY NOBLE HENRY, LORD MARQUIS AND EARL OF
+WORCESTER, &c.
+
+My Lord,
+
+Though dedications are now become a kind of tyranny over the peace and
+repose of great men; yet I have confidence I shall so manage the present
+address as to entertain your lordship without much disturbance; and
+because my purposes are governed by deep respect and veneration, I hope
+to find your Lordship more facile and accessible. And I am already
+absolved from a great part of that fulsome and designing guilt, being
+sufficiently removed from the causes of it: for I consider, my Lord,
+that you are already so well known to the world in your several
+characters and advantages of honour--it was yours by traduction, and the
+adjunct of your nativity; you were swaddled and rocked in't, bred up and
+grew in't, to your now wonderful height and eminence--that for me under
+pretence of the inscription, to give you the heraldry of your family, or
+to carry your person through the famed topics of mind, body, or estate,
+were all one as to persuade the world that fire and light were very
+bright bodies, or that the luminaries themselves had glory. In point of
+protection I beg to fall in with the common wont, and to be satisfied by
+the reasonableness of the thing, and abundant worthy precedents; and
+although I should have secret prophecy and assurance that the ensuing
+verse would live eternally, yet would I, as I now do, humbly crave it
+might be fortified with your patronage; for so the sextile aspects and
+influences are watched for, and applied to the actions of life, thereby
+to make the scheme and good auguries of the birth pass into Fate, and a
+success infallible.
+
+My Lord, by a happy obliging intercession, and your own consequent
+indulgence, I have now recourse to your Lordship, hoping I shall not
+much displease by putting these twin poets into your hands. The minion
+and vertical planet of the Roman lustre and bravery, was never better
+pleased than when he had a whole constellation about him: not his
+finishing five several wars to the promoting of his own interest, nor
+particularly the prodigious success at Actium where he held in chase the
+wealth, beauty and prowess of the East; not the triumphs and absolute
+dominions which followed: all this gave him not half that serene pride
+and satisfaction of spirit as when he retired himself to umpire the
+different excellencies of his insipid friends, and to distribute laurels
+among his poetic heroes. If now upon the authority of this and several
+such examples, I had the ability and opportunity of drawing the value
+and strange worth of a poet, and withal of applying some of the
+lineaments to the following pieces, I should then do myself a real
+service, and atone in a great measure for the present insolence. But
+best of all will it serve my defence and interest, to appeal to your
+Lordship's own conceptions and image of genuine verse; with which so
+just, so regular original, if these copies shall hold proportion and
+resemblance, then am I advanced very far in your Lordship's pardon: the
+rest will entirely be supplied me by your Lordship's goodness, and my
+own awful zeal of being, my Lord,
+
+  Your Lordship's most obedient,
+      most humbly devoted servant,
+
+                                                                 J. W.
+
+
+
+
+TO THE READER.
+
+
+The Nation of Poets above all Writers has ever challenged perpetuity of
+name, or as they please by their charter of liberty to call it,
+Immortality. Nor has the World much disputed their claim, either easily
+resigning a patrimony in itself not very substantial; or, it may be, out
+of despair to control the authority of inspiration and oracle. Howsoever
+the price as now quarrelled for among the poets themselves is no such
+rich bargain: it is only a vanishing interest in the lees and dregs of
+Time, in the rear of those Fathers and Worthies in the art, who if they
+know anything of the heats and fury of their successors, must extremely
+pity them.
+
+I am to assure, that the Author has no portion of that airy happiness to
+lose, by any injury or unkindness which may be done to his Verse: his
+reputation is better built in the sentiment of several judicious
+persons, who know him very well able to give himself a lasting monument,
+by undertaking any argument of note in the whole circle of learning.
+
+But even these his Diversions have been valuable with the matchless
+Orinda; and since they deserved her esteem and commendations, who so
+thinks them not worth the publishing, will put himself in the opposite
+scale, where his own arrogance will blow him up.
+
+                                                                 I. W.
+
+
+
+
+TO MR. HENRY VAUGHAN THE SILURIST: UPON THESE AND HIS FORMER POEMS.[58]
+
+
+    Had I ador'd the multitude, and thence
+    Got an antipathy to wit and sense,
+    And hugg'd that fate, in hope the world would grant
+    'Twas good affection to be ignorant;[59]
+    Yet the least ray of thy bright fancy seen,
+    I had converted, or excuseless been.
+    For each birth of thy Muse to after-times
+    Shall expiate for all this Age's crimes.
+    First shines thy Amoret, twice crown'd by thee,
+    Once by thy love, next by thy poetry;
+    Where thou the best of unions dost dispense,
+    Truth cloth'd in wit, and Love in innocence;
+    So that the muddy lover may learn here,
+    No fountains can be sweet that are not clear.
+    There Juvenal, by thee reviv'd, declares
+    How flat man's joys are, and how mean his cares;
+    And wisely doth upbraid[60] the world, that they
+    Should such a value for their ruin pay.
+      But when thy sacred Muse diverts her quil
+    The landscape to design of Sion's hill,[61]
+    As nothing else was worthy her, or thee,
+    So we admire almost t' idolatry.
+    What savage breast would not be rapt to find
+    Such jewels in such cabinets enshrin'd?
+    Thou fill'd with joys--too great to see or count--
+    Descend'st from thence, like Moses from the Mount,
+    And with a candid, yet unquestion'd awe
+    Restor'st the Golden Age, when Verse was Law.
+    Instructing us, thou so secur'st[62] thy fame,
+    That nothing can disturb it but my name:
+    Nay, I have hopes that standing so near thine
+    'Twill lose its dross, and by degrees refine.
+    Live! till the disabusèd world consent
+    All truths of use, of strength or ornament,
+    Are with such harmony by thee display'd
+    As the whole world was first by number made,
+    And from the charming rigour thy Muse brings
+    Learn, there's no pleasure but in serious things!
+
+                                                               Orinda.
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[58] 1664-1667 have To _Mr. Henry Vaughan, Silurist, on his Poems_.
+
+[59] So 1664-1667. _Thalia Rediviva_ has _the ignorant_.
+
+[60] 1664 has _generally upbraids_; 1667, _generously upbraids_
+
+[61] 1664-1667 have _Leon's hill_.
+
+[62] 1664 has _thou who securest_.
+
+
+
+
+UPON THE INGENIOUS POEMS OF HIS LEARNED FRIEND, MR. HENRY VAUGHAN, THE
+SILURIST.
+
+
+    Fairly design'd! to charm our civil rage
+    With verse, and plant bays in an iron age!
+    But hath steel'd Mars so ductible a soul,
+    That love and poesy may it control?
+    Yes! brave Tyrtæus, as we read of old,
+    The Grecian armies as he pleas'd could mould;
+    They march'd to his high numbers, and did fight
+    With that instinct and rage, which he did write.
+    When he fell lower, they would straight retreat,
+    Grow soft and calm, and temper their bold heat.
+    Such magic is in Virtue! See here a young
+    Tyrtæus too, whose sweet persuasive song
+    Can lead our spirits any way, and move
+    To all adventures, either war or love.
+    Then veil the bright Etesia, that choice she,
+    Lest Mars--Timander's friend--his rival be.
+    So fair a nymph, dress'd by a Muse so neat,
+    Might warm the North, and thaw the frozen Gete.
+
+                                                     Tho. Powell, D.D.
+
+
+
+
+TO THE INGENIOUS AUTHOR OF THALIA REDIVIVA.
+
+
+ODE I.
+
+    Where reverend bards of old have sate
+    And sung the pleasant interludes of Fate,
+        Thou takest the hereditary shade
+        Which Nature's homely art had made,
+    And thence thou giv'st thy Muse her swing, and she
+            Advances to the galaxy;
+    There with the sparkling Cowley she above
+    Does hand in hand in graceful measures move.
+        We grovelling mortals gaze below,
+          And long in vain to know
+        Her wondrous paths, her wondrous flight:
+          In vain, alas! we grope,[63]
+            In vain we use our earthly telescope,
+          We're blinded by an intermedial night.
+            Thine eagle-Muse can only face
+            The fiery coursers in their race,
+        While with unequal paces we do try
+    To bear her train aloft, and keep her company.
+
+
+II.
+
+        The loud harmonious Mantuan
+    Once charm'd the world; and here's the Uscan swan
+        In his declining years does chime,
+    And challenges the last remains of Time.
+        Ages run on, and soon give o'er,
+        They have their graves as well as we;
+        Time swallows all that's past and more,
+        Yet time is swallow'd in eternity:
+        This is the only profits poets see.
+    There thy triumphant Muse shall ride in state
+        And lead in chains devouring Fate;
+        Claudian's bright Ph[oe]nix she shall bring
+        Thee an immortal offering;
+    Nor shall my humble tributary Muse
+    Her homage and attendance too refuse;
+        She thrusts herself among the crowd,
+    And joining in th' applause she strives to clap aloud
+
+
+III.
+
+    Tell me no more that Nature is severe,
+        Thou great philosopher!
+    Lo! she has laid her vast exchequer here.
+        Tell me no more that she has sent
+        So much already, she is spent;
+    Here is a vast America behind
+    Which none but the great Silurist could find.
+        Nature her last edition was the best,
+        As big, as rich as all the rest:
+          So will we here admit
+          Another world of wit.
+    No rude or savage fancy here shall stay
+        The travelling reader in his way,
+    But every coast is clear: go where he will,
+    Virtue's the road Thalia leads him still.
+    Long may she live, and wreath thy sacred head
+    For this her happy resurrection from the dead.
+
+                                              N. W., Jes. Coll., Oxon.
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[63] The original has _flight In raine; alas! we grope_.
+
+
+
+
+
+TO MY WORTHY FRIEND, MR. HENRY VAUGHAN THE SILURIST.
+
+
+    See what thou wert! by what Platonic round
+    Art thou in thy first youth and glories found?
+    Or from thy Muse does this retrieve accrue?
+    Does she which once inspir'd thee, now renew,
+    Bringing thee back those golden years which Time
+    Smooth'd to thy lays, and polish'd with thy rhyme?
+    Nor is't to thee alone she does convey
+    Such happy change, but bountiful as day,
+    On whatsoever reader she does shine,
+    She makes him like thee, and for ever thine.
+
+    And first thy manual op'ning gives to see
+    Eclipse and suff'rings burnish majesty,
+    Where thou so artfully the draught hast made
+    That we best read the lustre in the shade,
+    And find our sov'reign greater in that shroud:
+    So lightning dazzles from its night and cloud,
+    So the First Light Himself has for His throne
+    Blackness, and darkness his pavilion.
+
+    Who can refuse thee company, or stay,
+    By thy next charming summons forc'd away,
+    If that be force which we can so resent,
+    That only in its joys 'tis violent:
+    Upward thy Eagle bears us ere aware,
+    Till above storms and all tempestuous air
+    We radiant worlds with their bright people meet,
+    Leaving this little all beneath our feet.
+    But now the pleasure is too great to tell,
+    Nor have we other bus'ness than to dwell,
+    As on the hallow'd Mount th' Apostles meant
+    To build and fix their glorious banishment.
+    Yet we must know and find thy skilful vein
+    Shall gently bear us to our homes again;
+    By which descent thy former flight's impli'd
+    To be thy ecstacy and not thy pride.
+    And here how well does the wise Muse demean
+    Herself, and fit her song to ev'ry scene!
+    Riot of courts, the bloody wreaths of war,
+    Cheats of the mart, and clamours of the bar,
+    Nay, life itself thou dost so well express,
+    Its hollow joys, and real emptiness,
+    That Dorian minstrel never did excite,
+    Or raise for dying so much appetite.
+
+    Nor does thy other softer magic move
+    Us less thy fam'd Etesia to love;
+    Where such a character thou giv'st, that shame
+    Nor envy dare approach the vestal dame:
+    So at bright prime ideas none repine,
+    They safely in th' eternal poet shine.
+
+    Gladly th' Assyrian ph[oe]nix now resumes
+    From thee this last reprisal of his plumes;
+    He seems another more miraculous thing,
+    Brighter of crest, and stronger of his wing,
+    Proof against Fate in spicy urns to come,
+    Immortal past all risk of martyrdom.
+
+    Nor be concern'd, nor fancy thou art rude
+    T' adventure from thy Cambrian solitude:
+    Best from those lofty cliffs thy Muse does spring
+    Upwards, and boldly spreads her cherub wing.
+
+    So when the sage of Memphis would converse
+    With boding skies, and th' azure universe,
+    He climbs his starry pyramid, and thence
+    Freely sucks clean prophetic influence,
+    And all serene, and rapt and gay he pries
+    Through the ethereal volume's mysteries,
+    Loth to come down, or ever to know more
+    The Nile's luxurious, but dull foggy shore.
+
+                                                     I. W., A.M. Oxon.
+
+          CHOICE POEMS ON SEVERAL OCCASIONS.
+
+
+
+
+TO HIS LEARNED FRIEND AND LOYAL FELLOW-PRISONER, THOMAS POWEL OF
+CANT[REFF], DOCTOR OF DIVINITY.
+
+
+    If sever'd friends by sympathy can join,
+    And absent kings be honour'd in their coin;
+    May they do both, who are so curb'd? but we
+    Whom no such abstracts torture, that can see
+    And pay each other a full self-return,
+    May laugh, though all such metaphysics burn.
+      'Tis a kind soul in magnets, that atones
+    Such two hard things as iron are and stones,
+    And in their dumb compliance we learn more
+    Of love, than ever books could speak before.
+    For though attraction hath got all the name,
+    As if that power but from one side came,
+    Which both unites; yet, where there is no sense
+    There is no passion, nor intelligence:
+    And so by consequence we cannot state
+    A commerce, unless both we animate.
+    For senseless things, though ne'er so called upon,
+    Are deaf, and feel no invitation,
+    But such as at the last day shall be shed
+    By the great Lord of life into the dead.
+    'Tis then no heresy to end the strife
+    With such rare doctrine as gives iron life.
+      For were it otherwise--which cannot be,
+    And do thou judge my bold philosophy--
+    Then it would follow that if I were dead,
+    Thy love, as now in life, would in that bed
+    Of earth and darkness warm me, and dispense
+    Effectual informing influence.
+    Since then 'tis clear, that friendship is nought else
+    But a joint, kind propension, and excess
+    In none, but such whose equal, easy hearts
+    Comply and meet both in their whole and parts,
+    And when they cannot meet, do not forget
+    To mingle souls, but secretly reflect
+    And some third place their centre make, where they
+    Silently mix, and make an unseen stay:
+    Let me not say--though poets may be bold--
+    Thou art more hard than steel, than stones more cold,
+    But as the marigold in feasts of dew
+    And early sunbeams, though but thin and few,
+    Unfolds itself, then from the Earth's cold breast
+    Heaves gently, and salutes the hopeful East:
+    So from thy quiet cell, the retir'd throne
+    Of thy fair thoughts, which silently bemoan
+    Our sad distractions, come! and richly dress'd
+    With reverend mirth and manners, check the rest
+    Of loose, loath'd men! Why should I longer be
+    Rack'd 'twixt two evils? I see and cannot see.
+
+
+
+
+THE KING DISGUISED.
+
+_Written about the same time that Mr. John Cleveland wrote his._
+
+
+    A king and no king! Is he gone from us,
+    And stoln alive into his coffin thus?
+    This was to ravish death, and so prevent
+    The rebels' treason and their punishment.
+    He would not have them damn'd, and therefore he
+    Himself deposèd his own majesty.
+    Wolves did pursue him, and to fly the ill
+    He wanders--royal saint!--in sheepskin still.
+    Poor, obscure shelter, if that shelter be
+    Obscure, which harbours so much majesty.
+    Hence, profane eyes! the mystery's so deep,
+    Like Esdras books, the vulgar must not see't.
+      Thou flying roll, written with tears and woe,
+    Not for thy royal self, but for thy foe!
+    Thy grief is prophecy, and doth portend,
+    Like sad Ezekiel's sighs, the rebel's end.
+    Thy robes forc'd off, like Samuel's when rent,
+    Do figure out another's punishment.
+    Nor grieve thou hast put off thyself awhile,
+    To serve as prophet to this sinful isle;
+    These are our days of Purim, which oppress
+    The Church, and force thee to the wilderness.
+    But all these clouds cannot thy light confine,
+    The sun in storms and after them, will shine.
+    Thy day of life cannot be yet complete,
+    'Tis early, sure, thy shadow is so great.
+      But I am vex'd, that we at all can guess
+    This change, and trust great Charles to such a dress.
+    When he was first obscur'd with this coarse thing,
+    He grac'd plebeians, but profan'd the king:
+    Like some fair church, which zeal to charcoals burn'd,
+    Or his own court now to an alehouse turn'd.
+      But full as well may we blame night, and chide
+    His wisdom, Who doth light with darkness hide,
+    Or deny curtains to thy royal bed,
+    As take this sacred cov'ring from thy head.
+    Secrets of State are points we must not know;
+    This vizard is thy privy-council now,
+    Thou royal riddle, and in everything
+    The true white prince, our hieroglyphic king!
+    Ride safely in His shade, Who gives thee light,
+    And can with blindness thy pursuers smite.
+    O! may they wander all from thee as far
+    As they from peace are, and thyself from war!
+    And wheresoe'er thou dost design to be
+    With thy--now spotted--spotless majesty,
+    Be sure to look no sanctuary there,
+    Nor hope for safety in a temple, where
+    Buyers and sellers trade: O! strengthen not
+    With too much trust the treason of a Scot!
+
+
+
+
+THE EAGLE.
+
+
+    Tis madness sure; and I am in the fit,
+    To dare an eagle with my unfledg'd wit.
+    For what did ever Rome or Athens sing
+    In all their lines, as lofty as his wing?
+    He that an eagle's powers would rehearse
+    Should with his plumes first feather all his verse.
+      I know not, when into thee I would pry,
+    Which to admire, thy wing first, or thine eye;
+    Or whether Nature at thy birth design'd
+    More of her fire for thee, or of her wind.
+    When thou in the clear heights and upmost air
+    Dost face the sun and his dispersèd hair,
+    Ev'n from that distance thou the sea dost spy
+    And sporting in its deep, wide lap, the fry.
+    Not the least minnow there but thou canst see:
+    Whole seas are narrow spectacles to thee.
+      Nor is this element of water here
+    Below of all thy miracles the sphere.
+    If poets ought may add unto thy store,
+    Thou hast in heav'n of wonders many more.
+    For when just Jove to earth his thunder bends,
+    And from that bright, eternal fortress sends
+    His louder volleys, straight this bird doth fly
+    To Ætna, where his magazine doth lie,
+    And in his active talons brings him more
+    Of ammunition, and recruits his store.
+    Nor is't a low or easy lift. He soars
+    'Bove wind and fire; gets to the moon, and pores
+    With scorn upon her duller face; for she
+    Gives him but shadows and obscurity.
+    Here much displeas'd, that anything like night
+    Should meet him in his proud and lofty flight,
+    That such dull tinctures should advance so far,
+    And rival in the glories of a star,
+    Resolv'd he is a nobler course to try,
+    And measures out his voyage with his eye.
+    Then with such fury he begins his flight,
+    As if his wings contended with his sight.
+    Leaving the moon, whose humble light doth trade
+    With spots, and deals most in the dark and shade,
+    To the day's royal planet he doth pass
+    With daring eyes, and makes the sun his glass.
+    Here doth he plume and dress himself, the beams
+    Rushing upon him like so many streams;
+    While with direct looks he doth entertain
+    The thronging flames, and shoots them back again.
+    And thus from star to star he doth repair,
+    And wantons in that pure and peaceful air.
+    Sometimes he frights the starry swan, and now
+    Orion's fearful hare, and then the crow.
+    Then with the orb itself he moves, to see
+    Which is more swift, th' intelligence or he.
+    Thus with his wings his body he hath brought
+    Where man can travel only in a thought.
+      I will not seek, rare bird, what spirit 'tis
+    That mounts thee thus; I'll be content with this,
+    To think that Nature made thee to express
+    Our soul's bold heights in a material dress.
+
+
+
+
+TO MR. M. L. UPON HIS REDUCTION OF THE PSALMS INTO METHOD.
+
+
+    Sir,
+
+    You have oblig'd the patriarch, and 'tis known
+    He is your debtor now, though for his own.
+    What he wrote is a medley: we can see
+    Confusion trespass on his piety.
+    Misfortunes did not only strike at him,
+    They chargèd further, and oppress'd his pen;
+    For he wrote as his crosses came, and went
+    By no safe rule, but by his punishment.
+    His quill mov'd by the rod; his wits and he
+    Did know no method, but their misery.
+      You brought his Psalms now into tune. Nay all
+    His measures thus are more than musical;
+    Your method and his airs are justly sweet,
+    And--what's church music right--like anthems meet.
+    You did so much in this, that I believe
+    He gave the matter, you the form did give.
+    And yet I wish you were not understood,
+    For now 'tis a misfortune to be good!
+      Why then you'll say, all I would have, is this:
+    None must be good, because the time's amiss.
+    For since wise Nature did ordain the night,
+    I would not have the sun to give us light.
+    Whereas this doth not take the use away,
+    But urgeth the necessity of day.
+    Proceed to make your pious work as free,
+    Stop not your seasonable charity.
+    Good works despis'd or censur'd by bad times
+    Should be sent out to aggravate their crimes.
+    They should first share and then reject our store,
+    Abuse our good, to make their guilt the more.
+    'Tis war strikes at our sins, but it must be
+    A persecution wounds our piety.
+
+
+
+
+TO THE PIOUS MEMORY OF C[HARLES] W[ALBEOFFE] ESQUIRE, WHO FINISHED HIS
+COURSE HERE, AND MADE HIS ENTRANCE INTO IMMORTALITY UPON THE 13 OF
+SEPTEMBER, IN THE YEAR OF REDEMPTION, 1653.
+
+
+      Now that the public sorrow doth subside,
+    And those slight tears which custom springs are dried;
+    While all the rich and outside mourners pass
+    Home from thy dust, to empty their own glass;
+    I--who the throng affect not, nor their state--
+    Steal to thy grave undress'd, to meditate
+    On our sad loss, accompanied by none,
+    An obscure mourner that would weep alone.
+      So, when the world's great luminary sets,
+    Some scarce known star into the zenith gets,
+    Twinkles and curls, a weak but willing spark,
+    As glow-worms here do glitter in the dark.
+    Yet, since the dimmest flame that kindles there
+    An humble love unto the light doth bear,
+    And true devotion from an hermit's cell
+    Will Heav'n's kind King as soon reach and as well,
+    As that which from rich shrines and altars flies,
+    Led by ascending incense to the skies:
+    'Tis no malicious rudeness, if the might
+    Of love makes dark things wait upon the bright,
+    And from my sad retirements calls me forth,
+    The just recorder of thy death and worth.
+      Long didst thou live--if length be measured by
+    The tedious reign of our calamity--
+    And counter to all storms and changes still
+    Kept'st the same temper, and the selfsame will.
+    Though trials came as duly as the day,
+    And in such mists, that none could see his way,
+    Yet thee I found still virtuous, and saw
+    The sun give clouds, and Charles give both the law.
+    When private interest did all hearts bend,
+    And wild dissents the public peace did rend,
+    Thou, neither won, nor worn, wert still thyself,
+    Not aw'd by force, nor basely brib'd with pelf.
+      What the insuperable stream of times
+    Did dash thee with, those suff'rings were, not crimes.
+    So the bright sun eclipses bears; and we,
+    Because then passive, blame him not. Should he
+    For enforc'd shades, and the moon's ruder veil
+    Much nearer us than him, be judg'd to fail?
+    Who traduce thee, so err. As poisons by
+    Correction are made antidotes, so thy
+    Just soul did turn ev'n hurtful things to good,
+    Us'd bad laws so they drew not tears, nor blood.
+    Heav'n was thy aim, and thy great, rare design
+    Was not to lord it here, but there to shine.
+    Earth nothing had, could tempt thee. All that e'er
+    Thou pray'd'st for here was peace, and glory there.
+    For though thy course in Time's long progress fell
+    On a sad age, when war and open'd hell
+    Licens'd all arts and sects, and made it free
+    To thrive by fraud, and blood, and blasphemy:
+    Yet thou thy just inheritance didst by
+    No sacrilege, nor pillage multiply.
+    No rapine swell'd thy state, no bribes, nor fees,
+    Our new oppressors' best annuities.
+    Such clean pure hands hadst thou! and for thy heart,
+    Man's secret region, and his noblest part;
+    Since I was privy to't, and had the key
+    Of that fair room, where thy bright spirit lay,
+    I must affirm it did as much surpass
+    Most I have known, as the clear sky doth glass.
+    Constant and kind, and plain, and meek, and mild
+    It was, and with no new conceits defil'd.
+    Busy, but sacred thoughts--like bees--did still
+    Within it stir, and strive unto that hill
+    Where redeem'd spirits, evermore alive,
+    After their work is done, ascend and hive.
+    No outward tumults reach'd this inward place:
+    'Twas holy ground, where peace, and love, and grace
+    Kept house, where the immortal restless life,
+    In a most dutiful and pious strife,
+    Like a fix'd watch, mov'd all in order still;
+    The will serv'd God, and ev'ry sense the will!
+      In this safe state Death met thee, Death, which is
+    But a kind usher of the good to bliss,
+    Therefore to weep because thy course is run,
+    Or droop like flow'rs, which lately lost the sun,
+    I cannot yield, since Faith will not permit
+    A tenure got by conquest to the pit.
+    For the great Victor fought for us, and He
+    Counts ev'ry dust that is laid up of thee.
+    Besides, Death now grows decrepit, and hath
+    Spent the most part both of its time and wrath.
+    That thick, black night, which mankind fear'd, is torn
+    By troops of stars, and the bright day's forlorn.
+    The next glad news--most glad unto the just!--
+    Will be the trumpet's summons from the dust.
+    Then I'll not grieve; nay, more, I'll not allow
+    My soul should think thee absent from me now.
+    Some bid their dead "Good night!" but I will say
+    "Good morrow to dear Charles!" for it is day.
+
+
+
+
+IN ZODIACUM MARCELLI PALINGENII.
+
+
+    It is perform'd! and thy great name doth run
+    Through ev'ry sign, an everlasting sun,
+    Not planet-like, but fixed; and we can see
+    Thy genius stand still in his apogee.
+    For how canst thou an aux eternal miss,
+    Where ev'ry house thy exaltation is?
+    Here's no ecliptic threatens thee with night,
+    Although the wiser few take in thy light.
+    They are not at that glorious pitch, to be
+    In a conjunction with divinity.
+    Could we partake some oblique ray of thine,
+    Salute thee in a sextile, or a trine,
+    It were enough; but thou art flown so high,
+    The telescope is turn'd a common eye.
+    Had the grave Chaldee liv'd thy book to see,
+    He had known no astrology but thee;
+    Nay, more--for I believe't--thou shouldst have been
+    Tutor to all his planets, and to him.
+    Thus, whosoever reads thee, his charm'd sense
+    Proves captive to thy zodiac's influence.
+    Were it not foul to err so, I should look
+    Here for the Rabbins' universal book:
+    And say, their fancies did but dream of thee,
+    When first they doted on that mystery.
+    Each line's a _via lactea_, where we may
+    See thy fair steps, and tread that happy way
+    Thy genius led thee in. Still I will be
+    Lodg'd in some sign, some face, and some degree
+    Of thy bright zodiac; thus I'll teach my sense
+    To move by that, and thee th' intelligence.
+
+
+
+
+TO LYSIMACHUS, THE AUTHOR BEING WITH HIM IN LONDON.
+
+
+    Saw not, Lysimachus, last day, when we
+    Took the pure air in its simplicity,
+    And our own too, how the trimm'd gallants went
+    Cringing, and pass'd each step some compliment?
+    What strange, fantastic diagrams they drew
+    With legs and arms; the like we never knew
+    In Euclid, Archimede, nor all of those
+    Whose learnèd lines are neither verse nor prose?
+    What store of lace was there? how did the gold
+    Run in rich traces, but withal made bold
+    To measure the proud things, and so deride
+    The fops with that, which was part of their pride?
+    How did they point at us, and boldly call,
+    As if we had been vassals to them all,
+    Their poor men-mules, sent thither by hard fate
+    To yoke ourselves for their sedans, and state?
+    Of all ambitions, this was not the least,
+    Whose drift translated man into a beast.
+    What blind discourse the heroes did afford!
+    This lady was their friend, and such a lord.
+    How much of blood was in it! one could tell
+    He came from Bevis and his Arundel;
+    Morglay was yet with him, and he could do
+    More feats with it than his old grandsire too.
+      Wonders my friend at this? what is't to thee,
+    Who canst produce a nobler pedigree,
+    And in mere truth affirm thy soul of kin
+    To some bright star, or to a cherubin?
+    When these in their profuse moods spend the night,
+    With the same sins they drive away the light.
+    Thy learnèd thrift puts her to use, while she
+    Reveals her fiery volume unto thee;
+    And looking on the separated skies,
+    And their clear lamps, with careful thoughts and eyes,
+    Thou break'st through Nature's upmost rooms and bars
+    To heav'n, and there conversest with the stars.
+      Well fare such harmless, happy nights, that be
+    Obscur'd with nothing but their privacy,
+    And missing but the false world's glories do
+    Miss all those vices which attend them too!
+    Fret not to hear their ill-got, ill-giv'n praise;
+    Thy darkest nights outshine their brightest days.
+
+
+
+
+ON SIR THOMAS BODLEY'S LIBRARY, THE AUTHOR BEING THEN IN OXFORD.
+
+
+    Boast not, proud Golgotha, that thou canst show
+    The ruins of mankind, and let us know
+    How frail a thing is flesh! though we see there
+    But empty skulls, the Rabbins still live here.
+    They are not dead, but full of blood again;
+    I mean the sense, and ev'ry line a vein.
+    Triumph not o'er their dust; whoever looks
+    In here, shall find their brains all in their books.
+      Nor is't old Palestine alone survives;
+    Athens lives here, more than in Plutarch's Lives.
+    The stones, which sometimes danc'd unto the strain
+    Of Orpheus, here do lodge his Muse again.
+    And you, the Roman spirits, learning has
+    Made your lives longer than your empire was.
+    Cæsar had perish'd from the world of men
+    Had not his sword been rescu'd by his pen.
+    Rare Seneca, how lasting is thy breath!
+    Though Nero did, thou couldst not bleed to death.
+    How dull the expert tyrant was, to look
+    For that in thee which livèd in thy book!
+    Afflictions turn our blood to ink, and we
+    Commence, when writing, our eternity.
+    Lucilius here I can behold, and see
+    His counsels and his life proceed from thee.
+    But what care I to whom thy Letters be?
+    I change the name, and thou dost write to me;
+    And in this age, as sad almost as thine,
+    Thy stately Consolations are mine.
+    Poor earth! what though thy viler dust enrolls
+    The frail enclosures of these mighty souls?
+    Their graves are all upon record; not one
+    But is as bright and open as the sun.
+    And though some part of them obscurely fell,
+    And perish'd in an unknown, private cell,
+    Yet in their books they found a glorious way
+    To live unto the Resurrection-day!
+      Most noble Bodley! we are bound to thee
+    For no small part of our eternity.
+    Thy treasure was not spent on horse and hound,
+    Nor that new mode which doth old states confound.
+    Thy legacies another way did go:
+    Nor were they left to those would spend them so.
+    Thy safe, discreet expense on us did flow;
+    Walsam is in the midst of Oxford now.
+    Th' hast made us all thine heirs; whatever we
+    Hereafter write, 'tis thy posterity.
+    This is thy monument! here thou shalt stand
+    Till the times fail in their last grain of sand.
+    And wheresoe'er thy silent relics keep,
+    This tomb will never let thine honour sleep,
+    Still we shall think upon thee; all our fame
+    Meets here to speak one letter of thy name.
+    Thou canst not die! here thou art more than safe,
+    Where every book is thy large epitaph.
+
+
+
+
+THE IMPORTUNATE FORTUNE, WRITTEN TO DR. POWEL, OF CANTRE[FF].
+
+
+    For shame desist, why shouldst thou seek my fall?
+    It cannot make thee more monarchical.
+    Leave off; thy empire is already built;
+    To ruin me were to enlarge thy guilt,
+    Not thy prerogative. I am not he
+    Must be the measure to thy victory.
+    The Fates hatch more for thee; 'twere a disgrace
+    If in thy annals I should make a clause.
+    The future ages will disclose such men
+    Shall be the glory, and the end of them.
+    Nor do I flatter. So long as there be
+    Descents in Nature, or posterity,
+    There must be fortunes; whether they be good,
+    As swimming in thy tide and plenteous flood,
+    Or stuck fast in the shallow ebb, when we
+    Miss to deserve thy gorgeous charity.
+    Thus, Fortune, the great world thy period is;
+    Nature and you are parallels in this.
+    But thou wilt urge me still. Away, be gone,
+    I am resolv'd, I will not be undone.
+    I scorn thy trash, and thee: nay, more, I do
+    Despise myself, because thy subject too.
+    Name me heir to thy malice, and I'll be;
+    Thy hate's the best inheritance for me.
+    I care not for your wondrous hat and purse,
+    Make me a Fortunatus with thy curse.
+    How careful of myself then should I be,
+    Were I neglected by the world and thee?
+    Why dost thou tempt me with thy dirty ore,
+    And with thy riches make my soul so poor?
+    My fancy's pris'ner to thy gold and thee,
+    Thy favours rob me of my liberty.
+    I'll to my speculations. Is't best
+    To be confin'd to some dark, narrow chest
+    And idolize thy stamps, when I may be
+    Lord of all Nature, and not slave to thee?
+    The world's my palace. I'll contemplate there,
+    And make my progress into ev'ry sphere.
+    The chambers of the air are mine; those three
+    Well-furnish'd stories my possession be.
+    I hold them all _in capite_, and stand
+    Propp'd by my fancy there. I scorn your land,
+    It lies so far below me. Here I see
+    How all the sacred stars do circle me.
+    Thou to the great giv'st rich food, and I do
+    Want no content; I feed on manna too.
+    They have their tapers; I gaze without fear
+    On flying lamps and flaming comets here.
+    Their wanton flesh in silks and purple shrouds,
+    And fancy wraps me in a robe of clouds.
+    There some delicious beauty they may woo,
+    And I have Nature for my mistress too.
+      But these are mean; the archetype I can see,
+    And humbly touch the hem of majesty.
+    The power of my soul is such, I can
+    Expire, and so analyze all that's man.
+    First my dull clay I give unto the Earth,
+    Our common mother, which gives all their birth.
+    My growing faculties I send as soon,
+    Whence first I took them, to the humid moon.
+    All subtleties and every cunning art
+    To witty Mercury I do impart.
+    Those fond affections which made me a slave
+    To handsome faces, Venus, thou shalt have.
+    And saucy pride--if there was aught in me--
+    Sol, I return it to thy royalty.
+    My daring rashness and presumptions be
+    To Mars himself an equal legacy.
+    My ill-plac'd avarice--sure 'tis but small--
+    Jove, to thy flames I do bequeath it all.
+    And my false magic, which I did believe,
+    And mystic lies, to Saturn I do give.
+    My dark imaginations rest you there,
+    This is your grave and superstitious sphere.
+      Get up, my disentangled soul, thy fire
+    Is now refin'd, and nothing left to tire
+    Or clog thy wings. Now my auspicious flight
+    Hath brought me to the empyrean light.
+    I am a sep'rate essence, and can see
+    The emanations of the Deity,
+    And how they pass the seraphims, and run
+    Through ev'ry throne and domination.
+    So rushing through the guard the sacred streams
+    Flow to the neighbour stars, and in their beams
+    --A glorious cataract!--descend to earth,
+    And give impressions unto ev'ry birth.
+    With angels now and spirits I do dwell,
+    And here it is my nature to do well.
+    Thus, though my body you confinèd see,
+    My boundless thoughts have their ubiquity.
+    And shall I then forsake the stars and signs,
+    To dote upon thy dark and cursèd mines?
+    Unhappy, sad exchange! what, must I buy
+    Guiana with the loss of all the sky?
+    Intelligences shall I leave, and be
+    Familiar only with mortality?
+    Must I know nought, but thy exchequer? shall
+    My purse and fancy be symmetrical?
+    Are there no objects left but one? must we
+    In gaining that, lose our variety?
+      Fortune, this is the reason I refuse
+    Thy wealth; it puts my books all out of use.
+    'Tis poverty that makes me wise; my mind
+    Is big with speculation, when I find
+    My purse as Randolph's was, and I confess
+    There is no blessing to an emptiness!
+    The species of all things to me resort
+    And dwell then in my breast, as in their port.
+    Then leave to court me with thy hated store;
+    Thou giv'st me that, to rob my soul of more.
+
+
+
+
+TO I. MORGAN OF WHITEHALL, ESQ., UPON HIS SUDDEN JOURNEY AND SUCCEEDING
+MARRIAGE.
+
+
+    So from our cold, rude world, which all things tires,
+    To his warm Indies the bright sun retires.
+    Where, in those provinces of gold and spice,
+    Perfumes his progress, pleasures fill his eyes,
+    Which, so refresh'd, in their return convey
+    Fire into rubies, into crystals, day;
+    And prove, that light in kinder climates can
+    Work more on senseless stones, than here on man.
+      But you, like one ordain'd to shine, take in
+    Both light and heat, can love and wisdom spin
+    Into one thread, and with that firmly tie
+    The same bright blessings on posterity:
+    Which so entail'd, like jewels of the crown,
+    Shall, with your name, descend still to your own.
+      When I am dead, and malice or neglect
+    The worst they can upon my dust reflect;
+    --For poets yet have left no names, but such
+    As men have envied or despis'd too much--
+    You above both--and what state more excels,
+    Since a just fame like health, nor wants, nor swells?--
+    To after ages shall remain entire,
+    And shine still spotless, like your planet's fire.
+    No single lustre neither; the access
+    Of your fair love will yours adorn and bless;
+    Till, from that bright conjunction, men may view
+    A constellation circling her and you.
+      So two sweet rose-buds from their virgin-beds
+    First peep and blush, then kiss and couple heads,
+    Till yearly blessings so increase their store,
+    Those two can number two-and-twenty more,
+    And the fair bank--by Heav'n's free bounty crown'd--
+    With choice of sweets and beauties doth abound,
+    Till Time, which families, like flowers, far spreads,
+    Gives them for garlands to the best of heads.
+    Then late posterity--if chance, or some
+    Weak echo, almost quite expir'd and dumb,
+    Shall tell them who the poet was, and how
+    He liv'd and lov'd thee too, which thou dost know--
+    Straight to my grave will flowers and spices bring,
+    With lights and hymns, and for an offering
+    There vow this truth, that love--which in old times
+    Was censur'd blind, and will contract worse crimes
+    If hearts mend not--did for thy sake in me
+    Find both his eyes, and all foretell and see.
+
+
+
+
+FIDA; OR, THE COUNTRY BEAUTY. TO LYSIMACHUS.
+
+
+    Now I have seen her; and by Cupid
+    The young Medusa made me stupid!
+    A face, that hath no lovers slain,
+    Wants forces, and is near disdain.
+    For every fop will freely peep
+    At majesty that is asleep.
+    But she--fair tyrant!--hates to be
+    Gaz'd on with such impunity.
+    Whose prudent rigour bravely bears
+    And scorns the trick of whining tears,
+    Or sighs, those false alarms of grief,
+    Which kill not, but afford relief.
+    Nor is it thy hard fate to be
+    Alone in this calamity,
+    Since I who came but to be gone,
+    Am plagu'd for merely looking on.
+      Mark from her forehead to her foot
+    What charming sweets are there to do't.
+    A head adorn'd with all those glories
+    That wit hath shadow'd in quaint stories,
+    Or pencil with rich colours drew
+    In imitation of the true.
+      Her hair, laid out in curious sets
+    And twists, doth show like silken nets,
+    Where--since he play'd at hit or miss--
+    The god of Love her pris'ner is,
+    And fluttering with his skittish wings
+    Puts all her locks in curls and rings.
+      Like twinkling stars her eyes invite
+    All gazers to so sweet a light,
+    But then two archèd clouds of brown
+    Stand o'er, and guard them with a frown.
+      Beneath these rays of her bright eyes,
+    Beauty's rich bed of blushes lies.
+    Blushes which lightning-like come on,
+    Yet stay not to be gaz'd upon;
+    But leave the lilies of her skin
+    As fair as ever, and run in,
+    Like swift salutes--which dull paint scorn--
+    'Twixt a white noon and crimson morn.
+      What coral can her lips resemble?
+    For hers are warm, swell, melt, and tremble:
+    And if you dare contend for red,
+    This is alive, the other dead.
+      Her equal teeth--above, below--
+    All of a size and smoothness grow.
+    Where under close restraint and awe
+    --Which is the maiden tyrant law--
+    Like a cag'd, sullen linnet, dwells
+    Her tongue, the key to potent spells.
+      Her skin, like heav'n when calm and bright,
+    Shows a rich azure under white,
+    With touch more soft than heart supposes,
+    And breath as sweet as new-blown roses.
+      Betwixt this headland and the main,
+    Which is a rich and flow'ry plain,
+    Lies her fair neck, so fine and slender,
+    That gently how you please 'twill bend her.
+      This leads you to her heart, which ta'en,
+    Pants under sheets of whitest lawn,
+    And at the first seems much distress'd,
+    But, nobly treated, lies at rest.
+      Here, like two balls of new fall'n snow,
+    Her breasts, Love's native pillows, grow;
+    And out of each a rose-bud peeps,
+    Which infant Beauty sucking sleeps.
+      Say now, my Stoic, that mak'st sour faces
+    At all the beauties and the graces,
+    That criest, unclean! though known thyself
+    To ev'ry coarse and dirty shelf:
+    Couldst thou but see a piece like this,
+    A piece so full of sweets and bliss,
+    In shape so rare, in soul so rich,
+    Wouldst thou not swear she is a witch?
+
+
+
+
+FIDA FORSAKEN.
+
+
+    Fool that I was! to believe blood,
+    While swoll'n with greatness, then most good;
+    And the false thing, forgetful man,
+    To trust more than our true god, Pan.
+    Such swellings to a dropsy tend,
+    And meanest things such great ones bend.
+
+    Then live deceived! and, Fida, by
+    That life destroy fidelity.
+    For living wrongs will make some wise,
+    While Death chokes loudest injuries:
+    And screens the faulty, making blinds
+    To hide the most unworthy minds.
+
+    And yet do what thou can'st to hide,
+    A bad tree's fruit will be describ'd.
+    For that foul guilt which first took place
+    In his dark heart, now damns his face;
+    And makes those eyes, where life should dwell,
+    Look like the pits of Death and Hell.
+
+    Blood, whose rich purple shows and seals
+    Their faith in Moors, in him reveals
+    A blackness at the heart, and is
+    Turn'd ink to write his faithlessness.
+    Only his lips with blood look red,
+    As if asham'd of what they fed.
+
+    Then, since he wears in a dark skin
+    The shadows of his hell within,
+    Expose him no more to the light,
+    But thine own epitaph thus write
+    "Here burst, and dead and unregarded
+    Lies Fida's heart! O well rewarded!"
+
+
+
+
+TO THE EDITOR OF THE MATCHLESS ORINDA.
+
+
+    Long since great wits have left the stage
+    Unto the drollers of the age,
+    And noble numbers with good sense
+    Are, like good works, grown an offence.
+    While much of verse--worse than old story--
+    Speaks but Jack-Pudding or John-Dory.
+    Such trash-admirers made us poor,
+    And pies turn'd poets out of door;
+    For the nice spirit of rich verse
+    Which scorns absurd and low commerce,
+    Although a flame from heav'n, if shed
+    On rooks or daws warms no such head.
+    Or else the poet, like bad priest,
+    Is seldom good, but when oppress'd;
+    And wit as well as piety
+    Doth thrive best in adversity
+    For since the thunder left our air
+    Their laurels look not half so fair.
+      However 'tis, 'twere worse than rude,
+    Not to profess our gratitude
+    And debts to thee, who at so low
+    An ebb dost make us thus to flow;
+    And when we did a famine fear,
+    Hast bless'd us with a fruitful year.
+    So while the world his absence mourns,
+    The glorious sun at last returns,
+    And with his kind and vital looks
+    Warms the cold earth and frozen brooks,
+    Puts drowsy Nature into play,
+    And rids impediments away,
+    Till flow'rs and fruits and spices through
+    Her pregnant lap get up and grow.
+    But if among those sweet things, we
+    A miracle like that could see
+    Which Nature brought but once to pass,
+    A Muse, such as Orinda was,
+    Ph[oe]bus himself won by these charms
+    Would give her up into thy arms;
+    And recondemn'd to kiss his tree,
+    Yield the young goddess unto thee.
+
+
+
+
+UPON SUDDEN NEWS OF THE MUCH LAMENTED DEATH OF JUDGE TREVERS.
+
+
+    Learning and Law, your day is done,
+    And your work too; you may be gone
+    Trever, that lov'd you, hence is fled:
+    And Right, which long lay sick, is dead.
+    Trever! whose rare and envied part
+    Was both a wise and winning heart,
+    Whose sweet civilities could move
+    Tartars and Goths to noblest love.
+      Bold vice and blindness now dare act,
+    And--like the grey groat--pass, though crack'd;
+    While those sage lips lie dumb and cold,
+    Whose words are well-weigh'd and tried gold.
+    O, how much to discreet desires
+    Differs pure light from foolish fires!
+    But nasty dregs outlast the wine,
+    And after sunset glow-worms shine.
+
+
+
+
+TO ETESIA (FOR TIMANDER); THE FIRST SIGHT.
+
+
+    What smiling star in that fair night
+    Which gave you birth gave me this sight,
+    And with a kind aspect tho' keen
+    Made me the subject, you the queen?
+    That sparkling planet is got now
+    Into your eyes, and shines below,
+    Where nearer force and more acute
+    It doth dispense, without dispute;
+    For I who yesterday did know
+    Love's fire no more than doth cool snow,
+    With one bright look am since undone,
+    Yet must adore and seek my sun.
+      Before I walk'd free as the wind
+    And if but stay'd--like it--unkind;
+    I could like daring eagles gaze
+    And not be blinded by a face;
+    For what I saw till I saw thee,
+    Was only not deformity.
+    Such shapes appear--compar'd with thine--
+    In arras, or a tavern-sign,
+    And do but mind me to explore
+    A fairer piece, that is in store.
+    So some hang ivy to their wine,
+    To signify there is a vine.
+      Those princely flow'rs--by no storms vex'd--
+    Which smile one day, and droop the next,
+    The gallant tulip and the rose,
+    Emblems which some use to disclose
+    Bodied ideas--their weak grace
+    Is mere imposture to thy face.
+    For Nature in all things, but thee,
+    Did practise only sophistry;
+    Or else she made them to express
+    How she could vary in her dress:
+    But thou wert form'd, that we might see
+    Perfection, not variety.
+      Have you observ'd how the day-star
+    Sparkles and smiles and shines from far;
+    Then to the gazer doth convey
+    A silent but a piercing ray?
+    So wounds my love, but that her eyes
+    Are in effects the better skies.
+    A brisk bright agent from them streams
+    Arm'd with no arrows, but their beams,
+    And with such stillness smites our hearts,
+    No noise betrays him, nor his darts.
+    He, working on my easy soul,
+    Did soon persuade, and then control;
+    And now he flies--and I conspire--
+    Through all my blood with wings of fire,
+    And when I would--which will be never--
+    With cold despair allay the fever,
+    The spiteful thing Etesia names,
+    And that new-fuels all my flames.
+
+
+
+
+THE CHARACTER, TO ETESIA.
+
+
+    Go catch the ph[oe]nix, and then bring
+    A quill drawn for me from his wing.
+    Give me a maiden beauty's blood,
+    A pure, rich crimson, without mud,
+    In whose sweet blushes that may live,
+    Which a dull verse can never give.
+    Now for an untouch'd, spotless white,
+    For blackest things on paper write,
+    Etesia, at thine own expense
+    Give me the robes of innocence.
+      Could we but see a spring to run
+    Pure milk, as sometimes springs have done,
+    And in the snow-white streams it sheds,
+    Carnations wash their bloody heads,
+    While ev'ry eddy that came down
+    Did--as thou dost--both smile and frown.
+    Such objects, and so fresh would be
+    But dull resemblances of thee.
+      Thou art the dark world's morning-star,
+    Seen only, and seen but from far;
+    Where, like astronomers, we gaze
+    Upon the glories of thy face,
+    But no acquaintance more can have,
+    Though all our lives we watch and crave.
+    Thou art a world thyself alone,
+    Yea, three great worlds refin'd to one;
+    Which shows all those, and in thine eyes
+    The shining East and Paradise.
+      Thy soul--a spark of the first fire--
+    Is like the sun, the world's desire;
+    And with a nobler influence
+    Works upon all, that claim to sense;
+    But in summers hath no fever,
+    And in frosts is cheerful ever.
+      As flow'rs besides their curious dress
+    Rich odours have, and sweetnesses,
+    Which tacitly infuse desire,
+    And ev'n oblige us to admire:
+    Such, and so full of innocence
+    Are all the charms, thou dost dispense;
+    And like fair Nature without arts
+    At once they seize, and please our hearts.
+    O, thou art such, that I could be
+    A lover to idolatry!
+    I could, and should from heav'n stray,
+    But that thy life shows mine the way,
+    And leave a while the Deity
+    To serve His image here in thee.
+
+
+
+
+TO ETESIA LOOKING FROM HER CASEMENT AT THE FULL MOON.
+
+
+    See you that beauteous queen, which no age tames?
+    Her train is azure, set with golden flames:
+    My brighter fair, fix on the East your eyes,
+    And view that bed of clouds, whence she doth rise.
+    Above all others in that one short hour
+    Which most concern'd me,[64] she had greatest pow'r.
+    This made my fortunes humorous as wind,
+    But fix'd affections to my constant mind.
+    She fed me with the tears of stars, and thence
+    I suck'd in sorrows with their influence.
+    To some in smiles, and store of light she broke,
+    To me in sad eclipses still she spoke.
+    She bent me with the motion of her sphere,
+    And made me feel what first I did but fear.
+      But when I came to age, and had o'ergrown
+    Her rules, and saw my freedom was my own,
+    I did reply unto the laws of Fate,
+    And made my reason my great advocate:
+    I labour'd to inherit my just right;
+    But then--O, hear Etesia!--lest I might
+    Redeem myself, my unkind starry mother
+    Took my poor heart, and gave it to another.
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[64] The original has _concerned in_.
+
+
+
+
+TO ETESIA PARTED FROM HIM, AND LOOKING BACK.
+
+
+    O, subtle Love! thy peace is war,
+    It wounds and kills without a scar,
+    It works unknown to any sense,
+    Like the decrees of Providence,
+    And with strange silence shoots me through,
+    The fire of Love doth fell like snow.
+      Hath she no quiver, but my heart?
+    Must all her arrows hit that part?
+    Beauties like heav'n their gifts should deal
+    Not to destroy us, but to heal.
+      Strange art of Love! that can make sound,
+    And yet exasperates the wound:
+    That look she lent to ease my heart,
+    Hath pierc'd it, and improv'd the smart.
+
+
+
+
+IN ETESIAM LACHRYMANTEM.
+
+
+    O Dulcis Iuctus, risuque potentior omni!
+      Quem decorant lachrimis sidera tanta suis.
+    Quam tacitæ spirant auræ! vultusque nitentes
+      Contristant veneres, collachrimantque suæ!
+    Ornat gutta genas, oculisque simillima gemma:
+      Et tepido vivas irrigat imbre rosas.
+    Dicite Chaldæi! quæ me fortuna fatigat,
+      [C?D?]um formosa dies et sine nube perit[65]?
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[65] The original has _peruit_.
+
+
+
+
+
+TO ETESIA GOING BEYOND SEA.
+
+
+    Go, if you must! but stay--and know
+    And mind before you go, my vow.
+    To ev'ry thing, but heav'n and you,
+    With all my heart I bid adieu!
+    Now to those happy shades I'll go
+    Where first I saw my beauteous foe!
+    I'll seek each silent path where we
+    Did walk; and where you sat with me
+    I'll sit again, and never rest
+    Till I can find some flow'r you press'd.
+    That near my dying heart I'll keep,
+    And when it wants dew I will weep:
+    Sadly I will repeat past joys
+    And words, which you did sometimes voice
+    I'll listen to the woods, and hear
+    The echo answer for you there.
+    But famish'd with long absence I,
+    Like infants left, at last shall cry,
+    And tears--as they do milk--will sup
+    Until you come, and take me up.
+
+
+
+
+ETESIA ABSENT.
+
+
+    Love, the world's life! what a sad death
+    Thy absence is! to lose our breath
+    At once and die, is but to live
+    Enlarg'd, without the scant reprieve
+    Of pulse and air; whose dull returns
+    And narrow circles the soul mourns.
+      But to be dead alive, and still
+    To wish, but never have our will,
+    To be possess'd, and yet to miss,
+    To wed a true but absent bliss,
+    Are ling'ring tortures, and their smart
+    Dissects and racks and grinds the heart!
+    As soul and body in that state
+    Which unto us, seems separate,
+    Cannot be said to live, until
+    Reunion; which days fulfil
+    And slow-pac'd seasons; so in vain
+    Through hours and minutes--Time's long train--
+    I look for thee, and from thy sight,
+    As from my soul, for life and light.
+    For till thine eyes shine so on me,
+    Mine are fast-clos'd and will not see.
+
+
+
+
+                      TRANSLATIONS.
+
+        SOME ODES OF THE EXCELLENT AND KNOWING
+  [ANICIUS MANLIUS] SEVERINUS [BOETHIUS], ENGLISHED.
+
+
+
+
+[DE CONSOLATIONE] LIB. III. METRUM XII.
+
+
+    Happy is he, that with fix'd eyes
+    The fountain of all goodness spies!
+    Happy is he that can break through
+    Those bonds which tie him here below!
+      The Thracian poet long ago,
+    Kind Orpheus, full of tears and woe,
+    Did for his lov'd Eurydice
+    In such sad numbers mourn, that he
+    Made the trees run in to his moan,
+    And streams stand still to hear him groan.
+    The does came fearless in one throng
+    With lions to his mournful song,
+    And charmed by the harmonious sound,
+    The hare stay'd by the quiet hound.
+      But when Love height'n'd by despair
+    And deep reflections on his fair
+    Had swell'd his heart, and made it rise
+    And run in tears out at his eyes,
+    And those sweet airs, which did appease
+    Wild beasts, could give their lord no ease;
+    Then, vex'd that so much grief and love
+    Mov'd not at all the gods above,
+    With desperate thoughts and bold intent,
+    Towards the shades below he went;
+    For thither his fair love was fled,
+    And he must have her from the dead.
+    There in such lines, as did well suit
+    With sad airs and a lover's lute,
+    And in the richest language dress'd
+    That could be thought on or express'd,
+    Did he complain; whatever grief
+    Or art or love--which is the chief,
+    And all ennobles--could lay out,
+    In well-tun'd woes he dealt about.
+    And humbly bowing to the prince
+    Of ghosts begg'd some intelligence
+    Of his Eurydice, and where
+    His beauteous saint resided there.
+    Then to his lute's instructed groans
+    He sigh'd out new melodious moans;
+    And in a melting, charming strain
+    Begg'd his dear love to life again.
+      The music flowing through the shade
+    And darkness did with ease invade
+    The silent and attentive ghosts;
+    And Cerberus, which guards those coasts
+    With his loud barkings, overcome
+    By the sweet notes, was now struck dumb.
+    The Furies, us'd to rave and howl
+    And prosecute each guilty soul,
+    Had lost their rage, and in a deep
+    Transport, did most profusely weep.
+    Ixion's wheel stopp'd, and the curs'd
+    Tantalus, almost kill'd with thirst,
+    Though the streams now did make no haste,
+    But wait'd for him, none would taste.
+    That vulture, which fed still upon
+    Tityus his liver, now was gone
+    To feed on air, and would not stay,
+    Though almost famish'd, with her prey.
+      Won with these wonders, their fierce prince
+    At last cried out, "We yield! and since
+    Thy merits claim no less, take hence
+    Thy consort for thy recompense:
+    But Orpheus, to this law we bind
+    Our grant: you must not look behind,
+    Nor of your fair love have one sight,
+    Till out of our dominions quite."
+      Alas! what laws can lovers awe?
+    Love is itself the greatest law!
+    Or who can such hard bondage brook
+    To be in love, and not to look?
+    Poor Orpheus almost in the light
+    Lost his dear love for one short sight;
+    And by those eyes, which Love did guide,
+    What he most lov'd unkindly died!
+      This tale of Orpheus and his love
+    Was meant for you, who ever move
+    Upwards, and tend into that light,
+    Which is not seen by mortal sight.
+    For if, while you strive to ascend,
+    You droop, and towards Earth once bend
+    Your seduc'd eyes, down you will fall
+    Ev'n while you look, and forfeit all.
+
+
+
+
+LIB. III. METRUM II.
+
+
+    What fix'd affections, and lov'd laws
+    --Which are the hid, magnetic cause--
+    Wise Nature governs with, and by
+    What fast, inviolable tie
+    The whole creation to her ends
+    For ever provident she bends:
+    All this I purpose to rehearse
+    In the sweet airs of solemn verse.
+      Although the Libyan lions should
+    Be bound in chains of purest gold,
+    And duly fed were taught to know
+    Their keeper's voice, and fear his blow:
+    Yet, if they chance to taste of blood,
+    Their rage which slept, stirr'd by that food
+    In furious roaring will awake,
+    And fiercely for their freedom make.
+    No chains nor bars their fury brooks,
+    But with enrag'd and bloody looks
+    They will break through, and dull'd with fear
+    Their keeper all to pieces tear.
+      The bird, which on the wood's tall boughs
+    Sings sweetly, if you cage or house,
+    And out of kindest care should think
+    To give her honey with her drink,
+    And get her store of pleasant meat,
+    Ev'n such as she delights to eat:
+    Yet, if from her close prison she
+    The shady groves doth chance to see,
+    Straightway she loathes her pleasant food,
+    And with sad looks longs for the wood.
+    The wood, the wood alone she loves!
+    And towards it she looks and moves:
+    And in sweet notes--though distant from--
+    Sings to her first and happy home!
+      That plant, which of itself doth grow
+    Upwards, if forc'd, will downwards bow;
+    But give it freedom, and it will
+    Get up, and grow erectly still.
+      The sun, which by his prone descent
+    Seems westward in the evening bent,
+    Doth nightly by an unseen way
+    Haste to the East, and bring up day.
+      Thus all things long for their first state,
+    And gladly to't return, though late.
+    Nor is there here to anything
+    A course allow'd, but in a ring:
+    Which, where it first began, must end,
+    And to that point directly tend.
+
+
+
+
+LIB. IV. METRUM VI.
+
+
+    Who would unclouded see the laws
+    Of the supreme, eternal Cause,
+    Let him with careful thoughts and eyes
+    Observe the high and spacious skies.
+    There in one league of love the stars
+    Keep their old peace, and show our wars.
+    The sun, though flaming still and hot,
+    The cold, pale moon annoyeth not.
+    Arcturus with his sons--though they
+    See other stars go a far way,
+    And out of sight--yet still are found
+    Near the North Pole, their noted bound.
+    Bright Hesper--at set times--delights
+    To usher in the dusky nights:
+    And in the East again attends
+    To warn us, when the day ascends.
+    So alternate Love supplies
+    Eternal courses still, and vies
+    Mutual kindness; that no jars
+    Nor discord can disturb the stars.
+
+      The same sweet concord here below
+    Makes the fierce elements to flow
+    And circle without quarrel still,
+    Though temper'd diversely; thus will
+    The hot assist the cold; the dry
+    Is a friend to humidity:
+    And by the law of kindness they
+    The like relief to them repay.
+    The fire, which active is and bright,
+    Tends upward, and from thence gives light.
+    The earth allows it all that space
+    And makes choice of the lower place;
+    For things of weight haste to the centre,
+    A fall to them is no adventure.
+
+      From these kind turns and circulation
+    Seasons proceed, and generation.
+    This makes the Spring to yield us flow'rs,
+    And melts the clouds to gentle show'rs.
+    The Summer thus matures all seeds
+    And ripens both the corn and weeds.
+    This brings on Autumn, which recruits
+    Our old, spent store, with new fresh fruits.
+    And the cold Winter's blust'ring season
+    Hath snow and storms for the same reason.
+    This temper and wise mixture breed
+    And bring forth ev'ry living seed.
+    And when their strength and substance spend
+    --For while they live, they drive and tend
+    Still to a change--it takes them hence
+    And shifts their dress! and to our sense
+    Their course is over, as their birth:
+    And hid from us they turn to earth.
+
+      But all this while the Prince of life
+    Sits without loss, or change, or strife:
+    Holding the reins, by which all move
+    --And those His wisdom, power, love
+    And justice are--and still what He
+    The first life bids, that needs must be,
+    And live on for a time; that done
+    He calls it back, merely to shun
+    The mischief, which His creature might
+    Run into by a further flight.
+    For if this dear and tender sense
+    Of His preventing providence,
+    Did not restrain and call things back,
+    Both heav'n and earth would go to rack,
+    And from their great Preserver part;
+    As blood let out forsakes the heart
+    And perisheth, but what returns
+    With fresh and brighter spirits burns.
+
+      This is the cause why ev'ry living
+    Creature affects an endless being.
+    A grain of this bright love each thing
+    Had giv'n at first by their great King;
+    And still they creep--drawn on by this--
+    And look back towards their first bliss.
+    For, otherwise, it is most sure,
+    Nothing that liveth could endure:
+    Unless its love turn'd retrograde
+    Sought that First Life, which all things made.
+
+
+
+
+LIB. IV. METRUM III.
+
+
+    If old tradition hath not fail'd,
+    Ulysses, when from Troy he sail'd
+    Was by a tempest forc'd to land
+    Where beauteous Circe did command.
+    Circe, the daughter of the sun,
+    Which had with charms and herbs undone
+    Many poor strangers, and could then
+    Turn into beasts the bravest men.
+    Such magic in her potions lay,
+    That whosoever passed that way
+    And drank, his shape was quickly lost.
+    Some into swine she turn'd, but most
+    To lions arm'd with teeth and claws;
+    Others like wolves with open jaws
+    Did howl; but some--more savage--took
+    The tiger's dreadful shape and look.
+      But wise Ulysses, by the aid
+    Of Hermes, had to him convey'd
+    A flow'r, whose virtue did suppress
+    The force of charms, and their success:
+    While his mates drank so deep, that they
+    Were turn'd to swine, which fed all day
+    On mast, and human food had left,
+    Of shape and voice at once bereft;
+    Only the mind--above all charms--
+    Unchang'd did mourn those monstrous harms.
+      O, worthless herbs, and weaker arts,
+    To change their limbs, but not their hearts!
+    Man's life and vigour keep within,
+    Lodg'd in the centre, not the skin.
+    Those piercing charms and poisons, which
+    His inward parts taint and bewitch,
+    More fatal are, than such, which can
+    Outwardly only spoil the man.
+    Those change his shape and make it foul,
+    But these deform and kill his soul.
+
+
+
+
+LIB. III. METRUM VI.
+
+
+    All sorts of men, that live on Earth,
+    Have one beginning and one birth.
+    For all things there is one Father,
+    Who lays out all, and all doth gather.
+    He the warm sun with rays adorns,
+    And fills with brightness the moon's horns.
+    The azur'd heav'ns with stars He burnish'd,
+    And the round world with creatures furnish'd.
+    But men--made to inherit all--
+    His own sons He was pleas'd to call,
+    And that they might be so indeed,
+    He gave them souls of divine seed.
+    A noble offspring surely then
+    Without distinction are all men.
+      O, why so vainly do some boast
+    Their birth and blood and a great host
+    Of ancestors, whose coats and crests
+    Are some rav'nous birds or beasts!
+    If extraction they look for,
+    And God, the great Progenitor,
+    No man, though of the meanest state,
+    Is base, or can degenerate,
+    Unless, to vice and lewdness bent,
+    He leaves and taints his true descent.
+
+
+
+
+THE OLD MAN OF VERONA OUT OF CLAUDIAN, [EPIGRAMMA II.]
+
+    _Felix, qui propriis avum transegit in arvis,
+    Una domus puerum, &c._
+
+    Most happy man! who in his own sweet fields
+    Spent all his time; to whom one cottage yields
+    In age and youth a lodging; who, grown old,
+    Walks with his staff on the same soil and mould
+    Where he did creep an infant, and can tell
+    Many fair years spent in one quiet cell!
+    No toils of fate made him from home far known,
+    Nor foreign waters drank, driv'n from his own.
+    No loss by sea, no wild land's wasteful war
+    Vex'd him, not the brib'd coil of gowns at bar.
+    Exempt from cares, in cities never seen,
+    The fresh field-air he loves, and rural green.
+    The year's set turns by fruits, not consuls, knows;
+    Autumn by apples, May by blossom'd boughs.
+    Within one hedge his sun doth set and rise,
+    The world's wide day his short demesnes comprise;
+    Where he observes some known, concrescent twig
+    Now grown an oak, and old, like him, and big.
+    Verona he doth for the Indies take,
+    And as the Red Sea counts Benacus' Lake.
+    Yet are his limbs and strength untir'd, and he,
+    A lusty grandsire, three descents doth see.
+    Travel and sail who will, search sea or shore;
+    This man hath liv'd, and that hath wander'd more.
+
+
+
+
+THE SPHERE OF ARCHIMEDES OUT OF CLAUDIAN, [EPIGRAMMA XVIII.]
+
+    _Jupiter in parvo cum cerneret æthera vitro_
+                  _Risit, et ad superos, &c._
+
+    When Jove a heav'n of small glass did behold,
+    He smil'd, and to the gods these words he told.
+    "Comes then the power of man's art to this?
+    In a frail orb my work new acted is,
+    The poles' decrees, the fate of things, God's laws,
+    Down by his art old Archimedes draws.
+    Spirits inclos'd the sev'ral stars attend,
+    And orderly the living work they bend.
+    A feignèd Zodiac measures out the year,
+    Ev'ry new month a false moon doth appear.
+    And now bold industry is proud, it can
+    Wheel round its world, and rule the stars by man.
+    Why at Salmoneus' thunder do I stand?
+    Nature is rivall'd by a single hand."
+
+
+
+
+THE PH[OE]NIX OUT OF CLAUDIAN, [IDYLL I.]
+
+    _Oceani summo circumfluus æquore lucus_
+    _Trans Indos, Eurumque viret, &c._
+
+    A grove there grows, round with the sea confin'd,
+    Beyond the Indies and the Eastern wind,
+    Which, as the sun breaks forth in his first beam,
+    Salutes his steeds, and hears him whip his team;
+    When with his dewy coach the Eastern bay
+    Crackles, whence blusheth the approaching Day,
+    And blasted with his burnish'd wheels the Night
+    In a pale dress doth vanish from the light.
+      This the bless'd Ph[oe]nix' empire is, here he,
+    Alone exempted from mortality,
+    Enjoys a land, where no diseases reign,
+    And ne'er afflicted like our world with pain.
+    A bird most equal to the gods, which vies
+    For length of life and durance with the skies,
+    And with renew'd limbs tires ev'ry age
+    His appetite he never doth assuage
+    With common food. Nor doth he use to drink
+    When thirsty on some river's muddy brink.
+    A purer, vital heat shot from the sun
+    Doth nourish him, and airy sweets that come
+    From Tethys lap he tasteth at his need;
+    On such abstracted diet doth he feed.
+    A secret light there streams from both his eyes,
+    A fiery hue about his cheeks doth rise.
+    His crest grows up into a glorious star
+    Giv'n t' adorn his head, and shines so far,
+    That piercing through the bosom of the night
+    It rends the darkness with a gladsome light.
+    His thighs like Tyrian scarlet, and his wings
+    --More swift than winds are--have sky-colour'd rings
+    Flow'ry and rich: and round about enroll'd
+    Their utmost borders glister all with gold.
+    He's not conceiv'd, nor springs he from the Earth,
+    But is himself the parent, and the birth.
+    None him begets; his fruitful death reprieves
+    Old age, and by his funerals he lives.
+    For when the tedious Summer's gone about
+    A thousand times: so many Winters out,
+    So many Springs: and May doth still restore
+    Those leaves, which Autumn had blown off before;
+    Then press'd with years his vigour doth decline,
+    Foil'd with the number; as a stately pine
+    Tir'd out with storms bends from the top and height
+    Of Caucasus, and falls with its own weight,
+    Whose part is torn with daily blasts, with rain
+    Part is consum'd, and part with age again;
+    So now his eyes grown dusky, fail to see
+    Far off, and drops of colder rheums there be
+    Fall'n slow and dreggy from them; such in sight
+    The cloudy moon is, having spent her light.
+    And now his wings, which usèd to contend
+    With tempests, scarce from the low earth ascend.
+    He knows his time is out! and doth provide
+    New principles of life; herbs he brings dried
+    From the hot hills, and with rich spices frames
+    A pile, shall burn, and hatch him with its flames.
+    On this the weakling sits; salutes the sun
+    With pleasant noise, and prays and begs for some
+    Of his own fire, that quickly may restore
+    The youth and vigour, which he had before.
+    Whom, soon as Ph[oe]bus spies, stopping his reins,
+    He makes a stand and thus allays his pains.
+    O thou that buriest old age in thy grave,
+    And art by seeming funerals to have
+    A new return of life, whose custom 'tis
+    To rise by ruin, and by death to miss
+    Ev'n death itself, a new beginning take,
+    And that thy wither'd body now forsake!
+    Better thyself by this thy change! This said
+    He shakes his locks, and from his golden head
+    Shoots one bright beam, which smites with vital fire
+    The willing bird; to burn is his desire,
+    That he may live again: he's proud in death,
+    And goes in haste to gain a better breath.
+    The spicy heap fir'd with celestial rays
+    Doth burn the aged Ph[oe]nix, when straight stays
+    The chariot of th' amazèd moon; the pole
+    Resists the wheeling swift orbs, and the whole
+    Fabric of Nature at a stand remains,
+    Till the old bird a new young being gains.
+    All stop and charge the faithful flames, that they
+    Suffer not Nature's glory to decay.
+      By this time, life which in the ashes lurks
+    Hath fram'd the heart, and taught new blood new works;
+    The whole heap stirs, and ev'ry part assumes
+    Due vigour; th' embers too are turn'd to plumes;
+    The parent in the issue now revives,
+    But young and brisk; the bounds of both these lives,
+    With very little space between the same,
+    Were parted only by the middle flame.
+      To Nilus straight he goes to consecrate
+    His parent's ghost; his mind is to translate
+    His dust to Egypt. Now he hastes away
+    Into a distant land, and doth convey
+    The ashes in a turf. Birds do attend
+    His journey without number, and defend
+    His pious flight, like to a guard; the sky
+    Is clouded with the army, as they fly.
+    Nor is there one of all those thousands dares
+    Affront his leader: they with solemn cares
+    Attend the progress of their youthful king;
+    Not the rude hawk, nor th' eagle that doth bring
+    Arms up to Jove, fight now, lest they displease;
+    The miracle enacts a common peace.
+    So doth the Parthian lead from Tigris' side
+    His barbarous troops, full of a lavish pride
+    In pearls and habit; he adorns his head
+    With royal tires: his steed with gold is led;
+    His robes, for which the scarlet fish is sought,
+    With rare Assyrian needle-work are wrought;
+    And proudly reigning o'er his rascal bands,
+    He raves and triumphs in his large commands.
+      A city of Egypt, famous in all lands
+    For rites, adores the sun; his temple stands
+    There on a hundred pillars by account,
+    Digg'd from the quarries of the Theban mount.
+    Here, as the custom did require--they say--
+    His happy parent's dust down he doth lay;
+    Then to the image of his lord he bends
+    And to the flames his burden straight commends.
+    Unto the altars thus he destinates
+    His own remains; the light doth gild the gates;
+    Perfumes divine the censers up do send:
+    While th' Indian odour doth itself extend
+    To the Pelusian fens, and filleth all
+    The men it meets with the sweet storm. A gale,
+    To which compar'd nectar itself is vile,
+    Fills the sev'n channels of the misty Nile.
+      O happy bird! sole heir to thy own dust!
+    Death, to whose force all other creatures must
+    Submit, saves thee. Thy ashes make thee rise;
+    'Tis not thy nature, but thy age that dies.
+    Thou hast seen all! and to the times that run
+    Thou art as great a witness as the sun.
+    Thou saw'st the deluge, when the sea outvied
+    The land, and drown'd the mountains with the tide.
+    What year the straggling Phæton did fire
+    The world, thou know'st. And no plagues can conspire
+    Against thy life; alone thou dost arise
+    Above mortality; the destinies
+    Spin not thy days out with their fatal clue;
+    They have no law, to which thy life is due.
+
+
+
+
+            PIOUS THOUGHTS AND EJACULATIONS.
+
+
+
+
+TO HIS BOOKS.
+
+
+    Bright books! the perspectives to our weak sights,
+    The clear projections of discerning lights,
+    Burning and shining thoughts, man's posthume day,
+    The track of fled souls, and their Milky Way,
+    The dead alive and busy, the still voice
+    Of enlarg'd spirits, kind Heav'n's white decoys!
+    Who lives with you, lives like those knowing flow'rs,
+    Which in commerce with light spend all their hours:
+    Which shut to clouds, and shadows nicely shun,
+    But with glad haste unveil to kiss the sun.
+    Beneath you, all is dark, and a dead night,
+    Which whoso lives in, wants both health and sight.
+      By sucking you, the wise--like bees--do grow
+    Healing and rich, though this they do most slow,
+    Because most choicely; for as great a store
+    Have we of books, as bees of herbs, or more:
+    And the great task, to try, then know, the good.
+    To discern weeds, and judge of wholesome food,
+    Is a rare, scant performance: for man dies
+    Oft ere 'tis done, while the bee feeds and flies.
+    But you were all choice flow'rs, all set and drest
+    By old sage florists, who well knew the best:
+    And I amidst you all am turned a weed!
+    Not wanting knowledge, but for want of heed.
+    Then thank thyself, wild fool, that wouldst not be
+    Content to know--what was too much for thee!
+
+
+
+
+LOOKING BACK.
+
+
+    Fair shining mountains of my pilgrimage
+      And flowery vales, whose flow'rs were stars,
+    The days and nights of my first happy age;
+      An age without distaste and wars!
+    When I by thoughts ascend your sunny heads,
+      And mind those sacred midnight lights
+    By which I walk'd, when curtain'd rooms and beds
+      Confin'd or seal'd up others' sights:
+      O then, how bright,
+      And quick a light
+    Doth brush my heart and scatter night;
+      Chasing that shade,
+      Which my sins made,
+    While I so spring, as if I could not fade!
+    How brave a prospect is a bright back-side!
+      Where flow'rs and palms refresh the eye!
+    And days well spent like the glad East abide,
+      Whose morning-glories cannot die!
+
+
+
+
+THE SHOWER.
+
+
+    Waters above! eternal springs!
+    The dew that silvers the Dove's wings!
+    O welcome, welcome to the sad!
+    Give dry dust drink; drink that makes glad!
+    Many fair ev'nings, many flow'rs
+    Sweeten'd with rich and gentle showers,
+    Have I enjoy'd, and down have run
+    Many a fine and shining sun;
+    But never, till this happy hour,
+    Was blest with such an evening-shower!
+
+
+
+
+DISCIPLINE.
+
+
+    Fair Prince of Light! Light's living Well
+    Who hast the keys of death and Hell!
+    If the mole[66] man despise Thy day,
+    Put chains of darkness in his way.
+    Teach him how deep, how various are
+    The counsels of Thy love and care.
+    When acts of grace and a long peace,
+    Breed but rebellion, and displease,
+    Then give him his own way and will,
+    Where lawless he may run, until
+    His own choice hurts him, and the sting
+    Of his foul sins full sorrows bring.
+    If Heaven and angels, hopes and mirth,
+    Please not the mole so much as earth:
+    Give him his mine to dig, or dwell,
+    And one sad scheme of hideous Hell.
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[66] The original edition has _mule_.
+
+
+
+
+THE ECLIPSE.
+
+
+    Whither, O whither didst thou fly
+    When I did grieve Thine holy eye?
+    When Thou didst mourn to see me lost,
+    And all Thy care and counsels cross'd.
+    O do not grieve, where'er Thou art!
+    Thy grief is an undoing smart,
+    Which doth not only pain, but break
+    My heart, and makes me blush to speak.
+    Thy anger I could kiss, and will;
+    But O Thy grief, Thy grief, doth kill.
+
+
+
+
+AFFLICTION.
+
+
+    O come, and welcome! come, refine!
+    For Moors, if wash'd by Thee, will shine.
+    Man blossoms at Thy touch; and he,
+    When Thou draw'st blood is Thy rose-tree.
+    Crosses make straight his crookèd ways,
+    And clouds but cool his dog-star days;
+    Diseases too, when by Thee blest,
+    Are both restoratives and rest.
+      Flow'rs that in sunshines riot still,
+    Die scorch'd and sapless; though storms kill,
+    The fall is fair, e'en to desire,
+    Where in their sweetness all expire.
+    O come, pour on! what calms can be
+    So fair as storms, that appease Thee?
+
+
+
+
+RETIREMENT.
+
+
+    Fresh fields and woods! the Earth's fair face!
+    God's footstool! and man's dwelling-place!
+    I ask not why the first believer
+    Did love to be a country liver?
+    Who, to secure pious content,
+    Did pitch by groves and wells his tent;
+    Where he might view the boundless sky,
+    And all those glorious lights on high,
+    With flying meteors, mists, and show'rs,
+    Subjected hills, trees, meads, and flow'rs,
+    And ev'ry minute bless the King
+    And wise Creator of each thing.
+
+      I ask not why he did remove
+    To happy Mamre's holy grove,
+    Leaving the cities of the plain
+    To Lot and his successless train?
+    All various lusts in cities still
+    Are found; they are the thrones of ill,
+    The dismal sinks, where blood is spill'd,
+    Cages with much uncleanness fill'd:
+    But rural shades are the sweet sense
+    Of piety and innocence;
+    They are the meek's calm region, where
+    Angels descend and rule the sphere;
+    Where Heaven lies leiguer, and the Dove
+    Duly as dew comes from above.
+    If Eden be on Earth at all,
+    'Tis that which we the country call.
+
+
+
+
+THE REVIVAL.
+
+
+    Unfold! unfold! Take in His light,
+    Who makes thy cares more short than night.
+    The joys which with His day-star rise
+    He deals to all but drowsy eyes;
+    And, what the men of this world miss,
+    Some drops and dews of future bliss.
+
+      Hark! how His winds have chang'd their note!
+    And with warm whispers call thee out;
+    The frosts are past, the storms are gone,
+    And backward life at last comes on.
+    The lofty groves in express joys
+    Reply unto the turtle's voice;
+    And here in dust and dirt, O here
+    The lilies of His love appear!
+
+
+
+
+THE DAY SPRING.
+
+
+    Early, while yet the dark was gay
+    And gilt with stars, more trim than day,
+    Heav'n's Lily, and the Earth's chaste Rose,
+    The green immortal Branch arose;           }
+    And in a solitary place                    } S. Mark,
+    Bow'd to His Father His blest face.        } c. 1, v. 35-
+      If this calm season pleased my Prince,
+    Whose fulness no need could evince,
+    Why should not I, poor silly sheep,
+    His hours, as well as practice, keep?
+    Not that His hand is tied to these,
+    From whom Time holds his transient lease
+    But mornings new creations are,
+    When men, all night sav'd by His care,
+    Are still reviv'd; and well He may
+    Expect them grateful with the day.
+    So for that first draught of His hand,     }
+    Which finish'd heav'n, and sea, and land,  } Job, c. 38,
+    The sons of God their thanks did bring,    } v. 7-
+    And all the morning stars did sing.        }
+    Besides, as His part heretofore
+    The firstlings were of all that bore
+    So now each day from all He saves
+    Their soul's first thoughts and fruits He craves.
+    This makes Him daily shed and show'r
+    His graces at this early hour;
+    Which both His care and kindness show,
+    Cheering the good, quickening the slow.
+    As holy friends mourn at delay,
+    And think each minute an hour's stay,
+    So His Divine and loving Dove
+    With longing throes[67] doth heave and move,
+    And soar about us while we sleep;
+    Sometimes quite through that lock doth peep,
+    And shine, but always without fail,
+    Before the slow sun can unveil,
+    In new compassions breaks, like light,
+    And morning-looks, which scatter night.
+      And wilt Thou let Thy creature be,
+    When Thou hast watch'd, asleep to Thee?
+    Why to unwelcome loath'd surprises
+    Dost leave him, having left his vices?
+    Since these, if suffer'd, may again
+    Lead back the living to the slain.
+    O, change this scourge; or, if as yet
+    None less will my transgressions fit,
+    Dissolve, dissolve! Death cannot do
+    What I would not submit unto.
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[67] The original has _throws_.
+
+
+
+
+THE RECOVERY.
+
+
+I.
+
+    Fair vessel of our daily light, whose proud
+    And previous glories gild that blushing cloud;
+    Whose lively fires in swift projections glance
+    From hill to hill, and by refracted chance
+    Burnish some neighbour-rock, or tree, and then
+    Fly off in coy and wingèd flames again:
+                    If thou this day
+                    Hold on thy way,
+    Know, I have got a greater light than thine;
+    A light, whose shade and back-parts make thee shine.
+      Then get thee down! then get thee down!
+      I have a Sun now of my own.
+
+
+II.
+
+    Those nicer livers, who without thy rays
+    Stir not abroad, those may thy lustre praise;
+    And wanting light--light, which no wants doth know--
+    To thee--weak shiner!--like blind Persians bow.
+    But where that Sun, which tramples on thy head,
+    From His own bright eternal eye doth shed
+                    One living ray,
+                    There thy dead day
+    Is needless, and man to a light made free,
+    Which shows that thou canst neither show nor see.
+      Then get thee down! then get thee down!
+      I have a Sun now of my own.
+
+
+
+
+THE NATIVITY.
+
+Written in the year 1656.
+
+
+    Peace? and to all the world? Sure One,
+    And He the Prince of Peace, hath none!
+    He travels to be born, and then
+    Is born to travel more again.
+    Poor Galilee! thou canst not be
+    The place for His Nativity.
+    His restless mother's call'd away,
+    And not deliver'd till she pay.
+
+      A tax? 'tis so still! we can see
+    The Church thrive in her misery,
+    And, like her Head at Beth'lem, rise,
+    When she, oppress'd with troubles, lies.
+    Rise?--should all fall, we cannot be
+    In more extremities than He.
+    Great Type of passions! Come what will,
+    Thy grief exceeds all copies still.
+    Thou cam'st from Heav'n to Earth, that we
+    Might go from Earth to Heav'n with Thee:
+    And though Thou found'st no welcome here,
+    Thou didst provide us mansions there.
+    A stable was Thy Court, and when
+    Men turn'd to beasts, beasts would be men:
+    They were Thy courtiers; others none;
+    And their poor manger was Thy throne.
+    No swaddling silks Thy limbs did fold,
+    Though Thou couldst turn Thy rays to gold.
+    No rockers waited on Thy birth,
+    No cradles stirr'd, nor songs of mirth;
+    But her chaste lap and sacred breast,
+    Which lodg'd Thee first, did give Thee rest.
+
+      But stay: what light is that doth stream
+    And drop here in a gilded beam?
+    It is Thy star runs page, and brings
+    Thy tributary Eastern kings.
+    Lord! grant some light to us, that we
+    May with them find the way to Thee!
+    Behold what mists eclipse the day!
+    How dark it is! Shed down one ray,
+    To guide us out of this dark night,
+    And say once more, "Let there be light!"
+
+
+
+
+THE TRUE CHRISTMAS.
+
+
+    So, stick up ivy and the bays,
+    And then restore the heathen ways.
+    Green will remind you of the spring,
+    Though this great day denies the thing;
+    And mortifies the earth, and all
+    But your wild revels, and loose hall.
+    Could you wear flow'rs, and roses strow
+    Blushing upon your breasts' warm snow,
+    That very dress your lightness will
+    Rebuke, and wither at the ill.
+    The brightness of this day we owe
+    Not unto music, masque, nor show,
+    Nor gallant furniture, nor plate,
+    But to the manger's mean estate.
+    His life while here, as well as birth,
+    Was but a check to pomp and mirth;
+    And all man's greatness you may see
+    Condemned by His humility.
+
+      Then leave your open house and noise,
+    To welcome Him with holy joys,
+    And the poor shepherds' watchfulness,
+    Whom light and hymns from Heav'n did bless.
+    What you abound with, cast abroad
+    To those that want, and ease your load.
+    Who empties thus, will bring more in;
+    But riot is both loss and sin.
+    Dress finely what comes not in sight,
+    And then you keep your Christmas right.
+
+
+
+
+THE REQUEST.
+
+
+    O thou who didst deny to me
+    This world's ador'd felicity,
+    And ev'ry big imperious lust,
+    Which fools admire in sinful dust,
+    With those fine subtle twists, that tie
+    Their bundles of foul gallantry--
+    Keep still my weak eyes from the shine
+    Of those gay things which are not Thine!
+    And shut my ears against the noise
+    Of wicked, though applauded, joys!
+    For Thou in any land hast store
+    Of shades and coverts for Thy poor;
+    Where from the busy dust and heat,
+    As well as storms, they may retreat.
+    A rock or bush are downy beds,
+    When Thou art there, crowning their heads
+    With secret blessings, or a tire
+    Made of the Comforter's live fire.
+    And when Thy goodness in the dress
+    Of anger will not seem to bless,
+    Yet dost Thou give them that rich rain,
+    Which, as it drops, clears all again.
+      O what kind visits daily pass
+    'Twixt Thy great self and such poor grass:
+    With what sweet looks doth Thy love shine
+    On those low violets of Thine,
+    While the tall tulip is accurst,
+    And crowns imperial die with thirst!
+    O give me still those secret meals,
+    Those rare repasts which Thy love deals!
+    Give me that joy, which none can grieve,
+    And which in all griefs doth relieve!
+    This is the portion Thy child begs;
+    Not that of rust, and rags, and dregs.
+
+
+
+
+JORDANIS.
+
+
+    Quid celebras auratam undam, et combusta pyropis
+      Flumina, vel medio quæ serit æthra salo?
+    Æternum refluis si pernoctaret in undis
+      Ph[oe]bus, et incertam sidera suda Tethyn
+    Si colerent, tantæ gemmæ! nil cærula librem:
+      Sorderet rubro in littore dives Eos.
+    Pactoli mea lympha macras ditabit arenas,
+      Atque universum gutta minuta Tagum.
+    O caram caput! O cincinnos unda beatos
+      Libata! O Domini balnea sancta mei!
+    Quod fortunatum voluit spectare canalem,
+      Hoc erat in laudes area parva tuas.
+    Jordanis in medio perfusus flumine lavit,
+      Divinoque tuas ore beavit aquas.
+    Ah! Solyma infelix rivis obsessa prophanis!
+      Amisit genium porta Bethesda suum.
+    Hic Orientis aquæ currunt, et apostata Parphar,
+      Atque Abana immundo turbidus amne fluit,
+    Ethnica te totam cum f[oe]davere fluenta,
+      Mansit Christicolâ Jordanis unus aqua.
+
+
+
+
+SERVILII FATUM, SIVE VINDICTA DIVINA.
+
+
+    Et sic in cithara, sic in dulcedine vitæ
+      Et facti et luctus regnat amarities.
+    Quam subito in fastum extensos atque esseda[68] vultus
+      Ultrici oppressit vilis arena sinu!
+    Si violæ, spiransque crocus: si lilium [Greek: aeinon]
+      Non nisi justorum nascitur e cinere:
+    Spinarum, tribulique atque infelicis avenæ
+      Quantus in hoc tumulo et qualis acervus erit?
+    Dii superi! damnosa piis sub sidera longum
+      Mansuris stabilem conciliate fidem!
+    Sic olim in c[oe]lum post nimbos clarius ibunt,
+      Supremo occidui tot velut astra die.
+    Quippe ruunt horæ, qualisque in corpore vixit,
+      Talis it in tenebras bis moriturus homo.
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[68] The original edition misprints _essera_.
+
+
+
+
+DE SALMONE
+
+_Ad virum optimum, et sibi familiarius notum: D. Thomam Poellum
+      Cantrevensem: S. S. Theologiæ Doctorem._
+
+
+    Accipe prærapido salmonem in gurgite captum,
+      Ex imo in summas cum penetrasset aquas,
+    Mentitæ culicis quem forma elusit inanis:
+      Picta coloratis plumea musca notis.
+    Dum captat, capitur; vorat inscius, ipse vorandus;
+      Fitque cibi raptor grata rapina mali.
+    Alma quies! miseræ merces ditissima vitæ,
+      Quam tuto in tacitis hic latuisset aquis!
+    Qui dum spumosi fremitus et murmura rivi
+      Quæritat, hamato sit cita præda cibo,
+    Quam grave magnarum specimen dant ludicra rerum?
+      Gurges est mundus: salmo, homo: pluma, dolus.
+
+
+
+
+THE WORLD.
+
+
+    Can any tell me what it is? Can you
+    That wind your thoughts into a clue
+    To guide out others, while yourselves stay in,
+              And hug the sin?
+      I, who so long have in it liv'd,
+              That, if I might,
+      In truth I would not be repriev'd,
+              Have neither sight
+              Nor sense that knows
+              These ebbs and flows:
+      But since of all all may be said,
+      And likeliness doth but upbraid
+      And mock the truth, which still is lost
+    In fine conceits, like streams in a sharp frost;
+      I will not strive, nor the rule break,
+      Which doth give losers leave to speak.
+    Then false and foul world, and unknown
+              Ev'n to thy own,
+      Here I renounce thee, and resign
+      Whatever thou canst say is thine.
+
+        Thou art not Truth! for he that tries
+      Shall find thee all deceit and lies,
+    Thou art not Friendship! for in thee
+    'Tis but the bait of policy;
+    Which like a viper lodg'd in flow'rs,
+    Its venom through that sweetness pours;
+    And when not so, then always 'tis
+    A fading paint, the short-liv'd bliss
+    Of air and humour; out and in,
+    Like colours in a dolphin's skin;
+    But must not live beyond one day,
+    Or convenience; then away.
+    Thou art not Riches! for that trash,
+    Which one age hoards, the next doth wash
+    And so severely sweep away,
+    That few remember where it lay.
+    So rapid streams the wealthy land
+    About them have at their command;
+    And shifting channels here restore,
+    There break down, what they bank'd before.
+    Thou art not Honour! for those gay
+    Feathers will wear and drop away;
+    And princes to some upstart line
+    Gives new ones, that are full as fine.
+    Thou art not Pleasure! for thy rose
+    Upon a thorn doth still repose;
+    Which, if not cropp'd, will quickly shed,
+    But soon as cropp'd, grows dull and dead.
+      Thou art the sand, which fills one glass,
+    And then doth to another pass;
+    And could I put thee to a stay,
+    Thou art but dust! Then go thy way,
+    And leave me clean and bright, though poor;
+    Who stops thee doth but daub his floor;
+    And, swallow-like, when he hath done,
+    To unknown dwellings must be gone!
+      Welcome, pure thoughts, and peaceful hours,
+    Enrich'd with sunshine and with show'rs;
+    Welcome fair hopes, and holy cares,
+    The not to be repented shares
+    Of time and business; the sure road
+    Unto my last and lov'd abode!
+                  O supreme Bliss!
+    The Circle, Centre, and Abyss
+    Of blessings, never let me miss
+    Nor leave that path which leads to Thee,
+    Who art alone all things to me!
+    I hear, I see, all the long day
+    The noise and pomp of the broad way.
+    I note their coarse and proud approaches,
+    Their silks, perfumes, and glittering coaches.
+    But in the narrow way to Thee
+    I observe only poverty,
+    And despis'd things; and all along
+    The ragged, mean, and humble throng
+    Are still on foot; and as they go
+    They sigh, and say, their Lord went so.
+      Give me my staff then, as it stood
+    When green and growing in the wood;
+    --Those stones, which for the altar serv'd,
+    Might not be smooth'd, nor finely carv'd--
+    With this poor stick I'll pass the ford,
+    As Jacob did; and Thy dear word,
+    As Thou hast dress'd it, not as wit
+    And deprav'd tastes have poison'd it,
+    Shall in the passage be my meat,
+    And none else will Thy servant eat.
+    Thus, thus, and in no other sort,
+    Will I set forth, though laugh'd at for't;
+    And leaving the wise world their way,
+    Go through, though judg'd to go astray.
+
+
+
+
+THE BEE.
+
+
+    From fruitful beds and flow'ry borders,
+    Parcell'd to wasteful ranks and orders,
+    Where State grasps more than plain Truth needs,
+    And wholesome herbs are starv'd by weeds,
+    To the wild woods I will be gone,
+    And the coarse meals of great Saint John.
+
+      When truth and piety are miss'd
+    Both in the rulers and the priest;
+    When pity is not cold, but dead,
+    And the rich eat the poor like bread;
+    While factious heads with open coil
+    And force, first make, then share, the spoil;
+    To Horeb then Elias goes,
+    And in the desert grows the rose.
+      Hail crystal fountains and fresh shades,
+    Where no proud look invades,
+    No busy worldling hunts away
+    The sad retirer all the day!
+    Hail, happy, harmless solitude!
+    Our sanctuary from the rude
+    And scornful world; the calm recess
+    Of faith, and hope, and holiness!
+    Here something still like Eden looks;
+    Honey in woods, juleps in brooks,
+    And flow'rs, whose rich, unrifled sweets
+    With a chaste kiss the cool dew greets,
+    When the toils of the day are done,
+    And the tir'd world sets with the sun.
+    Here flying winds and flowing wells
+    Are the wise, watchful hermit's bells;
+    Their busy murmurs all the night
+    To praise or prayer do invite,
+    And with an awful sound arrest,
+    And piously employ his breast.
+
+      When in the East the dawn doth blush,
+    Here cool, fresh spirits the air brush;
+    Herbs straight get up, flow'rs peep and spread,
+    Trees whisper praise, and bow the head:
+    Birds, from the shades of night releas'd,
+    Look round about, then quit the nest,
+    And with united gladness sing
+    The glory of the morning's King.
+    The hermit hears, and with meek voice
+    Offers his own up, and their joys:
+    Then prays that all the world may be
+    Bless'd with as sweet an unity.
+
+      If sudden storms the day invade,
+    They flock about him to the shade:
+    Where wisely they expect the end,
+    Giving the tempest time to spend;
+    And hard by shelters on some bough
+    Hilarion's servant, the sage crow.
+
+      O purer years of light and grace!
+    The diff'rence is great as the space
+    'Twixt you and us, who blindly run
+    After false fires, and leave the sun.
+    Is not fair Nature of herself
+    Much richer than dull paint or pelf?
+    And are not streams at the spring-head
+    More sweet than in carv'd stone or lead?
+    But fancy and some artist's tools
+    Frame a religion for fools.
+
+      The truth, which once was plainly taught,
+    With thorns and briars now is fraught.
+    Some part is with bold fables spotted,
+    Some by strange comments wildly blotted;
+    And Discord--old Corruption's crest--
+    With blood and blame hath stain'd the rest.
+    So snow, which in its first descents
+    A whiteness, like pure Heav'n, presents,
+    When touch'd by man is quickly soil'd,
+    And after, trodden down and spoil'd.
+
+      O lead me, where I may be free
+    In truth and spirit to serve Thee!
+    Where undisturb'd I may converse
+    With Thy great Self; and there rehearse
+    Thy gifts with thanks; and from Thy store,
+    Who art all blessings, beg much more.
+    Give me the wisdom of the bee,
+    And her unwearied industry!
+    That from the wild gourds of these days,
+    I may extract health, and Thy praise,
+    Who canst turn darkness into light,
+    And in my weakness show Thy might.
+
+      Suffer me not in any want
+    To seek refreshment from a plant
+    Thou didst not set; since all must be
+    Pluck'd up, whose growth is not from Thee.
+    'Tis not the garden, and the bow'rs,
+    Nor sense and forms, that give to flow'rs
+    Their wholesomeness, but Thy good will,
+    Which truth and pureness purchase still.
+
+      Then since corrupt man hath driv'n hence
+    Thy kind and saving influence,
+    And balm is no more to be had
+    In all the coasts of Gilead;
+    Go with me to the shade and cell,
+    Where Thy best servants once did dwell.
+    There let me know Thy will, and see
+    Exil'd Religion own'd by Thee;
+    For Thou canst turn dark grots to halls,
+    And make hills blossom like the vales;
+    Decking their untill'd heads with flow'rs,
+    And fresh delights for all sad hours;
+    Till from them, like a laden bee,
+    I may fly home, and hive with Thee
+
+
+
+
+TO CHRISTIAN RELIGION.
+
+
+    Farewell, thou true and tried reflection
+    Of the still poor, and meek election:
+    Farewell, soul's joy, the quick'ning health
+    Of spirits, and their secret wealth!
+    Farewell, my morning-star, the bright
+    And dawning looks of the True Light!
+    O blessed shiner, tell me whither
+    Thou wilt be gone, when night comes hither!
+    A seër that observ'd thee in
+    Thy course, and watch'd the growth of sin,
+    Hath giv'n his judgment, and foretold,
+    That westward hence thy course will hold;
+    And when the day with us is done,
+    There fix, and shine a glorious sun.
+    O hated shades and darkness! when
+    You have got here the sway again,
+    And like unwholesome fogs withstood
+    The light, and blasted all that's good,
+    Who shall the happy shepherds be,
+    To watch the next nativity
+    Of truth and brightness, and make way
+    For the returning, rising day?
+    O what year will bring back our bliss?
+    Or who shall live, when God doth this?
+      Thou Rock of Ages! and the Rest
+    Of all, that for Thee are oppress'd!
+    Send down the Spirit of Thy truth,
+    That Spirit, which the tender youth,
+    And first growths of Thy Spouse did spread
+    Through all the world, from one small head!
+    Then if to blood we must resist,
+    Let Thy mild Dove, and our High-Priest,
+    Help us, when man proves false or frowns,
+    To bear the Cross, and save our crowns.
+    O honour those that honour Thee!
+    Make babes to still the enemy!
+    And teach an infant of few days
+    To perfect by his death Thy praise!
+    Let none defile what Thou didst wed,
+    Nor tear the garland from her head!
+    But chaste and cheerful let her die,
+    And precious in the Bridegroom's eye
+    So to Thy glory and her praise,
+    These last shall be her brightest days.
+
+      Revel[ation] chap. last, vers. 17.
+      "_The Spirit and the Bride say, Come._"
+
+
+
+
+DAPHNIS.
+
+_An Elegiac Eclogue. The Interlocutors, Damon, Menalcas._
+
+
+_Damon._
+
+      What clouds, Menalcas, do oppress thy brow,
+    Flow'rs in a sunshine never look so low?
+    Is Nisa still cold flint? or have thy lambs
+    Met with the fox by straying from their dams?
+
+_Menalcas._
+
+      Ah, Damon, no! my lambs are safe; and she
+    Is kind, and much more white than they can be.
+    But what doth life when most serene afford
+    Without a worm which gnaws her fairest gourd?
+    Our days of gladness are but short reliefs,
+    Giv'n to reserve us for enduring griefs:
+    So smiling calms close tempests breed, which break
+    Like spoilers out, and kill our flocks when weak.
+    I heard last May--and May is still high Spring--
+    The pleasant Philomel her vespers sing.
+    The green wood glitter'd with the golden sun.
+    And all the west like silver shin'd; not one
+    Black cloud; no rags, nor spots did stain
+    The welkin's beauty; nothing frown'd like rain.
+    But ere night came, that scene of fine sights turn'd
+    To fierce dark show'rs; the air with lightnings burn'd;
+    The wood's sweet syren, rudely thus oppress'd,
+    Gave to the storm her weak and weary breast.
+    I saw her next day on her last cold bed:
+    And Daphnis so, just so is Daphnis, dead!
+
+_Damon._
+
+      So violets, so doth the primrose, fall,
+    At once the Spring's pride, and its funeral.
+    Such easy sweets get off still in their prime,
+    And stay not here to wear the soil of time;
+    While coarser flow'rs, which none would miss, if past,
+    To scorching Summers and cold Autumns last.
+
+_Menalcas._
+
+      Souls need not time. The early forward things
+    Are always fledg'd, and gladly use their wings.
+    Or else great parts, when injur'd, quit the crowd,
+    To shine above still, not behind, the cloud.
+    And is't not just to leave those to the night
+    That madly hate and persecute the light?
+    Who, doubly dark, all negroes do exceed,
+    And inwardly are true black Moors indeed?
+
+_Damon._
+
+      The punishment still manifests the sin,
+    As outward signs show the disease within.
+    While worth oppress'd mounts to a nobler height,
+    And palm-like bravely overtops the weight.
+      So where swift Isca from our lofty hills
+    With loud farewells descends, and foaming fills
+    A wider channel, like some great port-vein
+    With large rich streams to fill the humble plain:
+    I saw an oak, whose stately height and shade,
+    Projected far, a goodly shelter made;
+    And from the top with thick diffusèd boughs
+    In distant rounds grew like a wood-nymph's house.
+    Here many garlands won at roundel-lays
+    Old shepherds hung up in those happy days
+    With knots and girdles, the dear spoils and dress
+    Of such bright maids as did true lovers bless.
+    And many times had old Amphion made
+    His beauteous flock acquainted with this shade:
+    His flock, whose fleeces were as smooth and white
+    As those the welkin shows in moonshine night.
+    Here, when the careless world did sleep, have I
+    In dark records and numbers nobly high,
+    The visions of our black, but brightest bard
+    From old Amphion's mouth full often heard;
+    With all those plagues poor shepherds since have known,
+    And riddles more, which future time must own:
+    While on his pipe young Hylas play'd, and made
+    Music as solemn as the song and shade.
+    But the curs'd owner from the trembling top
+    To the firm brink did all those branches lop;
+    And in one hour what many years had bred,
+    The pride and beauty of the plain, lay dead.
+    The undone swains in sad songs mourn'd their loss,
+    While storms and cold winds did improve the cross;
+    But nature, which--like virtue--scorns to yield,
+    Brought new recruits and succours to the field;
+    For by next spring the check'd sap wak'd from sleep,
+    And upwards still to feel the sun did creep;
+    Till at those wounds, the hated hewer made,
+    There sprang a thicker and a fresher shade.
+
+_Menalcas._
+
+      So thrives afflicted Truth, and so the light
+    When put out gains a value from the night.
+    How glad are we, when but one twinkling star
+    Peeps betwixt clouds more black than is our tar:
+    And Providence was kind, that order'd this
+    To the brave suff'rer should be solid bliss:
+    Nor is it so till this short life be done,
+    But goes hence with him, and is still his sun.
+
+_Damon._
+
+      Come, shepherds, then, and with your greenest bays
+    Refresh his dust, who lov'd your learnèd lays.
+    Bring here the florid glories of the spring,
+    And, as you strew them, pious anthems sing,
+    Which to your children and the years to come
+    May speak of Daphnis, and be never dumb.
+    While prostrate I drop on his quiet urn
+    My tears, not gifts; and like the poor that mourn
+    With green but humble turfs, write o'er his hearse
+    For false, foul prose-men this fair truth in verse.
+
+    "Here Daphnis sleeps, and while the great watch goes
+    Of loud and restless Time, takes his repose.
+    Fame is but noise; all Learning but a thought;
+    Which one admires, another sets at nought,
+    Nature mocks both, and Wit still keeps ado:
+    But Death brings knowledge and assurance too."
+
+_Menalcas._
+
+      Cast in your garlands! strew on all the flow'rs,
+    Which May with smiles or April feeds with show'rs,
+    Let this day's rites as steadfast as the sun
+    Keep pace with Time and through all ages run;
+    The public character and famous test
+    Of our long sorrows and his lasting rest.
+    And when we make procession on the plains,
+    Or yearly keep the holiday of swains,
+    Let Daphnis still be the recorded name,
+    And solemn honour of our feasts and fame.
+    For though the Isis and the prouder Thames
+    Can show his relics lodg'd hard by their streams:
+    And must for ever to the honour'd name
+    Of noble Murrey chiefly owe that fame:
+    Yet here his stars first saw him, and when Fate
+    Beckon'd him hence, it knew no other date.
+    Nor will these vocal woods and valleys fail,
+    Nor Isca's louder streams, this to bewail;
+    But while swains hope, and seasons change, will glide
+    With moving murmurs because Daphnis died.
+
+_Damon._
+
+      A fatal sadness, such as still foregoes,
+    Then runs along with public plagues and woes,
+    Lies heavy on us; and the very light,
+    Turn'd mourner too, hath the dull looks of night.
+    Our vales, like those of death, a darkness show
+    More sad than cypress or the gloomy yew;
+    And on our hills, where health with height complied,
+    Thick drowsy mists hang round, and there reside.
+    Not one short parcel of the tedious year
+    In its old dress and beauty doth appear.
+    Flow'rs hate the spring, and with a sullen bend
+    Thrust down their heads, which to the root still tend.
+    And though the sun, like a cold lover, peeps
+    A little at them, still the day's-eye sleeps.
+    But when the Crab and Lion with acute
+    And active fires their sluggish heat recruit,
+    Our grass straight russets, and each scorching day
+    Drinks up our brooks as fast as dew in May;
+    Till the sad herdsman with his cattle faints,
+    And empty channels ring with loud complaints.
+
+_Menalcas._
+
+      Heaven's just displeasure, and our unjust ways,
+    Change Nature's course; bring plagues, dearth, and decays.
+    This turns our lands to dust, the skies to brass,
+    Makes old kind blessings into curses pass:
+    And when we learn unknown and foreign crimes,
+    Brings in the vengeance due unto those climes.
+    The dregs and puddle of all ages now,
+    Like rivers near their fall, on us do flow.
+    Ah, happy Daphnis! who while yet the streams
+    Ran clear and warm, though but with setting beams,
+    Got through, and saw by that declining light,
+    His toil's and journey's end before the night.
+
+_Damon._
+
+      A night, where darkness lays her chains and bars,
+    And feral fires appear instead of stars.
+    But he, along with the last looks of day,
+    Went hence, and setting--sunlike--pass'd away.
+    What future storms our present sins do hatch
+    Some in the dark discern, and others watch;
+    Though foresight makes no hurricane prove mild,
+    Fury that's long fermenting is most wild.
+      But see, while thus our sorrows we discourse,
+    Ph[oe]bus hath finish'd his diurnal course;
+    The shades prevail: each bush seems bigger grown;
+      Darkness--like State--makes small things swell and frown:
+    The hills and woods with pipes and sonnets round,
+    And bleating sheep our swains drive home, resound.
+
+_Menalcas._
+
+      What voice from yonder lawn tends hither? Hark!
+    'Tis Thyrsis calls! I hear Lycanthe bark!
+    His flocks left out so late, and weary grown,
+    Are to the thickets gone, and there laid down.
+
+_Damon._
+
+      Menalcas, haste to look them out! poor sheep,
+    When day is done, go willingly to sleep:
+    And could bad man his time spend as they do,
+    He might go sleep, or die, as willing too.
+
+_Menalcas._
+
+      Farewell! kind Damon! now the shepherd's star
+    With beauteous looks smiles on us, though from far.
+    All creatures that were favourites of day
+    Are with the sun retir'd and gone away.
+    While feral birds send forth unpleasant notes,
+    And night--the nurse of thoughts--sad thoughts promotes:
+    But joy will yet come with the morning light,
+    Though sadly now we bid good night!
+
+_Damon._
+
+    Good night!
+
+
+
+
+         FRAGMENTS AND TRANSLATIONS.
+
+From _Eucharistica Oxoniensia in Caroli Regis nostri e Scotia Reditum
+      Gratulatoria_ (1641).
+
+
+
+
+[TO CHARLES THE FIRST.]
+
+
+    As kings do rule like th' heavens, who dispense
+    To parts remote and near their influence;
+    So doth our Charles move also; while he posts
+    From south to north, and back to southern coasts;
+    Like to the starry orb, which in its round
+    Moves to those very points; but while 'tis bound
+    For north, there is--some guess--a trembling fit
+    And shivering in the part that's opposite.
+    What were our fears and pantings, what dire fame
+    Heard we of Irish tumults, sword, and flame!
+    Which now we think but blessings, as being sent
+    Only as matter, whereupon 'twas meant,
+    The British thus united might express,
+    The strength of joinèd Powers to suppress,
+    Or conquer foes. This is Great Britain's bliss;
+    The island in itself a just world is.
+    Here no commotion shall we find or fear,
+    But of the Court's removal, no sad tear
+    Or cloudy brow, but when you leave us. Then
+    Discord is loyalty professèd, when
+    Nations do strive, which shall the happier be
+    T' enjoy your bounteous rays of majesty
+    Which yet you throw in undivided dart,
+    For things divine allow no share or part.
+    The same kind virtue doth at once disclose
+    The beauty of their thistle and our rose.
+    Thus you do mingle souls and firmly knit
+    What were but join'd before; you Scotsmen fit
+    Closely with us, and reuniter prove;
+    You fetch'd the crown before, and now their love.
+
+                                                 H. Vaughan, Ies. Col.
+
+From _Of the Benefit we may get by our Enemies_: translated from
+      Plutarch (1651).
+
+
+
+
+1. [HOMER. ILIAD, I. 255-6.]
+
+    Sure Priam will to mirth incline,
+    And all that are of Priam's line.
+
+
+
+
+2. [AESCHYLUS. SEPTEM CONTRA THEBES, 600-1.]
+
+    Feeding on fruits which in the heavens do grow,
+    Whence all divine and holy counsels flow.
+
+
+
+
+3. [EURIPIDES. ORESTES, 251-2.]
+
+    Excel then if thou canst, be not withstood,
+    But strive and overcome the evil with good.
+
+
+
+
+4. [EURIPIDES. FRAGM. MLXXI.]
+
+    You minister to others' wounds a cure,
+    But leave your own all rotten and impure.
+
+
+
+
+5. [EURIPIDES. CRESPHONTES, FRAGM. CCCCLV.]
+
+    Chance, taking from me things of highest price,
+    At a dear rate hath taught me to be wise.
+
+
+
+
+6. [INCERTI.]
+
+    [He] Knaves' tongues and calumnies no more doth prize
+    Than the vain buzzing of so many flies.
+
+
+
+
+7. [PINDAR. FRAGM. C.]
+
+    His deep, dark heart--bent to supplant--
+    Is iron, or else adamant.
+
+
+
+
+8. [SOLON. FRAGM. XV.]
+
+    What though they boast their riches unto us?
+    Those cannot say that they are virtuous.
+
+From _Of the Diseases of the Mind and the Body_: translated from
+      Plutarch (1651).
+
+
+
+
+1. [HOMER. ILIAD, XVII. 446-7.]
+
+    That man for misery excell'd
+    All creatures which the wide world held.
+
+
+
+
+2. [EURIPIDES. BACCHAE, 1170-4.]
+
+    A tender kid--see, where 'tis put--
+      I on the hills did slay,
+    Now dress'd and into quarters cut,
+      A pleasant, dainty prey.
+
+From _Of the Diseases of the Mind and the Body_: translated from Maximus
+      Tyrius (1651).
+
+
+
+
+1. [ARIPHRON.]
+
+    O health, the chief of gifts divine!
+    I would I might with thee and thine
+    Live all those days appointed mine!
+
+From _The Mount of Olives_ (1652).
+
+
+
+
+1. [DEATH.]
+
+    Draw near, fond man, and dress thee by this glass,
+    Mark how thy bravery and big looks must pass
+    Into corruption, rottenness and dust;
+    The frail supporters which betray'd thy trust.
+    O weigh in time thy last and loathsome state!
+    To purchase heav'n for tears is no hard rate.
+    Our glory, greatness, wisdom, all we have,
+    If mis-employ'd, but add hell to the grave:
+    Only a fair redemption of evil times
+    Finds life in death, and buries all our crimes.
+
+
+
+
+2. [HADRIAN'S ADDRESS TO HIS SOUL.]
+
+    My soul, my pleasant soul, and witty,
+    The guest and consort of my body.
+    Into what place now all alone
+    Naked and sad wilt thou be gone?
+    No mirth, no wit, as heretofore,
+    Nor jests wilt thou afford me more.
+
+
+
+
+3. [PAULINUS. CARM. APP. I. 35-40.]
+
+    What is't to me that spacious rivers run
+    Whole ages, and their streams are never done?
+    Those still remain: but all my fathers died,
+    And I myself but for few days abide.
+
+
+
+
+4. [ANEURIN. ENGLYNION Y MISOEDD, III. 1-4.]
+
+    In March birds couple, a new birth
+    Of herbs and flow'rs breaks through the earth;
+    But in the grave none stirs his head,
+    Long is the impris'ment of the dead.
+
+
+
+
+5. [INCERTI.]
+
+    So our decays God comforts by
+    The stars' concurrent state on high.
+
+
+
+
+6. [JUVENAL. SATIRE XIII. 86-8.]
+
+    There are that do believe all things succeed
+    By chance or fortune: and that nought's decreed
+    By a divine, wise Will; but blindly call
+    Old Time and Nature rulers over all.
+
+
+
+
+7. [INCERTI.]
+
+    From the first hour the heavens were made
+    Unto the last, when all shall fade,
+    Count--if thou canst--the drops of dew,
+    The stars of heav'n and streams that flow,
+    The falling snow, the dropping show'rs,
+    And in the month of May, the flow'rs,
+    Their scents and colours, and what store
+    Of grapes and apples Autumn bore,
+    How many grains the Summer bears,
+    What leaves the wind in Winter tears;
+    Count all the creatures in the world,
+    The motes which in the air are hurl'd,
+    The hairs of beasts and mankind, and
+    The shore's innumerable sand,
+    The blades of grass, and to these last
+    Add all the years which now are past,
+    With those whose course is yet to come,
+    And all their minutes in one sum.
+    When all is done, the damned's state
+    Outruns them still, and knows no date.
+
+
+
+
+8. [VIRGIL. GEORGICS, IV. 12-138.]
+
+    I saw beneath Tarentum's stately towers
+    An old Cilician spend his peaceful hours.
+    Some few bad acres in a waste, wild field,
+    Which neither grass, nor corn, nor vines would yield,
+    He did possess. There--amongst thorns and weeds--
+    Cheap herbs and coleworts, with the common seeds
+    Of chesboule or tame poppies, he did sow,
+    And vervain with white lilies caused to grow.
+    Content he was, as are successful kings,
+    And late at night come home--for long work brings
+    The night still home--with unbought messes laid
+    On his low table he his hunger stay'd.
+    Roses he gather'd in the youthful Spring,
+    And apples in the Autumn home did bring:
+    And when the sad, cold Winter burst with frost
+    The stones, and the still streams in ice were lost,
+    He would soft leaves of bear's-foot crop, and chide
+    The slow west winds and ling'ring Summer-tide!
+
+
+
+
+9. [VIRGIL. AENEID, III. 515.]
+
+    And rising at midnight the stars espied,
+    All posting westward in a silent glide.
+
+
+
+
+10. [VIRGIL. GEORGICS, II. 58.]
+
+    The trees we set grow slowly, and their shade
+    Stays for our sons, while we--the planters--fade.
+From _Man in Glory_: translated from Anselm (1652).
+
+
+
+
+1. [ANSELM.]
+
+    Here holy Anselm lives in ev'ry page,
+    And sits archbishop still, to vex the age.
+    Had he foreseen--and who knows but he did?--
+    This fatal wrack, which deep in time lay hid,
+    'Tis but just to believe, that little hand
+    Which clouded him, but now benights our land,
+    Had never--like Elias--driv'n him hence,
+    A sad retirer for a slight offence.
+    For were he now, like the returning year,
+    Restor'd, to view these desolations here,
+    He would do penance for his old complaint,
+    And--weeping--say, that Rufus was a saint.
+
+From the Epistle-Dedicatory to _Flores Solitudinis_ (1654).
+
+
+
+
+1. [BISSELLIUS.]
+
+    The whole wench--how complete soe'er--was but
+    A specious bait; a soft, sly, tempting slut;
+    A pleasing witch; a living death; a fair,
+    Thriving disease; a fresh, infectious air;
+    A precious plague; a fury sweetly drawn;
+    Wild fire laid up and finely dress'd in lawn.
+
+
+
+
+2. [AUGURELLIUS.]
+
+    Peter, when thou this pleasant world dost see,
+    Believe, thou seest mere dreams and vanity,
+    Not real things, but false, and through the air
+    Each-where an empty, slipp'ry scene, though fair.
+    The chirping birds, the fresh woods' shady boughs,
+    The leaves' shrill whispers, when the west wind blows,
+    The swift, fierce greyhounds coursing on the plains,
+    The flying hare, distress'd 'twixt fear and pains,
+    The bloomy maid decking with flow'rs her head,
+    The gladsome, easy youth by light love led;
+    And whatsoe'er here with admiring eyes
+    Thou seem'st to see, 'tis but a frail disguise
+    Worn by eternal things, a passive dress
+    Put on by beings that are passiveless.
+
+From a Discourse _Of Temperance and Patience_: translated from
+      Nierembergius (1654).
+
+
+
+
+1. [INCERTI.]
+
+    The naked man too gets the field,
+    And often makes the armèd foe to yield.
+
+
+
+
+2. [LUCRETIUS, IV. 1012-1020.]
+
+    [Some] struggle and groan as if by panthers torn,
+    Or lions' teeth, which makes them loudly mourn;
+    Some others seem unto themselves to die;
+    Some climb steep solitudes and mountains high,
+    From whence they seem to fall inanely down,
+    Panting with fear, till wak'd, and scarce their own
+    They feel about them if in bed they lie,
+    Deceiv'd with dreams, and Night's imagery.
+
+    In vain with earnest strugglings they contend
+    To ease themselves: for when they stir and bend
+    Their greatest force to do it, even then most
+    Of all they faint, and in their hopes are cross'd.
+    Nor tongue, nor hand, nor foot will serve their turn,
+    But without speech and strength within, they mourn.
+
+
+
+
+3. [INCERTI.]
+
+    Thou the nepenthe easing grief
+    Art, and the mind's healing relief.
+
+
+
+
+4. [INCERTI.]
+
+    Base man! and couldst thou think Cato alone
+    Wants courage to be dry? and but him, none?
+    Look'd I so soft? breath'd I such base desires,
+    Not proof against this Lybic sun's weak fires?
+    That shame and plague on thee more justly lie!
+    To drink alone, when all our troops are dry.
+
+           *       *       *       *       *
+
+    For with brave rage he flung it on the sand,
+    And the spilt draught suffic'd each thirsty band
+
+
+
+
+5. [INCERTI.]
+
+    [Death keeps off]
+                  And will not bear the cry
+    Of distress'd man, nor shut his weeping eye
+
+
+
+
+6. [MAXIMUS.]
+
+    It lives when kill'd, and brancheth when 'tis lopp'd.
+
+
+
+
+7. [MAXIMUS.]
+
+    Like some fair oak, that when her boughs
+    Are cut by rude hands, thicker grows;
+    And from those wounds the iron made
+    Resumes a rich and fresher shade.
+
+
+
+
+8. [GREGORY NAZIANZEN.]
+
+    Patience digesteth misery.
+
+
+
+
+9. [MARIUS VICTOR.]
+
+    ----They fain would--if they might--
+    Descend to hide themselves in Hell. So light
+    Of foot is Vengeance; and so near to sin,
+    That soon as done, the actors do begin
+    To fear and suffer by themselves: Death moves
+    Before their eyes; sad dens and dusky groves
+    They haunt, and hope--vain hope which Fear doth guide!--
+    That those dark shades their inward guilt can hide.
+
+
+
+
+10. [INCERTI.]
+
+    But night and day doth his own life molest,
+    And bears his judge and witness in his breast.
+
+
+
+
+11. [THEODOTUS.]
+
+    Virtue's fair cares some people measure
+    For poisonous works that hinder pleasure.
+
+
+
+
+12. [INCERTI.]
+
+    Man should with virtue arm'd and hearten'd be,
+    And innocently watch his enemy:
+    For fearless freedom, which none can control,
+    Is gotten by a pure and upright soul.
+
+
+
+
+13. [INCERTI.]
+
+    Whose guilty soul, with terrors fraught, doth frame
+    New torments still, and still doth blow that flame
+    Which still burns him, nor sees what end can be
+    Of his dire plagues, and fruitful penalty;
+    But fears them living, and fears more to die;
+    Which makes his life a constant tragedy.
+
+
+
+
+14. [INCERTI.]
+
+    And for life's sake to lose the crown of life.
+
+
+
+
+15. [INCERTI.]
+
+    Nature even for herself doth lay a snare,
+    And handsome faces their own traitors are.
+
+
+
+
+16. [MENANDER.]
+
+                True life in this is shown,
+    To live for all men's good, not for our own.
+
+
+
+
+17. [INCERTI.]
+
+    As Egypt's drought by Nilus is redress'd,
+    So thy wise tongue doth comfort the oppress'd.
+
+
+
+
+18. [INCERTI.]
+
+    [Like] to speedy posts, bear hence the lamp of life.
+
+
+
+
+19. [DIONYSIUS LYRINENSIS.]
+
+    All worldly things, even while they grow, decay;
+    As smoke doth, by ascending, waste away.
+
+
+
+
+20. [INCERTI.]
+
+    To live a stranger unto life.
+
+From a _Discourse of Life and Death_: translated from Nierembergius
+      (1654).
+
+
+
+
+1. [INCERTI.]
+
+    Whose hissings fright all Nature's monstrous ills;
+    His eye darts death, more swift than poison kills.
+    All monsters by instinct to him give place,
+    They fly for life, for death lives in his face;
+    And he alone by Nature's hid commands
+    Reigns paramount, and prince of all the sands.
+
+
+
+
+2. [INCERTI.]
+
+    The plenteous evils of frail life fill the old:
+    Their wasted limbs the loose skin in dry folds
+    Doth hang about: their joints are numb'd, and through
+    Their veins, not blood, but rheums and waters flow.
+    Their trembling bodies with a staff they stay,
+    Nor do they breathe, but sadly sigh all day.
+    Thoughts tire their hearts, to them their very mind
+    Is a disease; their eyes no sleep can find.
+
+
+
+
+3. [MIMNERMUS.]
+
+    Against the virtuous man we all make head,
+    And hate him while he lives, but praise him dead.
+
+
+
+
+4. [INCERTI.]
+
+    Long life, oppress'd with many woes,
+    Meets more, the further still it goes.
+
+
+
+
+5. [JUVENAL. SATIRE X. 278-286.]
+
+    What greater good had deck'd great Pompey's crown
+    Than death, if in his honours fully blown,
+    And mature glories he had died? those piles
+    Of huge success, loud fame, and lofty styles
+    Built in his active youth, long lazy life
+    Saw quite demolish'd by ambitious strife.
+    He lived to wear the weak and melting snow
+    Of luckless age, where garlands seldom grow,
+    But by repining Fate torn from the head
+    Which wore them once, are on another shed.
+
+
+
+
+6. [MENANDER. FRAGM. CXXVIII.]
+
+    Whom God doth take care for, and love,
+    He dies young here, to live above.
+
+
+
+
+7. [INCERTI.]
+
+    Sickness and death, you are but sluggish things,
+    And cannot reach a heart that hath got wings.
+
+From _Primitive Holiness, set forth in the Life of Blessed Paulinus_
+      (1654).
+
+
+
+
+1. [AUSONIUS. EPIST. XXIV. 115-16.]
+
+    Let me not weep to see thy ravish'd house
+    All sad and silent, without lord or spouse,
+    And all those vast dominions once thine own
+    Torn 'twixt a hundred slaves to me unknown.
+
+
+
+
+2. [AUSONIUS. EPIST. XXIII. 30-1; XXV. 5-9, 14, 17.]
+
+              How could that paper sent,
+    That luckless paper, merit thy contempt?
+    Ev'n foe to foe--though furiously--replies,
+    And the defied his enemy defies.
+    Amidst the swords and wounds, there's a salute,
+    Rocks answer man, and though hard are not mute.
+    Nature made nothing dumb, nothing unkind:
+    The trees and leaves speak trembling to the wind.
+    If thou dost fear discoveries, and the blot
+    Of my love, Tanaquil shall know it not.
+
+
+
+
+3. [PAULINUS. CARM. XI. 1-5; X. 189-92.]
+
+    Obdurate still and tongue-tied, you accuse
+    --Though yours is ever vocal--my dull muse;
+    You blame my lazy, lurking life, and add
+    I scorn your love, a calumny most sad;
+    Then tell me, that I fear my wife, and dart
+    Harsh, cutting words against my dearest heart.
+      Leave, learnèd father, leave this bitter course,
+    My studies are not turn'd unto the worse;
+    I am not mad, nor idle, nor deny
+    Your great deserts, and my debt, nor have I
+    A wife like Tanaquil, as wildly you
+    Object, but a Lucretia, chaste and true.
+
+
+
+
+4. [PAULINUS. CARM. XXXI. 581-2, 585-90, 601-2, 607-12.]
+
+    This pledge of your joint love, to heaven now fled,
+    With honey-combs and milk of life is fed.
+    Or with the Bethlem babes--whom Herod's rage
+    Kill'd in their tender, happy, holy age--
+    Doth walk the groves of Paradise, and make
+    Garlands, which those young martyrs from him take.
+    With these his eyes on the mild Lamb are fix'd,
+    A virgin-child with virgin-infants mix'd.
+    Such is my Celsus too, who soon as given,
+    Was taken back--on the eighth day--to heaven
+    To whom at Alcala I sadly gave
+    Amongst the martyrs' tombs a little grave.
+    He now with yours--gone both the blessed way--
+    Amongst the trees of life doth smile and play;
+    And this one drop of our mix'd blood may be
+    A light for my Therasia, and for me.
+
+
+
+
+5. [AUSONIUS. EPIST. XXV. 50, 56-7, 60-2.]
+
+    Sweet Paulinus, and is thy nature turn'd?
+    Have I so long in vain thy absence mourn'd?
+    Wilt thou, my glory, and great Rome's delight,
+    The Senate's prop, their oracle, and light,
+    In Bilbilis and Calagurris dwell,
+    Changing thy ivory-chair for a dark cell?
+    Wilt bury there thy purple, and contemn
+    All the great honours of thy noble stem?
+
+
+
+
+6. [PAULINUS. CARM. X. 110-331.]
+
+    Shall I believe you can make me return,
+    Who pour your fruitless prayers when you mourn,
+    Not to your Maker? Who can hear you cry,
+    But to the fabled nymphs of Castaly?
+    You never shall by such false gods bring me
+    Either to Rome, or to your company.
+    As for those former things you once did know,
+    And which you still call mine, I freely now
+    Confess, I am not he, whom you knew then;
+    I have died since, and have been born again.
+    Nor dare I think my sage instructor can
+    Believe it error, for redeemèd man
+    To serve his great Redeemer. I grieve not
+    But glory so to err. Let the wise knot
+    Of worldlings call me fool; I slight their noise,
+    And hear my God approving of my choice.
+    Man is but glass, a building of no trust,
+    A moving shade, and, without Christ, mere dust.
+    His choice in life concerns the chooser much:
+    For when he dies, his good or ill--just such
+    As here it was--goes with him hence, and stays
+    Still by him, his strict judge in the last days.
+    These serious thoughts take up my soul, and I,
+    While yet 'tis daylight, fix my busy eye
+    Upon His sacred rules, life's precious sum
+    Who in the twilight of the world shall come
+    To judge the lofty looks, and show mankind
+    The diff'rence 'twixt the ill and well inclin'd.
+    This second coming of the world's great King
+    Makes my heart tremble, and doth timely bring
+    A saving care into my watchful soul,
+    Lest in that day all vitiated and foul
+    I should be found--that day, Time's utmost line,
+    When all shall perish but what is divine;
+    When the great trumpet's mighty blast shall shake
+    The earth's foundations, till the hard rocks quake
+    And melt like piles of snow; when lightnings move
+    Like hail, and the white thrones are set above:
+    That day, when sent in glory by the Father,
+    The Prince of Life His blest elect shall gather;
+    Millions of angels round about Him flying,
+    While all the kindreds of the Earth are crying;
+    And He enthron'd upon the clouds shall give
+    His last just sentence, who must die, who live.
+      This is the fear, this is the saving care
+    That makes me leave false honours, and that share
+    Which fell to me of this frail world, lest by
+    A frequent use of present pleasures I
+    Should quite forget the future, and let in
+    Foul atheism, or some presumptuous sin.
+    Now by their loss I have secur'd my life,
+    And bought my peace ev'n with the cause of strife.
+    I live to Him Who gave me life and breath,
+    And without fear expect the hour of death.
+    If you like this, bid joy to my rich state,
+    If not, leave me to Christ at any rate.
+
+
+
+
+7. [PAULINUS.]
+
+            And is the bargain thought too dear,
+    To give for heaven our frail subsistence here?
+    To change our mortal with immortal homes,
+    And purchase the bright stars with darksome stones?
+    Behold! my God--a rate great as His breath!--
+    On the sad cross bought me with bitter death,
+    Did put on flesh, and suffer'd for our good,
+    For ours--vile slaves!--the loss of His dear blood.
+
+
+
+
+8. [EPITAPH ON MARCELLINA.]
+
+    Life, Marcellina, leaving thy fair frame,
+    Thou didst contemn those tombs of costly fame,
+    Built by thy Roman ancestors, and liest
+    At Milan, where great Ambrose sleeps in Christ.
+    Hope, the dead's life, and faith, which never faints,
+    Made thee rest here, that thou mayst rise with saints.
+
+
+
+
+9. [PAULINUS. VERSUS APUD EPIST. XXXII. 3.]
+
+    You that to wash your flesh and souls draw near,
+    Ponder these two examples set you here:
+    Great Martin shows the holy life, and white,
+    Paulinus to repentance doth invite;
+    Martin's pure, harmless life, took heaven by force,
+    Paulinus took it by tears and remorse;
+    Martin leads through victorious palms and flow'rs,
+    Paulinus leads you through the pools and show'rs;
+    You that are sinners, on Paulinus look,
+    You that are saints, great Martin is your book;
+    The first example bright and holy is,
+    The last, though sad and weeping, leads to bliss
+
+
+
+
+10. [PAULINUS. VERSUS APUD EPIST. XXXII. 5.]
+
+    Here the great well-spring of wash'd souls with beams
+    Of living light quickens the lively streams;
+    The Dove descends, and stirs them with her wings,
+    So weds these waters to the upper springs.
+    They straight conceive; a new birth doth proceed
+    From the bright streams by an immortal seed.
+    O the rare love of God! sinners wash'd here
+    Come forth pure saints, all justified and clear.
+    So blest in death and life, man dies to sins,
+    And lives to God: sin dies, and life begins
+    To be reviv'd: old Adam falls away
+    And the new lives, born for eternal sway.
+
+
+
+
+11. [PAULINUS. VERSUS APUD EPIST. XXXII. 12.]
+
+    Through pleasant green fields enter you the way
+    To bliss; and well through shades and blossoms may
+    The walks lead here, from whence directly lies
+    The good man's path to sacred Paradise.
+
+
+
+
+12. [PAULINUS. VERSUS APUD EPIST. XXXII. 14.]
+
+    The painful cross with flowers and palms is crown'd,
+    Which prove, it springs; though all in blood 'tis drown'd;
+    The doves above it show with one consent,
+    Heaven opens only to the innocent.
+
+
+
+
+13. [PAULINUS. CARM. XXVII. 387-92.]
+
+    You see what splendour through the spacious aisle,
+    As if the Church were glorified, doth smile.
+    The ivory-wrought beams seem to the sight
+    Engraven, while the carv'd roof looks curl'd and bright.
+    On brass hoops to the upmost vaults we tie
+    The hovering lamps, which nod and tremble by
+    The yielding cords; fresh oil doth still repair
+    The waving flames, vex'd with the fleeting air.
+
+
+
+
+14. [PAULINUS. VERSUS APUD EPIST. XXXII. 17.]
+
+    The pains of Saints and Saints' rewards are twins,
+    The sad cross, and the crown which the cross wins.
+    Here Christ, the Prince both of the cross and crown,
+    Amongst fresh groves and lilies fully blown
+    Stands, a white Lamb bearing the purple cross:
+    White shows His pureness, red His blood's dear loss.
+    To ease His sorrows the chaste turtle sings,
+    And fans Him, sweating blood, with her bright wings;
+    While from a shining cloud the Father eyes
+    His Son's sad conflict with His enemies,
+    And on His blessed head lets gently down
+    Eternal glory made into a crown.
+    About Him stand two flocks of diff'ring notes,
+    One of white sheep, and one of speckled goats;
+    The first possess His right hand, and the last
+    Stand on His left; the spotted goats are cast
+    All into thick, deep shades, while from His right
+    The white sheep pass into a whiter light.
+
+
+
+
+15. [PAULINUS.]
+
+    Those sacred days by tedious Time delay'd,
+    While the slow years' bright line about is laid,
+    I patiently expect, though much distrest
+    By busy longing and a love-sick breast.
+    I wish they may outshine all other days;
+    Or, when they come, so recompense delays
+    As to outlast the summer hours' bright length;
+    Or that fam'd day, when stopp'd by divine strength
+    The sun did tire the world with his long light,
+    Doubling men's labours, and adjourning night.
+      As the bright sky with stars, the field with flow'rs,
+    The years with diff'ring seasons, months and hours,
+    God hath distinguishèd and mark'd, so He
+    With sacred feasts did ease and beautify
+    The working days: because that mixture may
+    Make men--loth to be holy ev'ry day--
+    After long labours, with a freer will,
+    Adore their Maker, and keep mindful still
+    Of holiness, by keeping holy days:
+    For otherwise they would dislike the ways
+    Of piety as too severe. To cast
+    Old customs quite off, and from sin to fast
+    Is a great work. To run which way we will,
+    On plains is easy, not so up a hill.
+      Hence 'tis our good God--Who would all men bring
+    Under the covert of His saving wing--
+    Appointed at set times His solemn feasts,
+    That by mean services men might at least
+    Take hold of Christ as by the hem, and steal
+    Help from His lowest skirts, their souls to heal.
+      For the first step to heaven is to live well
+    All our life long, and each day to excel
+    In holiness; but since that tares are found
+    In the best corn, and thistles will confound
+    And prick my heart with vain cares, I will strive
+    To weed them out on feast-days, and so thrive
+    By handfuls, 'till I may full life obtain,
+    And not be swallow'd of eternal pain.
+
+
+
+
+16. [PAULINUS (?). CARM. APP. I.]
+
+    Come, my true consort in my joys and care!
+    Let this uncertain and still wasting share
+    Of our frail life be giv'n to God. You see
+    How the swift days drive hence incessantly,
+    And the frail, drooping world--though still thought gay[69]--
+    In secret, slow consumption wears away.
+    All that we have pass from us, and once past
+    Return no more; like clouds, they seem to last,
+    And so delude loose, greedy minds. But where
+    Are now those trim deceits? to what dark sphere
+    Are all those false fires sunk, which once so shin'd,
+    They captivated souls, and rul'd mankind?
+    He that with fifty ploughs his lands did sow,
+    Will scarce be trusted for two oxen now;
+    His rich, loud coach, known to each crowded street,
+    Is sold, and he quite tir'd walks on his feet.
+    Merchants that--like the sun--their voyage made
+    From East to West, and by wholesale did trade,
+    Are now turn'd sculler-men, or sadly sweat
+    In a poor fisher's boat, with line and net.
+    Kingdoms and cities to a period tend;
+    Earth nothing hath, but what must have an end;
+    Mankind by plagues, distempers, dearth and war,
+    Tortures and prisons, die both near and far;
+    Fury and hate rage in each living breast,
+    Princes with princes, States with States contest;
+    An universal discord mads each land,
+    Peace is quite lost, the last times are at hand.
+    But were these days from the Last Day secure,
+    So that the world might for more years endure,
+    Yet we--like hirelings--should our term expect,
+    And on our day of death each day reflect.
+    For what--Therasia--doth it us avail
+    That spacious streams shall flow and never fail,
+    That aged forests hie to tire the winds,
+    And flow'rs each Spring return and keep their kinds!
+    Those still remain: but all our fathers died,
+    And we ourselves but for few days abide.
+      This short time then was not giv'n us in vain,
+    To whom Time dies, in which we dying gain,
+    But that in time eternal life should be
+    Our care, and endless rest our industry.
+    And yet this task, which the rebellious deem
+    Too harsh, who God's mild laws for chains esteem,
+    Suits with the meek and harmless heart so right
+    That 'tis all ease, all comfort and delight.
+    "To love our God with all our strength and will;
+    To covet nothing; to devise no ill
+    Against our neighbours; to procure or do
+    Nothing to others, which we would not to
+    Our very selves; not to revenge our wrong;
+    To be content with little, not to long
+    For wealth and greatness; to despise or jeer
+    No man, and if we be despised, to bear;
+    To feed the hungry; to hold fast our crown;
+    To take from others naught; to give our own,"
+    --These are His precepts: and--alas!--in these
+    What is so hard, but faith can do with ease?
+    He that the holy prophets doth believe,
+    And on God's words relies, words that still live
+    And cannot die; that in his heart hath writ
+    His Saviour's death and triumph, and doth yet
+    With constant care, admitting no neglect,
+    His second, dreadful coming still expect:
+    To such a liver earthy things are dead,
+    With Heav'n alone, and hopes of Heav'n, he's fed,
+    He is no vassal unto worldly trash,
+    Nor that black knowledge which pretends to wash,
+    But doth defile: a knowledge, by which men
+    With studied care lose Paradise again.
+    Commands and titles, the vain world's device,
+    With gold--the forward seed of sin and vice--
+    He never minds: his aim is far more high,
+    And stoops to nothing lower than the sky.
+    Nor grief, nor pleasures breed him any pain,
+    He nothing fears to lose, would nothing gain,
+    Whatever hath not God, he doth detest,
+    He lives to Christ, is dead to all the rest.
+    This Holy One sent hither from above
+    A virgin brought forth, shadow'd by the Dove;
+    His skin with stripes, with wicked hands His face
+    And with foul spittle soil'd and beaten was;
+    A crown of thorns His blessed head did wound.
+    Nails pierc'd His hands and feet, and He fast bound
+    Stuck to the painful Cross, where hang'd till dead,
+    With a cold spear His heart's dear blood was shed.
+    All this for man, for bad, ungrateful man,
+    The true God suffer'd! not that suff'rings can
+    Add to His glory aught, Who can receive
+    Access from nothing, Whom none can bereave
+    Of His all-fulness: but the blest design
+    Of His sad death was to save me from mine:
+    He dying bore my sins, and the third day
+    His early rising rais'd me from the clay.
+    To such great mercies what shall I prefer,
+    Or who from loving God shall me deter?
+    Burn me alive, with curious, skilful pain,
+    Cut up and search each warm and breathing vein;
+    When all is done, death brings a quick release,
+    And the poor mangled body sleeps in peace.
+    Hale me to prisons, shut me up in brass,
+    My still free soul from thence to God shall pass.
+    Banish or bind me, I can be nowhere
+    A stranger, nor alone; my God is there.
+    I fear not famine; how can he be said
+    To starve who feeds upon the Living Bread?
+    And yet this courage springs not from my store,
+    Christ gave it me, Who can give much, much more
+    I of myself can nothing dare or do,
+    He bids me fight, and makes me conquer too.
+    If--like great Abr'ham--I should have command
+    To leave my father's house and native land,
+    I would with joy to unknown regions run,
+    Bearing the banner of His blessed Son.
+    On worldly goods I will have no design,
+    But use my own, as if mine were not mine;
+    Wealth I'll not wonder at, nor greatness seek,
+    But choose--though laugh'd at--to be poor and meek.
+    In woe and wealth I'll keep the same staid mind,
+    Grief shall not break me, nor joys make me blind:
+    My dearest Jesus I'll still praise, and He
+    Shall with songs of deliv'rance compass me.
+      Then come, my faithful consort! join with me
+    In this good fight, and my true helper be;
+    Cheer me when sad, advise me when I stray,
+    Let us be each the other's guide and stay;
+    Be your lord's guardian: give joint aid and due,
+    Help him when fall'n, rise, when he helpeth you,
+    That so we may not only one flesh be,
+    But in one spirit and one will agree.
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[69] The original has _gry_.
+
+
+From _Hermetical Physic_: translated from Henry Nollius (1655).
+
+
+
+
+1. [HORACE. EPIST. I. 1, 14-5.]
+
+    Where'er my fancy calls, there I go still,
+    Not sworn a slave to any master's will.
+
+
+
+
+2. [INCERTI.]
+
+    There's need, betwixt his clothes, his bed and board,
+    Of all that Earth and Sea and Air afford.
+
+
+
+
+3. [INCERTI.]
+
+    With restless cares they waste the night and day,
+    To compass great estates, and get the sway.
+
+
+
+
+4. [JUVENAL. SATIRE XV. 160-164.]
+
+                Whenever did, I pray,
+    One lion take another's life away?
+    Or in what forest did a wild boar by
+    The tusks of his own fellow wounded die?
+    Tigers with tigers never have debate;
+    And bears among themselves abstain from hate
+
+
+
+
+5. [JUVENAL. SATIRE XV. 169-171.]
+
+    [Some] esteem it no point of revenge to kill,
+    Unless they may drink up the blood they spill:
+    Who do believe that hands, and hearts, and heads,
+    Are but a kind of meat, etc.
+
+
+
+
+6. [INCERTI.]
+
+    The strongest body and the best
+    Cannot subsist without due rest.
+
+From Thomas Powell's _Cerbyd Fechydwiaeth_ (1657).
+
+
+
+
+1. [THE LORD'S PRAYER.]
+
+    Y Pader, pan trier, Duw-tri a'i dododd
+      O'i dadol ddaioni,
+    Yn faen-gwaddan i bob gweddi,
+      Ac athrawieth a wnaeth i ni.
+
+                                                       Ol[or] Vaughan.
+
+From Thomas Powell's _Humane Industry_ (1661).
+
+
+
+
+1. [CAMPION. EPIGR. I. 151.]
+
+    Time's-Teller wrought into a little round,
+    Which count'st the days and nights with watchful sound;
+    How--when once fix'd--with busy wheels dost thou
+    The twice twelve useful hours drive on and show;
+    And where I go, go'st with me without strife,
+    The monitor and ease of fleeting life.
+
+
+
+
+2. [GROTIUS. LIB. EPIGR. II.]
+
+    The untired strength of never-ceasing motion,
+    A restless rest, a toilless operation,
+    Heaven then had given it, when wise Nature did
+    To frail and solid things one place forbid;
+    And parting both, made the moon's orb their bound,
+    Damning to various change this lower ground.
+    But now what Nature hath those laws transgress'd,
+    Giving to Earth a work that ne'er will rest?
+    Though 'tis most strange, yet--great King--'tis not new:
+    This work was seen and found before, in you.
+    In you, whose mind--though still calm--never sleeps,
+    But through your realms one constant motion keeps:
+    As your mind--then--was Heaven's type first, so this
+    But the taught anti-type of your mind is.
+
+
+
+
+3. [JUVENAL. SATIRE III.]
+
+    How oft have we beheld wild beasts appear
+    From broken gulfs of earth, upon some part
+    Of sand that did not sink! How often there
+    And thence, did golden boughs o'er-saffron'd start!
+    Nor only saw we monsters of the wood,
+    But I have seen sea-calves whom bears withstood;
+    And such a kind of beast as might be named
+    A horse, but in most foul proportion framed.
+
+
+
+
+4. [MARTIAL. EPIGR. I. 105.]
+
+    That the fierce pard doth at a beck
+    Yield to the yoke his spotted neck,
+    And the untoward tiger bear
+    The whip with a submissive fear;
+    That stags do foam with golden bits.
+    And the rough Libyc bear submits
+    Unto the ring; that a wild boar
+    Like that which Calydon of yore
+    Brought forth, doth mildly put his head
+    In purple muzzles to be led;
+    That the vast, strong-limb'd buffles draw
+    The British chariots with taught awe,
+    And the elephant with courtship falls
+    To any dance the negro calls:
+    Would not you think such sports as those
+    Were shows which the gods did expose?
+    But these are nothing, when we see
+    That hares by lions hunted be, etc.
+
+
+
+
+            NOTES TO VOL. II.
+
+
+
+
+POEMS WITH THE TENTH SATIRE OF JUVENAL ENGLISHED.
+
+Most of the poems in this volume of 1646 appear to belong to Vaughan's
+sojourn as a law-student in London: that, however, on the Priory Grove
+must have been written after he had retired to Wales on the outbreak of
+the Civil War.
+
+
+P. 5. To my Ingenious Friend, R. W.
+
+It is probable that this is the R. W. of the Elegy in _Olor Iscanus_ (p.
+79). On the attempts to identify him, see the note to that poem. The
+_Poems_ of 1646 must have been published while his fate was still
+unknown.
+
+_Pints i' th' Moon or Star._ These are names of rooms, rather than of
+inns. _Cf._ Shakespeare, 1 _Henry IV._, ii. 4, 30, "Anon, anon, sir!
+Score a pint of bastard in the Half-moon."
+
+
+P. 6. _Randolph._
+
+The works of Randolph here referred to are his comedy _The Jealous
+Lovers_, his pastoral _Amyntas; or, The Impossible Dowry_, and the
+following verses _On the Death of a Nightingale_:--
+
+    "Go, solitary wood, and henceforth be
+    Acquainted with no other harmony
+    Than the pie's chattering, or the shrieking note
+    Of boding owls, and fatal raven's throat.
+    Thy sweetest chanter's dead, that warbled forth
+    Lays that might tempests calm, and still the north,
+    And call down angels from their glorious sphere,
+    To hear her songs, and learn new anthems there.
+    That soul is fled, and to Elysium gone,
+    Thou a poor desert left; go then and run.
+    Beg there to want a grove, and if she please
+    To sing again beneath thy shadowy trees,
+    The souls of happy lovers crowned with blisses
+    Shall flock about thee, and keep time with kisses."
+
+
+P. 8. Les Amours.
+
+Lines 22-24 are misprinted in the original; they there run:--
+
+    "O'er all the tomb a sudden spring:
+    If crimson flowers, whose drooping heads
+    Shall curtain o'er their mournful heads:"
+
+
+P. 10. To Amoret.
+
+The Amoret of these _Poems_ may or may not be the Etesia of _Thalia
+Rediviva_; and she may or may not have been the poet's first wife. _Cf._
+_Introduction_ (vol. i, p. xxxiii).
+
+_To her white bosom._ _Cf._ _Hamlet_, ii. 2, 113, where Hamlet addresses
+a letter to Ophelia, "in her excellent white bosom, these."
+
+
+P. 12. Song.
+
+The MS. variant readings to this and to two of the following poems are
+written in pencil on a copy of the _Poems_ in the British Museum, having
+the press-mark 12304, a 24. There is no indication of their author, or
+of the source from which they are taken.
+
+
+P. 13. To Amoret.
+
+_The vast ring._ _Cf._ _Silex Scintillans_ (vol. i., pp. 150, 284).
+
+
+P. 18. _A Rhapsodis._
+
+_The Globe Tavern._ This appears to have been near, or even a part of,
+the famous theatre. There exists a forged letter of George Peele's, in
+which it is mentioned as a resort of Shakespeare's, but there is no
+authentic allusion to it by name earlier than an entry in the registers
+of St. Saviour's, Southwark, for 1637. An "alehouse" is, however,
+alluded to in a ballad on the burning of the old Globe in 1613. (Rendle
+and Norman, _Inns of Old Southwark_, p. 326.)
+
+_Tower-Wharf to Cymbeline and Lud_; that is, from the extreme east to
+the extreme west of the City. Statues of the mythical kings of Britain
+were set up in 1260 in niches on Ludgate. They were renewed when the
+gate was rebuilt in 1586. It stood near the Church of St. Martin's,
+Ludgate.
+
+_That made his horse a senator_; _i.e._ Caligula. _Cf._ Suetonius Vit.
+Caligulae, 55: "_Incitato equo, cuius causa pridie circenses, ne
+inquietaretur, viciniae silentium per milites indicere solebat, praeter
+equile marmoreum et praesepe eburneum praeterque purpurea tegumenta ac
+monilia e gemmis, domum etiam et familiam et suppellectilem dedit, quo
+lautius nomine eius invitati acciperentur; consulatum quoque traditur
+destinasse._"
+
+_he that ... crossed Rubicon_, _i.e._ Julius Cæsar.
+
+
+P. 21. To Amoret.
+
+The third stanza is closely modelled on Donne; _cf._ Introduction (vol.
+i., p. xxi). The curious reader may detect many other traces of Donne's
+manner of writing in these _Poems_ of 1646.
+
+
+P. 23. To Amoret Weeping.
+
+_Eat orphans ... patent it._ The ambition of a courtier under the
+Stuarts was to get the guardianship of a royal ward, or the grant of a
+monopoly in some article of necessity. Dr. Grosart quotes from Tustin's
+_Observations; or, Conscience Emblem_ (1646): "By me, John Tustin, who
+hath been plundered and spoiled by the patentees for white and grey
+soap, eighteen several times, to his utter undoing."
+
+
+P. 26. Upon the Priory Grove, his usual Retirement.
+
+Mr. Beeching, in the _Introduction_ (vol. i., p. xxiii), states
+following Dr. Grosart, that the Priory Grove was "the home of a famous
+poetess of the day, Katherine Phillips, better known as 'the Matchless
+Orinda.'" Vaughan was certainly a friend of Mrs. Phillips (_cf._ pp.
+100, 164, 211, with notes), whose husband, Colonel James Phillips, lived
+at the Priory, Cardigan; but she was not married until 1647.
+
+Miss Morgan points out that there is still a wood on the outskirts of
+Brecon which is known as the Priory Grove. It is near the church and
+remains of a Benedictine Priory on the Honddu.
+
+
+P. 28. Juvenal's Tenth Satire Translated.
+
+This translation has a separate title-page; _cf._ the _Bibliography_
+(vol. ii., p. lvii).
+
+
+
+
+OLOR ISCANUS.
+
+
+This volume, published in 1651, contains, besides the poems here
+reprinted, some prose translations from Plutarch and other writers. The
+separate title-pages of these are given in the _Bibliography_ (vol. ii.,
+p. lviii): the incidental scraps of verse in them appear on pp. 291-293
+of the present volume. The edition of 1651 has, besides the printed
+title-page, an engraved title-page by the well-known engraver, who may
+or may not have been a kinsman of the poet, Robert Vaughan. It
+represents a swan on a river shaded by trees. The _Olor Iscanus_ was
+reissued with a fresh title-page in 1679.
+
+
+P. 52. Ad Posteros.
+
+On the account of Vaughan's life here given, see the _Biographical note_
+(vol. ii., p. xxx).
+
+_Herbertus._ Matthew Herbert, Rector of Llangattock. Cf. the poem to him
+on p. 158, with its note.
+
+_Castae fidaeque ... parentis_, _i.e._, perhaps, his mother the Church.
+
+_Nec manus atra fuit._ Dr. Grosart omitted the _fuit_, together with the
+final _s_ of the preceding line. In this he is naïvely followed by Mr.
+J. R. Tutin, in his selection of Vaughan's _Secular Poems_.
+
+
+P. 53. To the ... Lord Kildare Digby.
+
+Lord Kildare Digby was the eldest son of Robert, first Baron Digby, in
+the peerage of Ireland. He succeeded to the title in 1642. He was about
+21 at the time of this dedication, and died in 1661 (Dr. Grosart)
+
+
+The date of the dedication is 17th of December, 1647. A volume was
+therefore probably prepared for publication at that date, and
+afterwards, as we learn from the publisher's preface, "condemned to
+obscurity," and given surreptitiously to the world. At the same time, as
+Miss Morgan points out to me, some of the poems in _Olor Iscanus_ must
+be of later date than 1647. The death of Charles I. is apparently
+alluded to in the lines _Ad Posteros_, and certainly in the "since
+Charles his reign" of the _Invitation to Brecknock_ (p. 74). This event
+took place on January 30th, 1648/9. The _Epitaph upon the Lady
+Elizabeth_ (p. 102), again, cannot be earlier than her death on
+September 8th, 1650.
+
+
+P. 54. The Publisher to the Reader.
+
+_Augustus vindex._ The lives of Vergil attributed to Donatus and others
+relate that the poet, in his will, directed that his unfinished _Aeneid_
+should be burnt. Augustus, however, interfered and ordered its
+publication.
+
+
+P. 57. Commendatory Verses.
+
+These are signed by _T. Powell, Oxoniensis_; _I. Rowlandson,
+Oxoniensis_; and _Eugenius Philalethes, Oxoniensis_. Thomas Powell, one
+of the Powells of Cantreff, in Breconshire, was born in 1608. He
+matriculated from Jesus College on January 25th, 1627/8, took his B.A.
+in 1629 and his M.A. in 1632, and became a Fellow of the College. He was
+Rector of Cantreff and Vicar of Brecknock, but was ejected by the
+Commissioners for the Propagation of the Gospel and went abroad. At the
+Restoration he returned to Cantreff and was made D.D. and Canon of St.
+David's. But for his death, on the 31st December, 1660, he would
+probably have become Bishop of Bristol. He was the author of several
+books of no great importance. He appears to have been a close friend of
+Vaughan, who addresses various poems to him, and contributed others to
+his books. See _Olor Iscanus_, pp. 97, 159; _Thalia Rediviva_, pp. 178,
+200, 267; _Fragments and Translations_, pp. 323-326. Powell, in return,
+wrote commendatory poems to both the _Olor Iscanus_ and the _Thalia
+Rediviva_.
+
+_I. Rowlandson._ This may have been John Rowlandson, of Queen's College,
+Oxford, who matriculated the 17th October, 1634, aged 17, took his B.A.
+in 1636, and his M.A. in 1639. Either he or his father, James
+Rowlandson, also of Queen's College, was sequestered by the Westminster
+Assembly to the vicarage of Battle, Sussex, in 1644. He left it shortly
+after and "returned to his benefice from whence he was before thence
+driven by the forces raised against the parliament." (_See_ Addl. MS.
+15,669, f. 17). There was also another James Rowlandson, son of James
+Rowlandson, D.D., Canon of Windsor, who matriculated from Queen's
+College on the 9th November, 1632, aged 17, and took his B.A. in
+1637.--G. G.
+
+_Eugenius Philalethes._ The author's brother, Thomas Vaughan. See the
+_Biographical Note_ (vol. ii., p. xxxiii).
+
+P. 39. _that lamentable nation_, _i.e._ the Scotch.
+
+
+P. 61. Olor Iscanus.
+
+_Ausonius._ The famous schoolmaster, rhetorician and courtier of the
+early fourth century, was born at Bordeaux. One of his most famous poems
+is the _Mosella_ (Idyll X), a description of the river and its fish.
+
+_Castara_, Lucy, daughter of William Herbert, Lord Powys, and wife of
+the Worcestershire poet, William Habington, who celebrated her in his
+poems under that name. The _Castara_ was published in 1634.
+
+_Sabrina_, the tutelar nymph of the Severn. _Cf._ the invocation of her
+in Milton's "Comus."
+
+_May the evet and the toad._ This passage is imitated from W. Browne's
+_Britannia's Pastorals_, Bk. I., Song 2, II., 277 _sqq._:
+
+    "May never evet nor the toad
+    Within thy banks make their abode!
+    Taking thy journey from the sea,
+    May'st thou ne'er happen in thy way
+    On nitre or on brimstone mine,
+    To spoil thy taste! this spring of thine
+    Let it of nothing taste but earth,
+    And salt conceived, in their birth
+    Be ever fresh! Let no man dare
+    To spoil thy fish, make lock or ware;
+    But on thy margent still let dwell
+    Those flowers which have the sweetest smell.
+    And let the dust upon thy strand
+    Become like Tagus' golden sand.
+    Let as much good betide to thee,
+    As thou hast favour show'd to me."
+
+                                                                 G. G.
+
+_flames that are ... canicular. Cf. A Dialogue between Sir Henry Wotton
+and Mr. Donne_ (Poems of John Donne, _Muse's Library_, Vol. I., p. 79):
+
+    "I'll never dig in quarry of a heart
+        To have no part,
+    Nor roast in fiery eyes, which always are
+        Canicular."
+
+
+P. 65. The Charnel-house.
+
+_Kelder_, a caldron; cf. J. Cleveland, _The King's Disguise_:
+
+    "The sun wears midnight; day is beetle-brow'd,
+    And lightning is in kelder of a cloud."
+
+_A second fiat's care._ The allusion is to _Genesis_ i. 3: "And God
+said, Let there be light (in the Vulgate, _Fiat lux_), and there was
+light"; _cf._ Donne, _The Storm_ (_Muses' Library_, II. 4):
+
+    "Since all forms uniform deformity
+    Doth cover; so that we, except God say
+    Another _Fiat_, shall have no more day."
+
+
+P. 70. To his Friend ----.
+
+Miss Morgan thinks that the "friend" of this poem, whose name is shown
+by the first line to have been James, may perhaps be identified with the
+James Howell of the _Epistolae Ho-Elianae_. Howell had Vaughans amongst
+his cousins and correspondents, but these appear to have been of the
+Golden Grove family.
+
+
+P. 73. To his retired Friend--an Invitation to Brecknock.
+
+_her foul, polluted walls._ Miss Morgan quotes a statement from Grose's
+_Antiquities_ to the effect that the walls of Brecknock were pulled down
+by the inhabitants during the Civil War in order to avoid having to
+support a garrison or stand a siege.
+
+_the Greek_, _i.e._ Hercules when in love with Omphale.
+
+_Domitian-like_: _Cf._ Suetonius, _Vita Domitiani_, 3: "_Inter initia
+principatus cotidie secretum sibi horarum sumere solebat, nec quicquam
+amplius quam muscas captare ac stilo praeacuto configere._"
+
+_Since Charles his reign._ This poem must date from after the execution
+of Charles I., on January 30, 1648/9. It would appear therefore that
+Vaughan was living in Brecknock and not at Newton about the time that
+the _Olor Iscanus_ was published.
+
+
+P. 77. Monsieur Gombauld.
+
+The writer referred to is John Ogier de Gombauld (1567-1666). His prose
+tale of _Endymion_ was translated by Richard Hurst in 1637. _Ismena_ and
+_Diophania_ who was metamorphosed into a myrtle, are characters in the
+story. _Periardes_ is a hill in Armenia whence the Euphrates takes its
+course.
+
+
+P. 79. An Elegy on the Death of Mr. R. W., slain in the late unfortunate
+differences at Routon Heath, near Chester.
+
+The battle of Routon, or Rowton, Heath took place on September 24, 1645.
+The Royalist forces, under Charles I. and Sir Marmaduke Langdale,
+advancing to raise the siege of Chester, were met and routed by the
+Parliamentarians under Poyntz. The contemporary pamphlets give a long
+list of the prisoners taken at Routon Heath, but name hardly any of
+those slain. It is therefore difficult to say who R. W., evidently a
+dear friend of Vaughan's, may have been. He appears to have been missing
+for a year before he was finally given up. From lines 25-27 we learn
+that he was a young man of only twenty. The most likely suggestion for
+his identification seems to me that of Mr. C. H. Firth, who points out
+to me that the name of one Roger Wood occurs in the list of Catholics
+who fell in the King's service as having been slain at Chester. Miss
+Southall (_Songs of Siluria_, 1890, p. 124) suggests that he may have
+been either Richard Williams, a nephew of Sir Henry Williams, of
+Gwernyfed, who died unmarried, or else a son of Richard Winter, of
+Llangoed. He might also, I think, have been one of Vaughan's wife's
+family, the Wises, and possibly also a Walbeoffe. A reference to the
+Walbeoffe pedigree in the note to p. 189 will show that there was a
+Robert Walbeoffe, brother of C. W. Miss Morgan thinks that he is a
+generation too old, and that the unnamed son of C. W., who, according to
+his tombstone, did not survive him, may have been a Robert, and the R.
+W. in question. On the question whether Vaughan was himself present at
+Routon Heath, _see_ the _Biographical Note_ (vol. ii., p. xxviii).
+
+
+P. 83. Upon a Cloak lent him by Mr. J. Ridsley.
+
+I do not know who Mr. Ridsley was. On the references to Vaughan's
+"juggling fate of soldiery" in this poem, _see_ the _Biographical Note_
+(vol. ii., p. xxviii).
+
+_craggy Biston, and the fatal Dee._ Chester stands, of course, on the
+Dee, which is "fatal" as the scene of disasters to the Royalist cause.
+Dr. Grosart explains Biston as "Bishton (or Bishopstone) in
+Monmouthshire," and adds, "'Craggie Biston' refers, no doubt, to certain
+caves there. The Poet's school-boy rambles from Llangattock doubtless
+included Bishton." I think that Biston is clearly Beeston Castle, one of
+the outlying defences of Chester, which played a considerable part in
+the siege. It surrendered on November 5, 1645, and the small garrison
+was permitted to march to Denbigh (J. R. Phillips, _The Civil War in
+Wales and the Marshes_, vol. i., p. 343).
+
+_Micro-cosmography_, the world represented on a small scale in man.
+Vaughan means that he had as many lines on him as a map.
+
+_Speed's Old Britons._ John Speed (1555-1629) published his _History of
+Great Britain_ in 1614.
+
+_King Harry's Chapel at Westminster_, with its tombs, was already one of
+the sights of London.
+
+_Brownist._ The Brownists were the religious followers of Robert Browne
+(c. 1550-c. 1633); they were afterwards known as Independents or
+Congregationalists.
+
+
+P. 86. Upon Mr. Fletcher's Plays.
+
+The first folio edition of Beaumont and Fletcher's _Comedies and
+Tragedies_ was published in 1647. Vaughan's lines are not, however,
+amongst the commendatory verses there given.
+
+_Field's or Swansted's overthrow._ Nathaniel Field and Eliard Swanston,
+who appears to be meant by Swansted, were well-known actors. They were
+both members of the King's Company about 1633.
+
+
+P. 90. Upon the Poems and Plays of the ever-memorable Mr. William
+Cartwright.
+
+This was printed, together with verses by Tho. Vaughan and many other
+writers, in William Cartwright's _Comedies, Tragi-comedies, with other
+Poems_, 1651.
+
+
+P. 94. An Elegy on the Death of Mr. R. Hall, slain at Pontefract, 1648.
+
+Miss Southall thinks that the subject of this elegy may have been a son
+of Richard Hall, of High Meadow, in the Forest of Dean, co. Gloucester.
+These Halls were connected with the Winters, a Breconshire family. Mr.
+C. H. Firth ingeniously suggests to me that for R. Hall we should read
+R. Hall[ifax], and points out that a Robert Hallyfax was one of the
+garrison at the first siege of Pontefract in 1645. He may have been at
+the second siege also. (R. Holmes, _Sieges of Pontefract_, p. 20.)
+
+
+P. 97. To my learned Friend, Mr. T. Powell, upon his Translation of
+Malvezzi's "Christian Politician."
+
+The book referred to is _The Pourtract of the Politicke
+Christian-Favourite_. By Marquesse Virgilio Malvezzi, 1647. This is a
+translation of _Il Ritratto del Privato Politico Christiano_, published
+at Bologna in 1635. It does not contain Vaughan's verses, and no
+translator's name is given. The preface of another translation from
+Malvezzi, the _Stoa Triumphans_ (1651), is, however, signed "T. P."
+
+
+P. 99. To my worthy Friend, Master T. Lewes.
+
+Some of the lines in this poem are borrowed from Horace's verses, _Ad
+Thaliarcham_ (Book I., Ode 9):
+
+    "Vides, ut alta stet nive candida
+    Soracte, nec iam sustineant onus
+        Sylvae laborantes, geluque
+            Flumina constiterint acuto?
+
+           *       *       *       *       *
+
+    Quid sit futurum eras, fuge quaerere;
+    Quam sors dierum cunque debit; lucro
+        Appone."
+
+                                                                 G. G.
+
+Dr. Grosart thinks that T. Lewes was "probably of Maes-mawr, opposite
+Newton, on the south side of the Usk." Miss Southall identifies him with
+Thomas Lewis, incumbent in 1635 of Llanfigan, near Llansantffread. He
+was expelled from his living, but returned to it at the Restoration.
+
+
+P. 100. To the most excellently accomplished Mrs. K. Philips.
+
+Katherine Philips, by birth Katherine Fowler, became the wife in 1647 of
+Colonel James Philips, of the Priory, Cardigan. She was a wit and
+poetess, and well-known to a large circle of friends as "the matchless
+Orinda." Each member of her coterie had a similar fantastic pseudonym,
+and it is possible that this may account for the Etesia and Timander,
+the Fida and Lysimachus, of Vaughan's poems. The poems of Orinda were
+surreptitiously published in 1664, and in an authorised version in 1667.
+They include her poem on Vaughan, afterwards prefixed to _Thalia
+Rediviva_ (cf. p. 169), but are not accompanied by the present verses
+nor by those to her editor in _Thalia Rediviva_ (p. 211).
+
+_A Persian votary_--_i.e._, a Parsee, or fire-worshipper.
+
+
+P. 102. An Epitaph upon the Lady Elizabeth, Second Daughter to his late
+Majesty.
+
+Elizabeth, second daughter of Charles I., was born in 1635. She suffered
+from ill-health and grief after her father's execution, and died at
+Carisbrooke on September 8, 1650. This poem, therefore, like others in
+the volume, must be of later date than the dedication.
+
+
+P. 104. To Sir William Davenant, upon his Gondibert.
+
+Davenant's _Gondibert_ was first published in 1651. It does not contain
+Vaughan's verses.
+
+_thy aged sire._ Is this an allusion to the story that Davenant was in
+reality the son of William Shakespeare?
+
+_Birtha_, the heroine of _Gondibert_.
+
+
+P. 119. Cupido [Cruci Affixus].
+
+Another translation of Ausonius' poems was published by Thomas Stanley
+in 1649. There is nothing in the original corresponding to the last four
+lines of Vaughan's translation.
+
+Ll. 89-94. The Latin is:
+
+            "Se quisque absolvere gestit,
+    Transferat ut proprias aliena in crimina culpas."
+
+Vaughan's simile is borrowed from Donne's _Fourth Elegy_ (_Muses'
+Library_, I., 107):
+
+            "as a thief at bar is questioned there,
+    By all the men that have been robb'd that year."
+
+
+P. 125. Translations from Boethius.
+
+These translations are from the _De Consolatione Philosophiae_, a medley
+of prose and verse. Vaughan has translated all the verse in the first
+two books except the Metrum 3 of Book I. and Metrum 6 of Book II. The
+headings of Metra 7 and 8 of Book II. are given in error in _Olor
+Iscanus_ as Metra 6 and 7. Some further translations from Books III. and
+IV. will be found in _Thalia Rediviva_, pp. 224-235.
+
+
+P. 144. Translations from Casimirus.
+
+These translations are from the Polish poet Mathias Casimirus
+Sarbievius, or Sarbiewski (1595-1640). His Latin _Lyrics_ and _Epodes_,
+modelled on Horace, were published in 1625-1631. Sarbiewski was a
+Jesuit, and a complete edition of his poems was published by the Jesuits
+in 1892.
+
+
+P. 158. Venerabili viro, praeceptori suo olim et semper colendissimo
+Magistro Mathaeo Herbert.
+
+Matthew Herbert was Rector of Llangattock, and apparently acted as tutor
+to the young Vaughans. He is mentioned in the lines _Ad Posteros_ (p.
+51). Thomas Vaughan also has two sets of Latin verses to him (Grosart,
+II., 349), and dedicated to him his _Man-Mouse taken in a Trap_ (1650).
+On July 19, 1655, he petitioned for the discharge of the sequestration
+on his rectory, which had been sequestered for the delinquency of the
+Earl of Worcester (_Cal. Proc. Ctee. for Compositions_, p. 1713). He
+died in 1660.
+
+
+P. 159. Praestantissimo viro Thomae Poëllo in suum de Elementis Opticæ
+Libellum.
+
+The _Elementa Opticae_ appeared in 1649. It has no name on the
+title-page, but the preface is signed "T. P.," and dated 1649. It
+contains the present prefatory verses, together with some others, also
+in Latin, by Eugenius Philalethes (Thomas Vaughan).
+
+
+
+
+THALIA REDIVIVA.
+
+
+This volume, published in 1578, at a late date in Henry Vaughan's life,
+twenty-three years after the second part of _Silex Scintillans_, must
+have been written, at least in part, much earlier. The poem on _The King
+Disguised_, for instance, goes back to 1646. At the end of the volume,
+with a separate title-page (_cf. Bibliography_), come the Verse Remains
+of the poet's brother, Thomas Vaughan. This is the rarest of Vaughan's
+collections of poems. The copy once in Mr. Corser's collection, and now
+in the British Museum, was believed to be unique. It was used both by
+Lyte and Dr. Grosart. But Miss Morgan has come across two other copies,
+one in Mr. Locker-Lampson's library at Rowfant, the other in that of Mr.
+Joseph, at Brecon.
+
+
+P. 163. The Epistle-Dedicatory.
+
+Henry Somerset, third Marquis of Worcester, was created Duke of
+Beaufort in 1682. He was a distant kinsman of Vaughan's, whose
+great-great-grandfather, William Vaughan of Tretower, married Frances
+Somerset, granddaughter of Henry, Earl of Worcester. He was a firm
+adherent of the Stuarts, and refused to take the oath of allegiance to
+William III. (Dr. Grosart).
+
+
+P. 164. Commendatory Verses.
+
+These are signed by _Orinda_; _Tho. Powell, D.D._; _N. W., Ies. Coll.,
+Oxon._; _I. W., A.M. Oxon._
+
+On Orinda, _cf._ the note to p. 100, and on Dr. Powell, that to P. 57.
+
+Mr. Firth suggests that N. W., of Jesus, probably a young man, who
+imitates Cowley's _Pindarics_, and does not claim any personal
+acquaintance with Vaughan, may be N[athaniel] W[illiams], son of Thomas
+Williams, of Swansea, who matriculated in 1672, or N[icholas] W[adham],
+of Rhydodyn, Carmarthen, who matriculated in 1669.
+
+I. W., also an Oxford man, is probably the writer of the prefaces to the
+Marquis of Worcester and to the Reader, which are signed respectively J.
+W. and I. W. Mr. Firth suggests that he may be J[ohn] W[illiams], son of
+Sir Henry Williams of Gwernevet, Brecon, who matriculated at Brasenose
+in 1642. I have thought that he might be Vaughan's cousin, the second
+John Walbeoffe (_cf._ p. 189, note), who is mentioned in Thomas
+Vaughan's diary (_cf. Biographical Note_, vol. ii., p. xxxviii), but
+there is no proof that Walbeoffe was an Oxford man. Perhaps he is the
+friend James to whom a poem in _Olor Iscanus_ is addressed (p. 70).
+
+
+P. 178. To his Learned Friend and loyal Fellow-prisoner, Thomas Powel of
+Cant[reff], Doctor of Divinity.
+
+On Dr. Powell, _cf._ note to p. 57. Vaughan's reason for calling him a
+"fellow-prisoner" is discussed in the _Biographical Note_ (vol. ii., p.
+xxxii).
+
+
+P. 181. The King Disguised.
+
+John Cleveland's poem, _The King's Disguise_, here referred to, was
+first published as a pamphlet on January 21, 1646. It appears in
+Cleveland's _Works_ (1687). The disguising was on the occasion of
+Charles the First's flight, on April 27, 1646, from Oxford to the
+Scottish camp, of which Dr. Gardiner writes (_History of the Civil War_,
+Ch. xli): "At three in the morning of the 27th, Charles, disguised as a
+servant, with his beard and hair closely trimmed, passed over Magdalen
+Bridge in apparent attendance upon Ashburnham and Hudson."
+
+
+P. 187. To Mr. M. L., upon his Reduction of the Psalms into Method.
+
+Dr. Grosart identifies M. L. with Matthew Locke, of whom Roger North
+says, in his _Memoirs of Music_ (4to, 1846, p. 96): "He set most of the
+Psalms to music in parts, for the use of some vertuoso ladyes in the
+city." Locke's setting of the _Psalms_ exists only in MS. A copy was in
+the library of Dr. E. F. Rimbault, who thinks that the author assisted
+Playford in his _Whole Book of Psalms_ (1677). In 1677 he died.
+
+
+P. 189. To the pious Memory of C[harles] W[albeoffe] Esquire.
+
+Charles Walbeoffe was a man of considerable importance in
+Brecknockshire. His name occurs several times in State papers of the
+period. A petition of his concerning a ward is dated October 12, 1640.
+(_Cal. S. P. Dom._, Car. I., 470, 113). He was High Sheriff in 1648
+(Harl. MS. 2,289, f. 174), and a fragment of a warrant signed by him on
+April 17 of that year to Thomas Vaughan, treasurer of the county, for
+the monthly assessment, is in Harl. MS. 6,831, f. 13. As we might
+perhaps gather from Vaughan's poem, he does not seem to have taken an
+active part in the Civil War. He did not, like some other members of his
+family, sign the _Declaration_ of Brecknock for the Parliament on
+November 23, 1645 (J. R. Phillips, _Civil War in Wales and the Marches_,
+ii. 284). And he seems to have joined the Royalist rising in Wales of
+1648. Information was laid on February 10, 1649, that he "was
+Commissioner of Array and Association, raised men and money, subscribed
+warrants to raise men against the Parliament's generals, and sat as J.P.
+in the court at Brecon when the friends of Parliament were prosecuted"
+(_Cal. Proc. Ctee. for Advance of Money_, p. 1017). Afterwards he was
+reconciled, sat on the local Committee for Compositions, and again got
+into trouble with the authorities. On May 14, 1652, the Brecon Committee
+wrote to the Central Committee that, being one of the late Committee, he
+would not account for sums in his hands. He was fined £20. (_Cal. Proc.
+Ctee. for Compositions_, p. 578.)
+
+Miss Morgan has copied the inscription on his tombstone in Llanhamlach
+Church.
+
+                           [Arms of Walbeoffe.]
+
+     "Here lieth the body of Charles Walbeoffe, Esqre., who departed
+     this life the 13th day of September, 1653, and was married to Mary,
+     one of the daughters of Sir Thomas Aubrey of Llantryddid, in the
+     county of Glamorgan, Knt., by whom he had issue two sonnes, of whom
+     only Charles surviveth."
+
+Charles Walbeoffe the younger died in 1668, and was succeeded by his
+cousin John. "This gentleman," says Jones (_Hist. of Brecknock_, ii.,
+482), "being of a gay and extravagant turn, left the estate, much
+encumbered, to his son Charles, and soon after his death it was
+foreclosed and afterwards sold."
+
+This John Walbeoffe is mentioned in Thomas Vaughan's _Diary_ (_cf._ vol.
+ii., p. xxxviii). He may be the writer of the preface to _Thalia
+Rediviva_ (_cf._ p. 164, note).
+
+It is possible that the R. W. of another of Vaughan's Elegies may also
+have been a Walbeoffe. _Cf._ p. 79, _note_.
+
+Dr. Grosart was unable to identify the initials C. W. The Walbeoffes, or
+Walbieffes, of Llanhamlach, the next village to Llansantfread, were
+among the most important of the _Advenae_, or Norman settlers of
+Brecknockshire. They were related, as the following table shows, to the
+Vaughans of Tretower. The following extract from the genealogy of the
+Walbeoffes of Llanhamlach is compiled from Harl. MS. 2,289. f. 136_b_;
+Jones, _History of Brecknockshire_, ii., 484; Miss G. E. F. Morgan, in
+_Brecon County Times_ for May 13, 1887.
+
+               William Vaughan
+               of Tretower.
+                    |
+         -----------------------
+         |                     |
+      Charles.              Margaret = John Walbeoffe.
+           |                                 |
+           |                   +-------------+--------------------+---+
+           |                   |                                  |   |
+ Thomas = Denise Williams.  Charles   = Mary, d. of Sir           | Robert.
+           |                ob. 1653. | Thomas Aubrey             |
+           |                          | of Llantrithid.           |
+           |                          |                           |
+         Henry.                       +----------------+          |
+           |                          |                |          |
+   +-------+---------+                |               Son         |
+   |       |         |                |           (name unknown.) |
+ Henry. Thomas. W[illiam?]            |                           |
+                                      |                           |
+                              Charles = Elizabeth, d. and         |
+                   nat. 1646, matr.     h. to Thomas Aubrey       |
+                 19, vii., 1661, ob.    of Llantrithid.           |
+                         s.p. 1668.                               |
+                                                                  |
+                                          +-----------------------+
+                                          |
+                                     John = Catherine Watkins.
+                                          |
+                                        John = Susan, d. of Humphry
+                                             | Howarth of Whitehouse,
+                                             | Herefordshire.
+                                             |
+                                  +----------+------------+
+                                  |                       |
+                                Charles.      John, Rector of Llanhamlach,
+                                             nat. 1675, matr. 3, ii., 1696.
+
+
+P. 193. In Zodiacum Marcelli Palingenii.
+
+Marcellus Palingenius, or Petro Angelo Manzoli, wrote his didactic and
+satirical poem, the _Zodiacus Vitae_, about 1535. It was translated into
+English by Barnabee Googe in 1560-1565. The latest edition of the
+original is that by C. C. Weise (1832). As we may gather from Vaughan's
+lines, Manzoli was an earnest student of occult lore. _Cf._ Gustave
+Reynier, _De Marcelli Palingenii Stellatae Poctae Zodiaco Vitae_ (1893).
+
+
+P. 195. To Lysimachus.
+
+_Bevis ... Arundel ... Morglay_. The allusion is to the _Romance of Sir
+Bevis of Hampton_ (ed. E. Kölbing, E. E. T. S., 1885). Arundel was Sir
+Bevis' horse, and Morglay his sword.
+
+
+P. 197. On Sir Thomas Bodley's Library.
+
+If Vaughan was not himself an Oxford man (_Biog. Note_, vol. ii., p.
+xxvi), he may have been in Oxford with the King's troops at the end of
+August, 1645 (_Biog. Note_, vol. ii., p. xxxi).
+
+_Walsam_, Walsingham, in Norfolk, famous for the rich shrine of Our Lady
+of Walsingham, to which many offerings were made.
+
+
+P. 200. The Importunate Fortune.
+
+I. 105. _My purse, as Randolph's was._ The allusion is to Randolph's _A
+Parley with his Empty Purse_, which begins:
+
+    "Purse, who'll not know you have a poet's been,
+    When he shall look and find no gold herein?"
+
+
+P. 204. To I. Morgan, of Whitehall, Esq.
+
+Whitehall appears to be an Anglicised form of Wenallt, more properly
+Whitehill. John Morgan, or Morgans, of Wenallt, in Llandetty, was a
+kinsman of Vaughan's, as the following table (from Harl. MS., 2,289, f.
+39) shows:
+
+             John Morgans.
+                    |
+               Morgan Jones =  Frances, d. of Charles
+                            |  Vaughan of Tretower
+   _________________________|_______________
+   |                                        |
+John Morgans = Mary, d. to Thomas         Anne =
+                 Aubrey of Llantrithid.   1. Charles Williams
+                                             of Scethrog.
+                                          2. Hugh Powell, parson
+                                             of Llansantffread.
+
+
+P. 211. To the Editor of the Matchless Orinda.
+
+_cf._ p. 100, _note_. These lines do not appear in either the 1664 or
+the 1667 edition of Orinda's poems.
+
+
+P. 213. Upon Sudden News of the Much Lamented Death of Judge Trevers.
+
+"This was probably Sir Thomas Trevor, youngest son of John Trevor, Esq.,
+of Trevallyn, co. Denbigh, by Mary, daughter of Sir George Bruges, of
+London. He was born 6th July, 1586. He was made one of the Barons of the
+Exchequer 12th May, 1625; and was one of the six judges who refused to
+accept the new commission offered them by the ruling powers under the
+Commonwealth. He died 21st December, 1656, and is buried at
+Lemington-Hastang, in Warwickshire." (Dr. Grosart.)
+
+
+P. 214. To Etesia (for Timander) The First Sight.
+
+I do not think we need look for anything autobiographical in this and
+the following poems written to Etesia. They are written "for Timander,"
+that is, either to serve the suit of a friend, or as copies of verses
+with no personal reference at all. The names Etesia and Timander smack
+of Orinda's poetic circle.
+
+
+P. 224. Translations from Severinus.
+
+Dr. Grosart hunted out an obscure Neapolitan, Marcus Aurelius Severino,
+and ascribed to him the originals of these translations. They are of
+course from the _De Consolatione Philosophiae_ of Anicius Manlius
+Severinus Boethius, and are a continuation of the pieces already printed
+in _Olor Iscanus_ (pp. 125-143).
+
+
+P. 245. Pious Thoughts and Ejaculations.
+
+These are much in the vein of _Silex Scintillans_. They probably belong
+to various dates later than 1655, when the second part of that
+collection appeared. _The Nativity_ (p. 259) is dated 1656, and _The
+True Christmas_ (p. 261) was apparently written after the Restoration.
+
+
+P. 261. The True Christmas.
+
+Vaughan was no Puritan; _cf._ his lines on _Christ's Nativity_ (vol. i.,
+p. 107)--
+
+    "Alas, my God! Thy birth now here
+    Must not be numbered in the year,"
+
+but he was not much in sympathy with the ideals of the Restoration
+either; _cf._ the passage on "our unjust ways" in _Daphnis_ (p. 284).
+
+
+P. 267. De Salmone.
+
+On Thomas Powell, _cf._ p. 57, note.
+
+
+P. 272. The Bee.
+
+_Hilarion's servant, the sage crow._ There seems to be some confusion
+between Hilarion, an obscure fourth-century Abbot, and Paul the Hermit,
+of whom it is related in his _Life by S. Jerome_ that for sixty years he
+was daily provided with half a loaf of bread by a crow.
+
+
+P. 278. Daphnis.
+
+The subject of the Eclogue appears to be Vaughan's brother Thomas, who
+died 27th February, 1666. On him _see_ the _Biographical Note_ (vol.
+ii., p. xxxiii).
+
+_true black Moors_; an allusion, perhaps, to Thomas Vaughan's
+controversy with Henry More.
+
+_Old Amphion_; perhaps Matthew Herbert, on whom see note to p. 158.
+
+_The Isis and the prouder Thames._ Thomas Vaughan was buried at Albury,
+near Oxford.
+
+_Noble Murray._ Thomas Vaughan's patron, himself a poet and alchemist,
+Sir Robert Murray, Secretary of State for Scotland. His poems have been
+collected by the Hunterian Club.
+
+
+
+
+FRAGMENTS AND TRANSLATIONS.
+
+
+The larger number of the verses in this section are translated
+quotations scattered through Vaughan's prose-pamphlets. Dr. Grosart
+identified some of the originals; I have added a few others; but the
+larger number remain obscure and are hardly worth spending much labour
+upon. The title-pages of the pamphlets will be found in the
+_Bibliography_ (vol. ii., p. lvii).
+
+
+P. 289. From Eucharistica Oxoniensia.
+
+I have already, in the _Biographical Note_ (vol. ii., p. xxviii), given
+reasons for doubting whether this poem is by the Silurist. It was first
+printed as his by Dr. Grosart. Charles the First was in Scotland, trying
+to settle his differences with the Scots, during the closing months of
+1641.
+
+
+P. 291. Translations from Plutarch and Maximus Tyrius.
+
+These, together with a translation of Guevara's _De vitae rusticae
+laudibus_, were appended to the _Olor Iscanus_. Vaughan did not
+translate directly from the Greek, but from a Latin version published in
+1613-14 amongst some tracts by John Reynolds, Lecturer in Greek at, and
+afterwards President of Corpus Christi College, Oxford.
+
+
+P. 294. From the Mount of Olives.
+
+A volume of Devotions published by Vaughan in 1652. The preface, dated
+1st October, 1651, is addressed to Sir Charles Egerton, Knight, and in
+it Vaughan speaks of "that near relation by which my dearest friend
+lays claim to your person." It is impossible to say who is the "dearest
+friend" referred to. The _Flores Solitudinis_ (1654) is also dedicated
+to Sir Charles Egerton. He was probably of Staffordshire. Dr. Grosart
+(II. xxxiii) states that in Hanbury Church, co. Stafford, is a monument
+_Caroli Egertoni Equitis Aurati_, who died 1662. Perhaps therefore he
+was connected with Vaughan's wife's family, the Wises of Staffordshire.
+
+
+P. 298. From Man in Glory.
+
+This translation from a work attributed to St. Anselm and published as
+his in 1639 is appended to the Mount of Olives.
+
+In the original lines 5, 6, are printed in error after lines 7, 8.
+
+
+P. 299. From Flores Solitudinis.
+
+In 1654 Vaughan published a volume containing (1) translations of two
+discourses by Eusebius Nierembergius, (2) a translation of Eucherius,
+_De Contemptu Mundi_, (3) an original life of S. Paulinus, Bishop of
+Nola. These were poems "collected in his sickness and retirement." The
+Epistle-dedicatory to Sir Charles Egerton is dated 1653, and that to the
+reader which precedes the translations from Nierembergius on 17th April,
+1652.
+
+_Bissellius._ John Bissel a Jesuit, (1601-1677), wrote _Deliciae
+Aetatis_, _Argonauticon Americanorum_, etc. (Grosart).
+
+_Augurellius._ Johannes Aurelius Augurellius of Rimini (1454-1537),
+wrote _Carmina_, _Chrysopoeia_, _Geronticon_, etc. (Grosart).
+
+
+P. 307. From Primitive Holiness.
+
+This original life of S. Paulinus of Nola, by far the most striking of
+Vaughan's prose works, contains a number of poems, pieced together by
+Vaughan from lines in Paulinus' own poems and in those of Ausonius
+addressed to him. The edition used by Vaughan seems to have been that
+published by Rosweyd at Antwerp in 1622. I have traced the sources of
+the poems so far as I can in the edition published by W. de Hartel in
+the _Corpus Scriptorum Ecclesiasticorum Latinorum_ (vols. xxix, xxx
+1894).
+
+
+P. 322. From Hermetical Physic.
+
+A translation from the _Naturae Sanctuarium! quod est Physica Hermetica_
+(1619) of the alchemist Henry Nollius, published by Vaughan in 1655.
+
+
+P. 323. From Cerbyd Fechydwiaeth.
+
+This tract is bound up with the Brit. Mus. copy of [Thomas Powell's]
+_Quadriga Salutis_ (1657), of which it appears to be a Welsh
+translation. The verses, to which nothing corresponds in the English
+version, are signed Ol[or] Vaughan (_cf._ Olor Iscanus). Professor
+Palgrave (_Y Cymrodor_, 1890-1) translates them as follows: "The Lord's
+Prayer, when looked into (we see), the Trinity of His Fatherly goodness
+has given it as a foundation-stone of all prayer, and has made it for
+our instruction in doctrine." He adds that this Englyn occurs with
+others written in an eighteenth-century hand on the fly-leaf of a MS. of
+Welsh poetry by Iago ab Duwi.
+
+
+P. 324. From Humane Industry.
+
+On Thomas Powell _cf._ p. 57, note. The first three of these
+translations are marked H. V. in the margin; of the fourth Powell says,
+"The translation of Mr. Hen. Vaughan, Silurist, whose excellent Poems
+are published." Many other translations are scattered through the book,
+but there is nothing to connect them with Vaughan.
+
+
+
+
+LIST OF FIRST LINES.
+
+                                                         Vol. page
+A grove there grows, round with the sea confin'd,         ii. 239
+
+A king and no king! Is he gone from us,                   ii. 181
+
+A tender kid--see, where 'tis put--                       ii. 293
+
+A ward, and still in bonds, one day                        i.  19
+
+A wit most worthy in tried gold to shine,                  i.   2
+
+Accept, dread Lord, the poor oblation;                     i.  92
+
+Accipe prærapido salmonem in gurgite captum,              ii. 267
+
+Against the virtuous man we all make head,                ii. 305
+
+Ah! He is fled!                                            i.  40
+
+Ah! what time wilt Thou come? when shall that cry          i. 123
+
+All sorts of men, who live on Earth,                      ii. 235
+
+All worldly things, even while they grow, decay           ii. 304
+
+Almighty Spirit! Thou that by                             ii. 144
+
+Amyntas go, thou art undone                               ii.  12
+
+And do they so? have they a sense                          i.  87
+
+And for life's sake to lose the crown of life.            ii. 303
+
+And is the bargain thought too dear                       ii. 311
+
+And rising at midnight the stars espied                   ii. 297
+
+And will not bear the cry                                 ii. 301
+
+As Egypt's drought by Nilus is redress'd                  ii. 304
+
+As kings do rule like th' heavens, who dispense           ii. 289
+
+As Time one day by me did pass,                            i. 234
+
+As travellers, when the twilight's come                    i. 146
+
+Ask, lover, e'er thou diest; let one poor breath          ii.  11
+
+Awake, glad heart! get up and sing!                        i. 105
+
+Base man! and couldst thou think Cato alone               ii. 301
+
+Be dumb, coarse measures, jar no more; to me               i. 195
+
+Be still, black parasites,                                 i. 187
+
+Bless me! what damps are here! how stiff an air!          ii.  65
+
+Blessed, unhappy city! dearly lov'd,                       i. 218
+
+Blessings as rich and fragrant crown your heads           ii.  92
+
+Blest be the God of harmony and love!                      i.  76
+
+Blest infant bud, whose blossom-life                       i. 120
+
+Boast not, proud Golgotha, that thou canst show           ii. 197
+
+Bright and blest beam! whose strong projection,            i. 121
+
+Bright books! the perspectives to our weak sights:        ii. 245
+
+Bright Queen of Heaven! God's Virgin Spouse!               i. 225
+
+Bright shadows of true rest! some shoots of bliss;         i. 114
+
+But night and day doth his own life molest,               ii. 302
+
+Can any tell me what it is? Can you                       ii. 268
+
+Chance taking from me things of highest price             ii. 292
+
+Come, come! what do I here?                                i.  61
+
+Come, drop your branches, strew the way                    i. 216
+
+Come, my heart! come, my head,                             i.  52
+
+Come, my true consort in my joys and care!                ii. 317
+
+Come sapless blossom, creep not still on earth,            i. 166
+
+Curtain'd with clouds in a dark night                     ii. 132
+
+Darkness, and stars i' th' mid-day! They invite           ii.  18
+
+Dear, beauteous saint! more white than day                 i. 227
+
+Dear friend, sit down, and bear awhile this shade          i. 193
+
+Dear friend! whose holy, ever-living lines                 i.  91
+
+Dearest! if you those fair eyes--wond'ring--stick         ii. 115
+
+Death and darkness, get you packing,                       i. 133
+
+Diminuat ne sera dies præsentis honorem                   ii.  51
+
+Draw near, fond man, and dress thee by this glass,        ii. 294
+
+Dust and clay,                                             i. 180
+
+Early, while yet the dark was gay                         ii. 255
+
+Eternal God! Maker of all                                  i. 285
+
+Et sic in cithara, sic in dulcedine vitæ                  ii. 266
+
+Excel then if thou canst, be not withstood,               ii. 291
+
+Fair and young light! my guide to holy                     i. 236
+
+Fair order'd lights--whose motion without noise            i. 155
+
+Fair Prince of Light! Light's living well!                ii. 249
+
+Fair, shining mountains of my pilgrimage                  ii. 247
+
+Fair, solitary path! whose blessed shades                  i. 256
+
+Fair vessel of our daily light, whose proud               ii. 257
+
+Fairly design'd! to charm our civil rage                  ii. 171
+
+False life! a foil and no more, when                       i. 282
+
+Fancy and I, last evening, walk'd,                        ii.  15
+
+Farewell! I go to sleep; but when                          i.  73
+
+Farewell thou true and tried reflection                   ii. 276
+
+Farewell, you everlasting hills! I'm cast                  i.  43
+
+Father of lights! what sunny seed,                         i. 189
+
+Feeding on fruits which in the heavens do grow,           ii. 291
+
+Flaccus, not so: that worldly he                          ii. 152
+
+Fool that I was! to believe blood                         ii. 209
+
+For shame desist, why shouldst thou seek my fall?         ii. 200
+
+Fortune--when with rash hands she quite turmoils          ii. 134
+
+Fresh fields and woods! the Earth's fair face             ii. 252
+
+From fruitful beds and flow'ry borders,                   ii. 272
+
+From the first hour the heavens were made                 ii. 296
+
+Go catch the ph[oe]nix, and then bring                    ii. 217
+
+Go, go, quaint follies, sugar'd sin,                       i. 113
+
+Go, if you must! but stay--and know                       ii. 222
+
+Had I adored the multitude and thence                     ii. 169
+
+Hail, sacred shades! cool, leafy house!                   ii.  26
+
+Happy is he, that with fix'd eyes                         ii. 224
+
+Happy that first white age! when we                       ii. 138
+
+Happy those early days, when I                             i.  59
+
+Have I so long in vain thy absence mourn'd?               ii. 309
+
+He that thirsts for glory's prize,                        ii. 140
+
+Here holy Anselm lives in ev'ry page,                     ii. 298
+
+Here, take again thy sackcloth! and thank heav'n          ii.  83
+
+Here the great well-spring of wash'd souls, with beams    ii. 313
+
+His deep, dark heart--bent to supplant--                  ii. 292
+
+Hither thou com'st: the busy wind all night                i. 207
+
+How could that paper sent,                                ii. 307
+
+How is man parcell'd out! how ev'ry hour                   i. 139
+
+How kind is Heav'n to man! if here                         i. 107
+
+How oft have we beheld wild beasts appear                 ii. 325
+
+How rich, O Lord, how fresh Thy visits are!                i. 105
+
+How shrill are silent tears! when sin got head             i. 124
+
+I am confirm'd, and so much wing is given                 ii.  79
+
+I call'd it once my sloth: in such an age                 ii.  58
+
+I cannot reach it; and my striving eye                     i. 249
+
+I did but see thee! and how vain it is                    ii.  90
+
+I have consider'd it; and find                             i.  90
+
+I have it now:                                             i. 238
+
+I knew it would be thus! and my just fears                ii.  94
+
+I knew thee not, nor durst attendance strive              ii.  87
+
+I saw beneath Tarentum's stately towers                   ii. 296
+
+I saw Eternity the other night                             i. 150
+
+I see the Temple in thy pillar rear'd;                     i. 261
+
+I see the use: and know my blood                           i.  69
+
+I've read thy soul's fair nightpiece, and have seen       ii.  77
+
+I walk'd the other day, to spend my hour,                  i. 171
+
+I whose first year flourished with youthful verse,        ii. 125
+
+I wonder, James, through the whole history                ii.  70
+
+I write not here, as if thy last in store                 ii.  59
+
+I wrote it down. But one that saw                          i. 264
+
+If Amoret, that glorious eye,                             ii.  13
+
+"If any have an ear,"                                      i. 242
+
+If I were dead, and in my place                           ii.  16
+
+If old tradition hath not fail'd,                         ii. 233
+
+If sever'd friends by sympathy can join,                  ii. 178
+
+If this world's friends might see but once                 i. 232
+
+If weeping eyes could wash away                           ii. 151
+
+If with an open, bounteous hand                           ii. 135
+
+In all the parts of earth, from farthest West,            ii.  28
+
+In March birds couple, a new birth                        ii. 295
+
+In those bless'd fields of everlasting air                ii. 119
+
+Isca parens florum, placido qui spumeus ore               ii. 157
+
+It is perform'd! and thy great name doth run              ii. 193
+
+It lives when kill'd, and brancheth when 'tis lopp'd      ii. 301
+
+It would less vex distressèd man                          ii. 145
+
+Jesus, my life! how shall I truly love Thee?               i. 200
+
+Joy of my life while left me here!                         i.  67
+
+Knave's tongues and calumnies no more doth prize          ii. 292
+
+King of comforts! King of Life!                            i. 127
+
+King of mercy, King of love,                               i. 174
+
+Learning and Law, your day is done,                       ii. 213
+
+Leave Amoret, melt not away so fast                       ii.  23
+
+Let me not weep to see thy ravish'd house                 ii. 307
+
+Let not thy youth and false delights                      ii. 146
+
+Life, Marcellina, leaving thy fair frame,                 ii. 312
+
+Like some fair oak, that when her boughs                  ii. 302
+
+[Like] to speedy posts, bear hence the lamp of life       ii. 304
+
+Long life, oppress'd with many woes,                      ii. 306
+
+Long since great wits have left the stage                 ii. 211
+
+Lord, bind me up, and let me lie                           i. 161
+
+Lord Jesus! with what sweetness and delights,              i. 177
+
+Lord, since Thou didst in this vile clay                   i. 116
+
+Lord! what a busy restless thing                           i.  48
+
+Lord, when Thou didst on Sinai pitch,                      i. 148
+
+Lord, when Thou didst Thyself undress,                     i.  51
+
+Lord, with what courage, and delight                       i.  80
+
+Love, the world's life! What a sad death                  ii. 223
+
+Man should with virtue arm'd and hearten'd be             ii. 303
+
+Mark, when the evening's cooler wings                     ii.  21
+
+Most happy man! who in his own sweet fields               ii. 236
+
+My dear, Almighty Lord! why dost Thou weep?                i. 220
+
+My God and King! to Thee                                   i. 259
+
+My God, how gracious art Thou! I had slipt                 i.  89
+
+My God! Thou that didst die for me,                        i.  13
+
+My God, when I walk in those groves                        i.  30
+
+My soul, my pleasant soul, and witty,                     ii. 294
+
+My soul, there is a country                                i.  83
+
+Nature even for herself doth lay a snare,                 ii. 303
+
+Nimble sigh on thy warm wings,                            ii.  10
+
+Nothing on earth, nothing at all                          ii. 149
+
+Now I have seen her; and by Cupid                         ii. 206
+
+Now that the public sorrow doth subside                   ii. 189
+
+O book! Life's guide! how shall we part;                   i. 287
+
+O come, and welcome! come, refine!                        ii. 251
+
+O come away,                                               i. 274
+
+O day of life, of light, of love!                          i. 267
+
+O do not go! Thou know'st I'll die!                        i. 214
+
+O dulcis luctus, risuque potentior omni!                  ii. 221
+
+O health, the chief of gifts divine!                      ii. 293
+
+O holy, blessed, glorious Three,                           i. 201
+
+O in what haste, with clouds and night                    ii. 126
+
+O joys! infinite sweetness! with what flowers              i.  71
+
+O knit me, that am crumbled dust! the heap                 i.  46
+
+O my chief good!                                           i.  84
+
+O quæ frondosæ per am[oe]na cubilia silvæ                 ii. 160
+
+O, subtle Love! thy peace is war;                         ii. 220
+
+O tell me whence that joy doth spring                      i. 284
+
+O the new world's new-quick'ning Sun!                      i. 289
+
+O Thou great builder of this starry frame,                ii. 129
+
+O Thou that lovest a pure and whiten'd soul;               i. 130
+
+O Thou! the first-fruits of the dead,                      i.  78
+
+O Thou who didst deny to me                               ii. 263
+
+O Thy bright looks! Thy glance of love                     i. 197
+
+O when my God, my Glory, brings                            i. 260
+
+Obdurate still and tongue-tied, you accuse                ii. 308
+
+Oft have I seen, when that renewing breath                 i.  25
+
+Patience digesteth misery                                 ii. 302
+
+Peace? and to all the world? Sure One,                    ii. 259
+
+Peace, peace! I blush to hear thee; when thou art          i. 108
+
+Peace, peace! I know 'twas brave;                          i.  65
+
+Peace, peace! it is not so. Thou dost miscall              i. 137
+
+Peter, when thou this pleasant world dost see,            ii. 299
+
+Praying! and to be married! It was rare,                   i.  37
+
+Quid celebras auratam undam, et combusta pyropis          ii. 265
+
+Quite spent with thoughts, I left my cell, and lay         i.  57
+
+Quod vixi, Mathæe dedit pater, hæc tamen olim             ii. 158
+
+Sacred and secret hand!                                    i. 223
+
+Sad, purple well! whose bubbling eye                       i. 254
+
+Saw not, Lysimachus, last day, when we                    ii. 195
+
+Say, witty fair one, from what sphere                     ii. 100
+
+See what thou wert! by what Platonic round                ii. 175
+
+See you that beauteous queen, which no age tames?         ii. 219
+
+Sees not my friend, what a deep snow                      ii.  99
+
+Shall I believe you can make me return,                   ii. 306
+
+Shall I complain, or not? or shall I mask                 ii. 112
+
+Sickness and death, you are but sluggish things,          ii. 309
+
+Silence and stealth of days! 'Tis now,                     i.  74
+
+Since dying for me, Thou didst crave no more               i. 278
+
+Since I in storms us'd most to be,                         i. 283
+
+Since in a land not barren still,                          i. 145
+
+Since last we met, thou and thy horse--my dear--          ii.  73
+
+Sion's true, glorious God! on Thee                         i. 269
+
+So from our cold, rude world, which all things tires,     ii. 204
+
+So our decays God comforts by                             ii. 295
+
+So, stick up ivy and the bays,                            ii. 261
+
+Some esteem it no point of revenge to kill                ii. 323
+
+Some struggle and groan as if by panthers torn,           ii. 300
+
+Still young and fine! but what is still in view            i. 230
+
+Sure, it was so. Man in those early days                   i. 101
+
+Sure Priam will to mirth incline,                         ii. 291
+
+Sure, there's a tie of bodies! and as they                 i.  82
+
+Sure thou didst flourish once! and many springs,           i. 209
+
+Sweet, harmless live[r]s!--on whose leisure                i. 158
+
+Sweet, sacred hill! on whose fair brow                     i.  49
+
+Tentasti, fateor, sine vulnere sæpius et me                i. liv
+
+Thanks, mighty Silver! I rejoice to see                   ii.  68
+
+That man for misery excell'd                              ii. 293
+
+That the fierce pard doth at a beck                       ii. 325
+
+That the world in constant force                          ii. 142
+
+The lucky World show'd me one day                          i. 226
+
+The naked man too gets the field,                         ii. 300
+
+The painful cross with flowers and palms is crown'd,      ii. 314
+
+The pains of Saints and Saints' rewards are twins,        ii. 314
+
+The plenteous evils of frail life fill the old:           ii. 305
+
+The strongest body and the best                           ii. 323
+
+The trees we set grow slowly, and their shade             ii. 297
+
+The untired strength of never-ceasing motion,             ii. 324
+
+The whole wench--how complete soe'er--was but             ii. 298
+
+There are that do believe all things succeed              ii. 295
+
+There's need, betwixt his clothes, his bed and board      ii. 322
+
+They are all gone into the world of light!                 i. 182
+
+--They fain would--if they might--                        ii. 302
+
+This is the day--blithe god of sack--which we,            ii. 106
+
+This pledge of your joint love, to heaven now fled,       ii. 308
+
+Those sacred days by tedious Time delay'd,                ii. 315
+
+Though since thy first sad entrance by                     i. 272
+
+Thou that know'st for whom I mourn,                        i.  54
+
+Thou the nepenthe easing grief                            ii. 301
+
+Thou who didst place me in this busy street                i. 244
+
+Thou, who dost flow and flourish here below,               i. 198
+
+Thou, whose sad heart, and weeping head lies low           i. 133
+
+Through pleasant green fields enter you the way           ii. 313
+
+Through that pure virgin shrine,                           i. 251
+
+Time's teller wrought into a little round,                ii. 324
+
+'Tis a sad Land, that in one day                           i.  23
+
+'Tis dead night round about: Horror doth creep             i.  41
+
+'Tis madness sure; and I am in the fit,                   ii. 184
+
+'Tis not rich furniture and gems,                         ii. 147
+
+'Tis now clear day: I see a rose                           i.  33
+
+'Tis true, I am undone: yet, ere I die,                   ii.  17
+
+To live a stranger unto life                              ii. 304
+
+True life in this is shown,                               ii. 304
+
+'Twas so; I saw thy birth. That drowsy lake                i.  45
+
+Tyrant, farewell! this heart, the prize                   ii.   8
+
+Unfold! Unfold! Take in His light,                        ii. 254
+
+Up, O my soul! and bless the Lord! O God,                  i. 202
+
+Up to those bright and gladsome hills,                     i. 136
+
+Vain, sinful art! who first did fit                        i. 219
+
+Vain wits and eyes                                         i.  16
+
+Virtue's fair cares some people measure                   ii. 303
+
+Vivaces oculorum ignes et lumina dia                      ii. 159
+
+Waters above! eternal springs!                            ii. 248
+
+Weary of this same clay and straw, I laid                  i. 153
+
+We thank you, worthy Sir, that now we see                 ii.  97
+
+Weighing the steadfastness and state                       i. 169
+
+Welcome, dear book, soul's joy and food! The feast         i. 103
+
+Welcome sweet and sacred feast! welcome life!              i. 134
+
+Welcome, white day! a thousand suns,                       i. 184
+
+Well, we are rescued! and by thy rare pen                 ii. 104
+
+What can the man do that succeeds the king?                i. 247
+
+What clouds, Menalcas, do oppress thy brow,               ii. 278
+
+What fix'd affections, and lov'd laws                     ii. 228
+
+What happy, secret fountain,                               i. 241
+
+What greater good hath decked great Pompey's crown        ii. 306
+
+What is't to me that spacious rivers run                  ii. 295
+
+What planet rul'd your birth? what witty star?            ii.  57
+
+What smiling star in that fair night,                     ii. 214
+
+What though they boast their riches unto us?              ii. 292
+
+Whatever 'tis, whose beauty here below                     i. 191
+
+When Daphne's lover here first wore the bays,             ii.  61
+
+When first I saw True Beauty, and Thy joys                 i. 168
+
+When first Thou didst even from the grave                  i. 110
+
+When first thy eyes unveil, give thy soul leave            i.  94
+
+When Jove a heav'n of small glass did behold,             ii. 238
+
+When the Crab's fierce constellation                      ii. 131
+
+When the fair year                                         i. 212
+
+When the sun from his rosy bed                            ii. 136
+
+When through the North a fire shall rush                   i.  28
+
+When to my eyes,                                           i.  63
+
+When we are dead, and now, no more                        ii.   5
+
+When with these eyes, clos'd now by Thee,                  i. 271
+
+Whenever did, I pray,                                     ii. 322
+
+Where reverend bards of old have sate                     ii. 172
+
+Where'er my fancy calls, there I go still,                ii. 322
+
+Whither, O whither didst thou fly                         ii. 250
+
+Who wisely would for his retreat                          ii. 137
+
+Who would unclouded see the laws                          ii. 230
+
+Who on you throne of azure sits,                           i. 142
+
+Whom God doth take care for, and love,                    ii. 306
+
+Whose calm soul in a settled state                        ii. 128
+
+Whose guilty soul, with terrors fraught, doth frame,      ii. 303
+
+Whose hissings fright all Nature's monstrous ills,        ii. 305
+
+With restless cares they waste the night and day,         ii. 322
+
+With what deep murmurs, through Time's silent stealth,     i. 280
+
+Y Pader, pan trier, Duw-tri a'i dododd                    ii. 323
+
+You have consum'd my language, and my pen,                ii. 109
+
+You have oblig'd the patriarch: and 'tis known            ii. 187
+
+You minister to others' wounds a cure,                    ii. 291
+
+You see what splendour through the spacious aisle,        ii. 314
+
+You that to wash your flesh and souls draw near,          ii. 312
+
+Youth, beauty, virtue, innocence                          ii. 102
+
+
+
+Woodfall & Kinder, Printers, 70-76, Long Acre., W.C.
+
+
+
+***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS OF HENRY VAUGHAN, SILURIST,
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+<h1 class="pg">The Project Gutenberg eBook of Poems of Henry Vaughan, Silurist, Volume
+II, by Henry Vaughan, et al, Edited by E. K. Chambers</h1>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<pre>
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre>
+<p>Title: Poems of Henry Vaughan, Silurist, Volume II</p>
+<p>Author: Henry Vaughan</p>
+<p>Editor: E. K. Chambers</p>
+<p>Release Date: March 20, 2009  [eBook #28375]</p>
+<p>Language: English</p>
+<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p>
+<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS OF HENRY VAUGHAN, SILURIST, VOLUME II***</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<h3 class="pg">E-text prepared by Susan Skinner, David Cortesi,<br />
+    and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br />
+    (http://www.pgdp.net)</h3>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<div id="transcriber_note"
+style="border:solid 2px silver; margin:2em auto 2em auto; padding:1em;">
+<h2><a name="TRANSCRIBERS_NOTE" id="TRANSCRIBERS_NOTE"></a>
+TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE
+</h2>
+
+<p>In the poem "In Etesiam Lachrymantem" (<a href='#Page_221'>page 221</a>)
+the initial letter of
+the final line is missing in all extant editions; it is shown as a
+question-mark.
+In the Boethius translation Lib. IV. Metrum VI. (<a href='#Page_230'>page 230</a>),
+the letter
+'y' has been added to make line 9/10 read "...though
+the<span style='background-color:silver;'>y</span>/See other
+stars..." although it is missing in all available editions.</p>
+
+<p>At many points a period, comma or hyphen seems to be omitted in the
+original. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. Where missing
+punctuation is not clearly an error, or the omission is harmless to the
+sense, the text remains as in the original.</p>
+
+<p>Footnotes in the original appear on the page where they are referenced
+and are numbered from 1 on each page. In this edition footnotes are numbered
+consecutively throughout the book and are grouped following each chapter
+or poem to which they refer. A footnote reference is linked to the
+note text, and the text links back to the reference.</p>
+</div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr class="full" />
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<div id="title_page_1" style="padding:4em; border:2px solid silver;">
+<h1 style="line-height:2.5em;">
+<span style="font-size:150%;letter-spacing:4px;">POEMS</span><br />
+
+<span style="font-size:100%;">OF</span><br />
+
+<span style="font-size:200%; letter-spacing:3px;">HENRY VAUGHAN</span><br />
+
+<span style="font-size:150%;letter-spacing:2px;">SILURIST.</span><br />
+
+<span style="font-size:125%;font-variant:small-caps;">Vol. II.</span>
+</h1>
+</div>
+
+<div id="title_page_2" style="padding:2em; border:2px solid silver;">
+<div style="margin-bottom:1.5em;">
+<img src="images/museslibrary.png"
+height="32"
+alt="The Muses' Library"
+title="The Muses' Library" />
+</div>
+<h1 style="line-height:3em;">
+<span style="font-size:150%;letter-spacing:4px;">POEMS</span><br />
+
+<span style="font-size:75%;">OF</span><br />
+
+<span style="font-size:200%; letter-spacing:3px;">HENRY VAUGHAN</span><br />
+
+<span style="font-size:150%;letter-spacing:2px;">SILURIST</span>
+</h1>
+<h3 style="line-height:1.5em;">
+<span style="font-size:75%;">EDITED BY</span><br />
+<span style="font-size:125%;letter-spacing:3px;">E. K. CHAMBERS</span>
+</h3>
+<h3 style="line-height:1.5em;">
+<span style="font-size:75%;">WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY</span><br />
+<span style="font-size:125%;letter-spacing:3px;">CANON BEECHING</span>
+</h3>
+<h2 style="font-size:90%;margin-top:2em;">
+                                   VOL. II.
+</h2>
+
+<p class='center'>
+<img src="images/routledge.png" alt="routledge logo" title="routledge logo" />
+</p>
+
+<h3 style='line-height:1.5em;'>
+                                    LONDON:<br />
+
+                       GEORGE ROUTLEDGE &amp; SONS, LIMITED<br />
+<span style="font-size:75%;">NEW YORK: E. P. DUTTON &amp; CO.</span>
+</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[vii]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<table border="0" summary="Contents" >
+<tr>
+	<td style='width:2em;'>&nbsp;</td>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td>
+	<td style='width:4em;text-align:right;'><span class='smcap'>page</span></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+	<td colspan='2'><span class='smcap'>Table Of Contents</span></td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_vii'>vii</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+	<td colspan='2'><span class='smcap'>Biographical Note</span></td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_xv'>xv</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+	<td colspan='2'>Bibliography Of Henry Vaughan's Works</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_lvii'>lvii</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+	<td colspan='2'>Poems With The Tenth Satire Of Juvenal Englished, 1646</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_1'>1</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>To all Ingenious Lovers of Poesy</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_3'>3</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>To my Ingenuous Friend, R. W.</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_5'>5</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>Les Amours</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_8'>8</a></td></tr>
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>To Amoret. The Sigh</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_10'>10</a></td></tr>
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>To his Friend, Being in Love</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_11'>11</a></td></tr>
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>Song: [Amyntas go, thou art Undone]</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_12'>12</a></td></tr>
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>To Amoret. Walking in a Starry Evening</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_13'>13</a></td></tr>
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>To Amoret Gone from him</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_15'>15</a></td></tr>
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>A Song to Amoret</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_16'>16</a></td></tr>
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>An Elegy</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_17'>17</a></td></tr>
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>A Rhapsodis</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_18'>18</a></td></tr>
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[viii]</a></span>
+To Amoret, of the Difference 'twixt him and other Lovers, >and what True Love is</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_21'>21</a></td></tr>
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>To Amoret Weeping</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_23'>23</a></td></tr>
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>Upon the Priory Grove, his Usual Retirement</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_26'>26</a></td></tr>
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>Juvenal's Tenth Satire Translated</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_28'>28</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td colspan='2'><span class='smcap'>Olor Iscanus</span>. 1651.</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'>&nbsp;</td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   Ad Posteros</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_51'>51</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>To the ... Lord Kildare Digby</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_53'>53</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   The Publisher to the Reader</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_55'>55</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   Upon the Most Ingenious Pair of Twins, Eugenius
+   Philalethes and the Author of those Poems [by T. Powell, Oxoniensis]</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_57'>57</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   To my Friend the Author upon these his Poems [by I. Rowlandson, Oxoniensis]</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_58'>58</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   Upon the following Poems [by Eugenius Philalethes, Oxoniensis]</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_59'>59</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   Olor Iscanus. To the River Isca</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_61'>61</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   The Charnel-House</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_65'>65</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   In Amicum Foeneratorem</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_68'>68</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   To his Friend &mdash;&mdash;</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_70'>70</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   To his Retired Friend, An Invitation to Brecknock</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_73'>73</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   Monsieur Gombauld</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_77'>77</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   An Elegy on the Death of Mr. R. W., Slain in the late
+   Unfortunate Differences at Routon Heath, near Chester, 1645</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_79'>79</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   Upon a Cloak lent him by Mr. J. Ridsley</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_83'>83</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   Upon Mr. Fletcher's Plays, Published 1647</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_87'>87</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   Upon the Poems and Plays of the Ever-Memorable Mr. William
+   Cartwright
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[ix]</a></span></td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_90'>90</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   To the Best and Most Accomplished Couple &mdash;&mdash;</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_92'>92</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   An Elegy on the Death of Mr. R. Hall, Slain at Pontefract, 1648</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_94'>94</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   To my Learned Friend, Mr. T. Powell, upon his Translation
+   of Malvezzi's Christian Politician</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_97'>97</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   To my Worthy Friend, Master T. Lewes</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_99'>99</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   To the Most Excellently Accomplished Mrs. K. Philips</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_100'>100</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   An Epitaph upon the Lady Elizabeth, Second Daughter to his Late Majesty</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_102'>102</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   To Sir William Davenant upon his Gondibert</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_104'>104</a></td></tr>
+
+
+<tr>
+	<td colspan='2'><span class='smcap'>Translations From Ovid</span>.</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'>&nbsp;</td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   To his Fellow Poets at Rome, upon the Birthday of Bacchus</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_106'>106</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   To his Friends&mdash;after his Many Solicitations&mdash;Refusing to
+   Petition C&aelig;sar for his Releasement</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_109'>109</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   To his Inconstant Friend, Translated for the Use of all
+   the Judases of this Touchstone Age</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_112'>112</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   To his Wife at Rome, when he was Sick</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_115'>115</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   Ausonii. Idyll vi. Cupido [Cruci Affixus]</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_119'>119</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   [Translations from Boethius]
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[x]</a></span></td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_125'>125</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   [Translations from Casimirus]</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_144'>144</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   The Praise of a Religious Life of Mathias Casimirus. In
+   Answer to that Ode of Horace, Beatus Ille Qui Procul Negotiis.</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_152'>152</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   Ad Fluvium Iscam</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_157'>157</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   Venerabili Viro, Praeceptori Suo Olim Et Semper
+   Colendissimo Magistro Mathaeo Herbert</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_158'>158</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   Praestantissimo Viro, Thomae Po&euml;llo In Suum De Elementis
+   Opticae Libellum</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_159'>159</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   Ad Echum</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_160'>160</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td colspan='2'><span class='smcap'>Thalia Rediviva</span>. 1678.</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'>&nbsp;</td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   To ... Henry Lord Marquis and Earl of Worcester, &amp;c.
+   [by J. W.]</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_163'>163</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   To the Reader [by I. W.]</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_167'>167</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   To Mr. Henry Vaughan, the Silurist: upon These and his
+   Former Poems. [By Orinda]</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_169'>169</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   Upon the Ingenious Poems of his Learned Friend, Mr. Henry
+   Vaughan, the Silurist. [By Tho. Powell, D.D.]</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_171'>171</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   To the Ingenious Author of Thalia Rediviva [By N. W.,
+   Jes. Coll., Oxon.]</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_172'>172</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   To my Worthy Friend Mr. Henry Vaughan, the Silurist.
+   [by I. W., A.M., Oxon.]</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_175'>175</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td colspan='2'><span class='smcap'>Choice Poems On Several Occasions</span>.
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">[xi]</a></span></td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'>&nbsp;</td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   To his Learned Friend and Loyal Fellow-Prisoner, Thomas
+   Powel of Cant[reff], Doctor of Divinity</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_178'>178</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   The King Disguised</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_181'>181</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   The Eagle</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_184'>184</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   To Mr. M. L. upon his Reduction of the Psalms into Method</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_187'>187</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   To the Pious Memory of C[harles] W[albeoffe] Esquire, Who
+   Finished his Course Here, and Made his Entrance into
+   Immortality upon the 13 of September, in the Year of
+   Redemption, 1653</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_189'>189</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   In Zodiacum Marcelli Palingenii</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_193'>193</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   To Lysimachus, the Author Being with him in London</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_195'>195</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   On Sir Thomas Bodley's Library, the Author Being Then in Oxford</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_197'>197</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   The Importunate Fortune, Written to Dr. Powel, of Cant[reff]</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_200'>200</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   To I. Morgan of Whitehall, Esq., upon his Sudden Journey
+   and Succeeding Marriage</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_204'>204</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   Fida; or, The Country Beauty. To Lysimachus</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_206'>206</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   Fida Forsaken</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_209'>209</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   To the Editor of the Matchless Orinda</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_211'>211</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   Upon Sudden News of the Much-Lamented Death of
+ Judge Trevers
+   <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii">[xii]</a></span></td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_213'>213</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   To Etesia (for Timander); The First Sight</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_214'>214</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   The Character, to Etesia</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_217'>217</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   To Etesia Looking from her Casement at the Full Moon</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_219'>219</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   To Etesia Parted from Him, and Looking Back</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_220'>220</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   In Etesiam Lachrymantem</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_221'>221</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   To Etesia Going Beyond Sea</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_222'>222</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   Etesia Absent</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_223'>223</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td colspan='2'><span class='smcap'>Translations</span>.</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'>&nbsp;</td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   Some Odes of the Excellent and Knowing [Anicius Manlius]</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_224'>224</a></td></tr>
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   Severinus [Boethius], Englished
+
+   The Old Man of Verona, out of Claudian</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_236'>236</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   The Sphere of Archimedes, out of Claudian</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_238'>238</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   The Ph[oe]nix, out of Claudian</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_239'>239</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td colspan='2'><span class='smcap'>Pious Thoughts And Ejaculations</span>.</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'>&nbsp;</td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   To his Books</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_245'>245</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   Looking Back</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_247'>247</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   The Shower</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_248'>248</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   Discipline</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_249'>249</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   The Eclipse</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_250'>250</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   Affliction<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xiii" id="Page_xiii">[xiii]</a></span></td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_251'>251</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   Retirement</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_252'>252</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   The Revival</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_254'>254</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   The Day Spring</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_255'>255</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   The Recovery</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_257'>257</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   The Nativity</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_259'>259</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   The True Christmas</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_261'>261</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   The Request</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_263'>263</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   Jordanis</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_265'>265</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   Servilii Fatum, Sive Vindicta Divina</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_266'>266</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   De Salmone</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_267'>267</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   The World</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_268'>268</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   The Bee</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_272'>272</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   To Christian Religion</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_276'>276</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   Daphnis</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_278'>278</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td colspan='2'><span class='smcap'>Fragments And Translations</span>. 1641-1661.</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_287'>287</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   From Eucharistica Oxoniensia (1641)</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_289'>289</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   From Of the Benefit we may get by our Enemies (1651)</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_291'>291</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   From Of the Diseases of the Mind and the Body (1651)</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_293'>293</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   From The Mount of Olives (1652)</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_294'>294</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   From Man in Glory (1652)</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_298'>298</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   From Flores Solitudinis (1654)</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_299'>299</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   From Of Temperance and Patience (1654)</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_300'>300</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   From Of Life and Death (1654)</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_305'>305</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   From Primitive Holiness (1654)</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_307'>307</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   From Hermetical Physic (1655)
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xiv" id="Page_xiv">[xiv]</a></span></td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_322'>322</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   From Cerbyd Fechydwiaeth (1657)</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_323'>323</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td>&nbsp;</td><td>   From Humane Industry (1661)</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_324'>324</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+	<td colspan='2'><span class='smcap'>Notes To Vol</span>. II</td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_329'>329</a></td></tr>
+<tr>
+	<td colspan='2'><span class='smcap'>List Of First Lines</span></td>
+	<td style='text-align:right;'><a href='#Page_355'>355</a></td></tr>
+
+</table>
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xv" id="Page_xv">[xv]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>
+<a name="BIOGRAPHICAL_NOTE" id="BIOGRAPHICAL_NOTE"></a>
+BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE.</h2>
+
+<hr class='head' />
+
+<p>Recent inquiries into the life of Henry Vaughan
+have added but little to the information already contained
+in the memoirs of Mr. Lyte and Dr. Grosart.
+I have, however, been enabled to put together a few
+notes on this somewhat obscure subject, which may
+be taken as supplementary to Mr. Beeching's <i>Introduction</i>
+in Vol. I. It will be well to preface them
+by reprinting the account of Anthony &agrave; Wood, our
+chief original authority (<i>Ath. Oxon.</i>, ed. Bliss, 1817, iv. 425):</p>
+
+<p>"Henry Vaughan, called the <i>Silurist</i> from that
+part of Wales whose inhabitants were in ancient times
+called Silures, brother twin (but elder)<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> to Eugenius
+Philalethes, alias Tho. Vaughan ... was born at
+Newton S. Briget, lying on the river Isca,
+commonly called Uske, in Brecknockshire, educated<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xvi" id="Page_xvi">[xvi]</a></span>
+in grammar learning in his own country for six years
+under one Matthew Herbert, a noted schoolmaster of
+his time, made his first entry into Jesus College in
+Mich. term 1638, aged 17 years; where spending
+two years or more in logicals under a noted tutor,
+was taken thence and designed by his father for the
+obtaining of some knowledge in the municipal laws
+at London. But soon after the civil war beginning,
+to the horror of all good men, he was sent for home,
+followed the pleasant paths of poetry and philology,
+became noted for his ingenuity, and published several
+specimens thereof, of which his <i>Olor Iscanus</i> was
+most valued. Afterwards applying his mind to the
+study of physic, became at length eminent in his own
+country for the practice thereof, and was esteemed
+by scholars an ingenious person, but proud and
+humorous.... [A list of Vaughan's works
+follows.] ... He died in the latter end of April
+(about the 29th day) in sixteen hundred ninety and
+five, and was buried in the parish church of Llansenfreid,
+about two miles distant from Brecknock,
+in Brecknockshire."</p>
+
+<p>Anthony &agrave; Wood seems to have had some personal
+acquaintance with the poet, for in his account of
+Thomas Vaughan (<i>Ath. Oxon.</i> iii. 725) he says
+that "Olor Iscanus sent me a catalogue of his
+brother's works."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xvii" id="Page_xvii">[xvii]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<h3>(<i>a</i>) THE VAUGHAN GENEALOGY.</h3>
+
+<p>Henry Vaughan's descent from the Vaughans of
+Tretower, County Brecon, has been accurately traced
+by Dr. Grosart and others. Little has been hitherto
+known about his immediate family. Theophilus
+Jones, in his <i>History of Brecknockshire</i> (1805-9), ii.
+544, says: "Henry Vaughan died in 1695, aged 75,<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a>
+leaving by his first wife two sons and three daughters,
+and by his second a daughter Rachel, who married John
+Turberville. His grand-daughter, Denys, or Dyenis, a
+corruption or abbreviation of Dyonisia, who was the
+daughter of Jenkin Jones of Trebinshwn, by Luce
+his wife, died single in 1780, aged 92, and is buried
+in the Priory churchyard.<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> What became of the
+remainder of his family, or whether they are extinct,
+I know not." To this statement Mr. Lyte added
+nothing but some errors, and Dr. Grosart nothing
+but the following hypothesis:&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"I am inclined to think that William Vaughan,
+censor of the College of Physicians, physician to
+William III<span class='super'>d</span>., was one of the sons of our worthy
+mentioned by Mr. Lyte.... William Vaughan's
+'age 20' in 1668 represents 1648 as the birth-date,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xviii" id="Page_xviii">[xviii]</a></span>
+and that fits in with the love-verse of the Poems
+of 1646."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. G. T. Clark, in his <i>Genealogies of Glamorgan</i>,
+p. 240, gives the following account:&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>Henry [Vaughan], ob. 1695, &aelig;t. 75, father by
+first wife of (1) a son, s. p.; (2) Lucy ob. 29 Aug.,
+1780, &aelig;t. 92,<a name="FNanchor_4_4" id="FNanchor_4_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> m. Jenkin Jones of Trebinshwn. Their
+d. Denise Jones, died single, 1780, &aelig;t. 92. By second
+wife (3) Rachel, m. John Turberville; (4) Edmund;
+(5) Alexander, ob. 1622 [!], s. p.; (6) Catharine, m.
+Wm. Harris; (7) Mary, m. John Walbeoffe of
+Llanhamlach; (8) Elizabeth, m. John Arnold; (9)
+Frances, m. Wm. Johns of Cwm Dhu.</p>
+
+<p>Unfortunately Mr. Clark is unable to remember
+his authority for this pedigree. I have found another,
+which differs from it in many ways, and is exceedingly
+interesting, inasmuch as it gives, for the first
+time, the names of Henry Vaughan's two wives, who
+appear to have been sisters. It is in a volume of
+<i>Brecknockshire Pedigrees</i> collected by the Welsh
+Herald, Hugh Thomas, and now amongst the
+Harleian MSS. Hugh Thomas was born and lived
+hard by Llansantffread, and must have known
+Vaughan and his family personally.
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xix" id="Page_xix">[xix]</a></span></p>
+<div>
+<p class='center'>PEDIGREE OF VAUGHAN OF TRETOWER AND NEWTON</p>
+<p class='center'>(From Harl. MS. 2289, f. 81.)</p>
+<p class='center'>
+<img src='images/pedigree1.png'
+	alt='Pedigree of Vaughan of Tretower and Newton'
+	title='Pedigree of Vaughan of Tretower and Newton' />
+</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>It will be observed that neither Mr. Clark's pedigree
+nor Hugh Thomas' agrees with the number of children
+assigned to each marriage by Theophilus Jones, and
+that neither of them helps out Dr. Grosart's hypothesis
+that Dr. William Vaughan was a son of the
+poet. Mr. W. B. Rye (<i>Genealogist</i>, iii. 33) has
+made it appear likely that this Dr. Vaughan, who
+married Anne Newton, of Romford in Essex, belonged
+to a branch of the Vaughans who had been
+settled in Romford since 1571.</p>
+
+<p>I now proceed to confirm and illustrate the pedigrees
+by giving such further facts concerning
+Vaughan's immediate family as I have been able<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xx" id="Page_xx">[xx]</a></span>
+with Miss Morgan's assistance, to glean. I can trace
+no family of Wises in Staffordshire so early as the
+seventeenth century, nor any place in that county
+called Ritsonhall. It is possible that the R. W. of
+the <i>Elegy</i> (vol. ii., p. 79, <i>note</i>) may have been a Wise,
+and also that the connection between Vaughan and the
+Staffordshire Egertons may have been through this
+family (vol. ii., p. 294, <i>note</i>). Vaughan's first wife
+Catharine was probably dead before 1658. Thomas
+Vaughan, in his diary (MS. Sloane, 1741, f. 106 (b)),
+makes mention in that year of "eyewater made at
+the Pinner of Wakefield by my dear wife and my
+Sister Vaughan, who are both now with God." The
+second wife, Elizabeth, survived her husband.
+Administration of his goods was granted to her as
+the widow of an intestate in May, 1695.<a name="FNanchor_5_5" id="FNanchor_5_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a> The fine
+old manor-house at Newton was pulled down by a
+stupid land-agent within the memory of man, but a
+stone has been found built into the wall of a house
+half-a-mile from the site, bearing the inscription<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxi" id="Page_xxi">[xxi]</a></span>
+"H<span class='super'>V</span>E, 1689." This may well stand for H[enry
+and] E[lizabeth] V[aughan]. Newton probably
+passed to the poet's eldest son Thomas and his
+wife Frances.<a name="FNanchor_6_6" id="FNanchor_6_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a> Of their descendants, if any, we
+know nothing. There was a William Vaughan of
+Llansantffread who, later than 1714, married Mary
+Games of Tregaer in Llanfrynach. But this was
+probably a Vaughan not of Newton, but of Scethrog,
+also in Llansantffread (<i>cf.</i> footnote to p. xxv.
+below.) In 1733 William Vaughan was churchwarden
+of Llanfrynach. In 1740 William Vaughan
+of Tregaer was high sheriff of Brecknock. In
+1760 Tregaer had passed by purchase to a Mr.
+Phillips. The registers of Llanfrynach from 1695-1756
+are now lost. Lucy Greenleafe and her sister
+Catharine are quite obscure. One of them may
+have been the niece who was living with Thomas
+Vaughan when news came from the country in 1658
+of his father's death (MS. Sloane, 1741, f. 89 (b)). Of
+the second family, Henry became Rector of Penderin
+in 1684, and vacated the living, probably through
+death, in 1713. A tablet to his memory hung during<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxii" id="Page_xxii">[xxii]</a></span>
+the present century in the church at Penderin, but
+when the church was restored the tablets were taken
+down and buried under the tiles of the chancel. His
+wife, a Walbeoffe of Talyllyn, belonged to the same
+family as the Walbeoffes of Llanhamlach (vol. ii.,
+p. 189, <i>note</i>). The eldest girl, Grisill, married Roger
+Prosser. The Prossers were the younger branch of a
+Brecknockshire family who had become sadlers and
+mercers in Brecon. Many of their tombs are in the
+Priory church, but Theophilus Jones states that by
+his time they were extinct. Grisill Prosser was
+married a second time, in 1709, to Morgan Watkins,
+an attorney, and was buried on August 21, 1737.
+The second girl, Lucy, married Jenkin Jones of
+Trebinshwn, a cousin of Colonel Jenkin Jones, the
+local Parliamentary leader. Her daughter, Denise
+Jones, died single in 1780, as Theophilus Jones
+states, and her tombstone in the Priory church
+records her descent. The third girl, Rachel, married
+John Turberville, one of the Turbervilles of Llangattock,
+who claimed kinship with the Elizabethan
+poet of that name. The following pedigree shows
+the descendants of the three daughters of Henry
+Vaughan's second marriage, so far as they can be
+traced.<a name="FNanchor_7_7" id="FNanchor_7_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_7_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a></p>
+
+<p class='center'><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxiii" id="Page_xxiii">[xxiii]</a></span>
+<img src='images/pedigree2.png'
+	alt='Descendants of Henry Vaughan'
+	title='Descendants of Henry Vaughan'
+/>
+</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxiv" id="Page_xxiv">[xxiv]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>It will be seen that I can give no evidence of
+the existence of any living descendants of Henry
+Vaughan.</p>
+
+<p>Henry's grandfather, Thomas Vaughan, a younger
+son of Charles Vaughan of Tretower, seems to have
+come into the possession of Newton through his
+marriage with an heiress of the family of Gwillims or
+Williams. Newton, or in Welsh Trenewydd, is a
+farm of about 200 acres in the manor or lordship, and
+near the village of Scethrog, both being in the parish
+of Llansantffread and hundred of Penkelley. Williams
+is a common name in Breconshire, and I cannot trace
+the descent of Thomas Vaughan's wife. In the
+sixteenth century Newton belonged to a family who
+finally settled on the name of Howel, ap Howell or
+Powell.<a name="FNanchor_8_8" id="FNanchor_8_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_8_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a> The last of these is described on his tombstone
+in Llansantffread Church as "David Morgan
+David Howel, who married ... William of Llanhamoloch:
+and they had issue one daughter called
+Denys. He died 2nd June, 1598." Perhaps Newton
+passed in some way from David Morgan David Howel
+to his wife's family, and so to Thomas Vaughan,
+who married Denise Gwillims. Theophilus Jones
+(ii. 538) records that at a later date other Williams's,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxv" id="Page_xxv">[xxv]</a></span>
+also apparently connected with Llanhamlach, were
+succeeded by other Vaughans at Scethrog, hard by
+Newton. His account is that David Williams,
+youngest brother of Sir Thomas Williams of Eltham,
+married a daughter of John Walbeoffe of Llanhamlach
+(<i>cf.</i> pedigree in vol. ii., p. 189, <i>note</i>), and bought
+Scethrog. Their son Charles died without issue,
+and the property passed to his wife Mary (Anne
+in Harl. MS., 2289, t. 39; <i>cf.</i> vol. ii., p. 204, <i>note</i>),
+the daughter of Morgan John of Wenallt....
+She afterwards married Hugh Powell, clerk, parson
+of Llansanffread and precentor of St. David's, and
+her daughter Margaret married Charles Vaughan,
+son to Vaughan Morgan of Tretower.<a name="FNanchor_9_9" id="FNanchor_9_9"></a><a href="#Footnote_9_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a></p>
+
+<p>A trace of Thomas Vaughan is probably preserved
+in a window-head from the old church of Llansantffread,
+now destroyed, which has the inscription:&mdash;</p>
+
+<p class='center'>
+<img src='images/inscription.png'
+	alt='Llansantffread inscription'
+	title='Llansantffread inscription'
+/>
+</p>
+
+<p>T. V. may stand for T[homas] V[aughan].<a name="FNanchor_10_10" id="FNanchor_10_10"></a><a href="#Footnote_10_10" class="fnanchor">[10]</a></p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxvi" id="Page_xxvi">[xxvi]</a></span></p>
+<p>Of Henry Vaughan, the poet's father, very little is
+known. His name appears in a list of Breconshire
+magistrates for 1620. And we learn from Thomas
+Vaughan's diary in Sloane MS. 1741, f. 89 (b), that
+he died in August 1658.</p>
+
+<p>The only additional definite fact which I can here
+record of the poet himself is that in 1691 he entered
+a caveat against any institution to the vicarage of
+Llandevalley, he claiming the next presentation under
+a grant from William Winter, Esq.<a name="FNanchor_11_11" id="FNanchor_11_11"></a><a href="#Footnote_11_11" class="fnanchor">[11]</a> Mr. Rye has
+shown that the specimen of handwriting facsimiled
+by Dr. Grosart in his edition of Henry
+Vaughan's <i>Works</i> cannot possibly be the poet's.
+The signatures, however, on the margin of a copy
+of <i>Olor Iscanus</i>, once in the library of Lady Isham,
+might be genuine.</p>
+
+
+<h3>(<i>b</i>) VAUGHAN AND JESUS COLLEGE, OXFORD.</h3>
+
+<p>Anthony &agrave; Wood's statement as to Vaughan's
+residence at Jesus College, Oxford, has been generally
+accepted, but I venture to doubt it on the following grounds:&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>(1) Vaughan's name does not occur in the University
+Matriculation Register, although his brother<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxvii" id="Page_xxvii">[xxvii]</a></span>
+Thomas Vaughan is duly entered as matriculating
+from Jesus on 14th December, 1638. The only
+College records which help us are the Battel-books
+for 1638 and 1640. That for 1639 is unfortunately
+missing. The Rev. Llewellyn Thomas kindly
+informs me that he can only trace one undergraduate
+Vaughan in the two books in question. The Christian
+name is not given, but I think that we must assume
+it to be Thomas.</p>
+
+<p>(2) Vaughan does not describe himself on any
+title-page as of Jesus College; nor does he ever speak
+of himself as an Oxford man. This omission is the
+more noticeable as he would naturally have done so
+in the lines <i>Ad Posteros</i> (vol. ii., p. 51), and might
+well have done so in those <i>On Sir Thomas Bodley's
+Library, the Author being then in Oxford</i> (vol. ii., p. 197).</p>
+
+<p>(3) Anthony &agrave; Wood cannot be depended on. He
+describes Thomas Carew, for instance, as of C.C.C.,
+whereas he was a most certainly of Merton. And
+there was another Henry Vaughan of Jesus, who
+may have been confused with the poet. This Henry
+Vaughan, a son of John Vaughan of Cathlin,
+Merionethshire, matriculated at Oriel on July 4,
+1634. He afterwards became a Scholar and Fellow
+of Jesus, taking his B.A. in 1637 and his M.A. in
+1639. In 1643 he became vicar of Penteg, co. Monmouth,
+and died at Abergavenny in 1661.
+(Wood, <i>Ath. Oxon.</i>, iii. 531; Foster, <i>Alumni Oxon.</i>)<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxviii" id="Page_xxviii">[xxviii]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>(4) The only confirmation of Anthony &agrave; Wood's
+statement is the poem (vol. ii., p. 289) taken by Dr.
+Grosart from the <i>Eucharistica Oxoniensia</i> (1641),
+and signed "H. Vaughan, Jes. Col." If I am
+right, this may be by Vaughan's namesake. He has
+indeed another poem in that volume signed "Hen.
+Vaugh., Jes. Soc." but that is in Latin, and it is
+not unexampled for one man to contribute more than
+one poem, especially in different tongues, to such
+collections. Or it may be by Herbert Vaughan, who
+was a Gentleman-commoner of the College in 1641,
+and has, with Henry Vaughan the Fellow, verses in
+the <span title='proteleia'>&#960;&#961;&#959;&#964;&#8051;&#955;&#949;&#953;&#945;</span>
+<i>Anglo Batava</i> of the same year.</p>
+
+
+<h3>(<i>c</i>) VAUGHAN IN THE CIVIL WAR.</h3>
+
+<p>There are several passages which make it probable
+that Vaughan, like his brother Thomas, bore arms on
+the King's side in the Civil War. The most important
+is in the poem <i>To Mr. Ridsley</i> (vol. ii., p. 83),
+where he speaks of the time</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i5">"when this juggling fate<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of soldiery first seiz'd me."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>In the same poem he mentions</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i11">"that day, when we<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Left craggy Biston and the fatal Dee."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>"Craggy Biston" is clearly Beeston Castle, one of
+the outlying defences of Chester, situated on a steep<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxix" id="Page_xxix">[xxix]</a></span>
+rock not very far east of the Dee. This castle was
+besieged on several occasions during the Civil War,
+especially during the campaign of 1645, when
+Chester was also besieged by the Parliamentarians.<a name="FNanchor_12_12" id="FNanchor_12_12"></a><a href="#Footnote_12_12" class="fnanchor">[12]</a>
+Between Beeston and the Dee was fought, on
+September 24, 1645, the battle of Rowton Heath,
+after which Charles the First, who had hoped to raise
+the siege of Chester, was obliged to retreat to
+Denbigh.<a name="FNanchor_13_13" id="FNanchor_13_13"></a><a href="#Footnote_13_13" class="fnanchor">[13]</a> The following lines from Vaughan's
+<i>Elegy on Mr. R. W.</i> (vol. ii., p. 79), who fell in
+that battle, seem to have been written by an eye-witness:</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i14">"O that day<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When like the fathers in the fire and cloud<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I miss'd thy face! I might in ev'ry crowd<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">See arms like thine, and men advance, but none<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So near to lightning mov'd, nor so fell on.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Have you observ'd how soon the nimble eye<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Brings th' object to conceit, and doth so vie<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Performance with the soul, that you would swear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The act and apprehension both lodg'd there?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Just so mov'd he: like shot his active hand<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Drew blood, ere well the foe could understand.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But here I lost him."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>This appears to me pretty conclusive evidence;
+against it, however, must be set the passage on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxx" id="Page_xxx">[xxx]</a></span>
+Civil War in the autobiographical poem <i>Ad Posteros</i>
+(vol. ii., p. 51).</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Vixi, divisos cum fregerat haeresis Anglos<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Inter Tysiphonas presbyteri et populi.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His primum miseris per amoena furentibus arva<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Prostravit sanctam vilis avena rosam.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Turbarunt fontes, et fusis pax perit undis,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Moestaque coelestes obruit umbra dies.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Duret ut integritas tamen, et pia gloria, partem<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Me nullam in tanta strage fuisse, scias;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Credidimus nempe insonti vocem esse cruori,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Et vires quae post funera flere docent.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hinc castae, fidaeque pati me more parentis<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Commonui, et lachrimis fata levare meis;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hinc nusquam horrendis violavi sacra procellis,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Nec mihi mens unquam, nec manus atra fuit.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>The natural interpretation of this certainly is that
+Vaughan took no share in the disturbances of his
+time, except to grieve over them in retirement. Yet,
+in the first place, the lines may have been written
+before he took up arms in 1645, and, in the second,
+they may only mean that he had no share in <i>bringing
+about</i> the troubles of England, or in shedding
+<i>innocent</i> blood. Similarly when elsewhere, as in
+<i>Abel's Blood</i> (vol. i. p. 254), and in the prayer to
+be quoted below, he expresses horror of blood-guiltiness,
+this need not necessarily be taken as
+extending to the man who fights in a righteous cause.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Morgan, I may add, suggests that Vaughan
+was at Rowton Heath, not as a combatant, but as a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxxi" id="Page_xxxi">[xxxi]</a></span>
+physician. The description which he gives of the
+battle reads like that of a man who saw it from some
+commanding point of view, but was not himself
+engaged. I think it not improbable that Vaughan
+was one of the garrison of Beeston Castle, which is
+described to me as "a sort of grand stand for the
+battle-field." Beeston Castle was invested by the
+Parliamentarians in the course of September 1645.
+On the approach of Charles the troops were drawn off
+on 19th September to Chester.<a name="FNanchor_14_14" id="FNanchor_14_14"></a><a href="#Footnote_14_14" class="fnanchor">[14]</a> Charles no doubt
+took the opportunity to strengthen the garrison. After
+Rowton Heath Beeston Castle was again besieged,
+and on November 16th it surrendered. The garrison
+were allowed to march across the Dee to Denbigh.
+I think that this winter ride from the fallen fortress is
+the one described by Vaughan in the poem to Mr.
+Ridsley. It is the more probable that Vaughan took
+part in this campaign of 1645, in that Charles's
+force was largely recruited from Wales. After the
+battle of Naseby on June 14th, the King had
+marched through Wales, collecting such levies as he
+could. He was in Brecon on August 5th.<a name="FNanchor_15_15" id="FNanchor_15_15"></a><a href="#Footnote_15_15" class="fnanchor">[15]</a> It is
+quite possible that Vaughan, whose kinsman Sir
+William Vaughan was in command of a brigade,
+volunteered on this occasion. From Brecon Charles
+marched through Radnorshire, Shropshire, Staffordshire,
+Derbyshire, Nottinghamshire, Yorkshire, and
+so to Oxford. In September he set out again, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxxii" id="Page_xxxii">[xxxii]</a></span>
+after some delay at Hereford and Raglan, finally
+made for Chester.</p>
+
+<p>It is just conceivable that it is to some occasion in
+this campaign that Vaughan refers when he calls Dr.
+Powell his "fellow-prisoner" (vol. ii., p. 178). The
+poet may even have been the Captain Vaughan whose
+name appears in the official list of prisoners taken at
+Rowton Heath.<a name="FNanchor_16_16" id="FNanchor_16_16"></a><a href="#Footnote_16_16" class="fnanchor">[16]</a> Powell's name is not there, but
+then the list does not profess to be complete. But on
+the whole I think that Vaughan and Powell were
+only fellow-prisoners in the Platonic sense of imprisonment
+in the flesh, and even if a literal imprisonment
+is intended, it may have been due to some act of
+persecution which Vaughan had to suffer as a
+Royalist at a later date. There is in <i>The Mount of
+Olives</i> (1652) a <i>Prayer in Adversity and Troubles
+occasioned by our Enemies</i> (Grosart, vol. iii., p. 75),
+which, if it is to be taken&mdash;I think it is not&mdash;as
+autobiographical, seems to show that, at least for a
+time, he lost his estate. The prayer runs: "Thou
+seest, O God, how furious and implacable mine
+enemies are: they have not only robbed me of that
+portion and provision which Thou hast graciously
+given me, but they have also washed their hands in
+the blood of my friends, my dearest and nearest
+relations. I know, O God, and I am daily taught
+by that disciple whom Thou didst love, that no
+murderer hath eternal life abiding in him. Keep me,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxxiii" id="Page_xxxiii">[xxxiii]</a></span>
+therefore, O my God, from the guilt of blood, and
+suffer me not to stain my soul with the thoughts of
+recompense and vengeance, which is a branch of Thy
+great prerogative, and belongs wholly unto Thee.
+Though they persecute me unto death, and pant after
+the very dust upon the heads of Thy poor, though
+they have taken the bread out of Thy children's
+mouth, and have made me a desolation; yet, Lord,
+give me Thy grace, and such a measure of charity as
+may fully forgive them."</p>
+
+<p>It may have been during some such time of trouble,
+or imprisonment, if imprisonment there was, that
+Vaughan's wife lived with Thomas Vaughan, as will
+be seen below, in London.</p>
+
+
+<h3>(<i>d</i>) THOMAS VAUGHAN.</h3>
+
+<p>It has not been thought necessary to reprint in this
+edition of Henry Vaughan's poems the scanty
+English and Latin verses of his brother, Thomas
+Vaughan. They may be found, together with verses
+by Virgil and Campion ascribed to him, in vol. ii. of
+Dr. Grosart's <i>Fuller Worthies</i> edition. But some
+account of so curious a person will not be out of place.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxxiv" id="Page_xxxiv">[xxxiv]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>As for his brother, our chief authority is Anthony
+&agrave; Wood (<i>Ath. Oxon.</i>, iii. 722), who says that he was
+the son of Thomas Vaughan of Llansantffread,<a name="FNanchor_17_17" id="FNanchor_17_17"></a><a href="#Footnote_17_17" class="fnanchor">[17]</a> that
+he was born in 1621, educated under Matthew
+Herbert and at Jesus College, Oxford, of which he
+became Fellow, took orders and received [in 1640]
+the living of Llansanffread from his kinsman, Sir
+George Vaughan [of Fallerstone, Wilts]. He lost
+his living in the unquiet times of the Civil War,
+retired to Oxford, and became an eminent chemist,
+afterwards moving to London, where he worked
+under the patronage of Sir Robert Murray. He was
+a great admirer of Cornelius Agrippa, "a great
+chymist, a noted son of the fire, an experimental
+philosopher, a zealous brother of the Rosicrucian
+fraternity ... neither papist nor sectary, but a
+true resolute protestant in the best sense of the
+Church of England." In the great plague he fled
+with Murray from London to Oxford, and thence
+went to the house of Samuel Kem at Albury, where
+he died on February 27, 1665/6, of mercury
+accidentally getting into his nose while he was
+operating. He was buried at Albury on March 1st.
+Writing in 1673, Anthony &agrave; Wood gives a list of his
+alchemical and mystical treatises published between
+1650 and 1655. Of these he had received a list from
+Olor Iscanus (Henry Vaughan). They all bear the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxxv" id="Page_xxxv">[xxxv]</a></span>
+name of Eugenius Philalethes, except the <i>Aula
+Lucis</i> (1652), which was issued as by S. N., <i>i.e.</i>
+[Thoma]S [Vaugha]N. Some of these pamphlets
+contain Vaughan's share of a vigorous and scurrilous
+controversy with Henry More, the Platonist.
+Anthony &agrave; Wood distinguishes from Vaughan
+another Eugenius Philalethes, author of the <i>Brief
+Natural History</i> (1669), also one Eirenaeus Philalethes,
+author of <i>Ripley Redivivus</i> and other works,
+and Eirenaeus Philoponos Philalethes, author of <i>The
+Marrow of Alchemy</i> (1654-5).<a name="FNanchor_18_18" id="FNanchor_18_18"></a><a href="#Footnote_18_18" class="fnanchor">[18]</a></p>
+
+<p>A few facts, from well-known sources, may be added
+to Anthony &agrave; Wood's account. The University
+Registers show that "Thos. Vaughan, son of
+Thomas of Llansanfraid, co. Brecon, pleb., matriculated
+from Jesus College on 14 Dec, 1638, aged 16."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxxvi" id="Page_xxxvi">[xxxvi]</a></span>
+He took his B.A. on 18 Feb., 1641/2, but does
+not appear to have taken his M.A., though he
+became Fellow of his College (Foster, <i>Alumni
+Oxon.</i>). John Walker (<i>Sufferings of the Clergy</i>
+(1714), p. 389) states that he was ejected from his
+living on the charges of "drunkenness, immorality,
+and bearing arms for the King."<a name="FNanchor_19_19" id="FNanchor_19_19"></a><a href="#Footnote_19_19" class="fnanchor">[19]</a> This must have
+been in 1649, under the Act for the Propagation of
+the Gospel in Wales. There exists a letter from
+Thomas Vaughan to a friend in London, dated from
+"Newtown, Ash Wednesday, 1653;"<a name="FNanchor_20_20" id="FNanchor_20_20"></a><a href="#Footnote_20_20" class="fnanchor">[20]</a> and it appears
+from Jones' <i>History of Brecknockshire</i> (ii., 542), that
+at one time he lived with his brother Henry there.
+The allusions to Henry More, to Murray, and to the
+Isis and Thames seem to show that he is the Daphnis
+of his brother's <i>Eclogue</i> (vol. ii., p. 278). No trace
+of his death or burial can however be now found at
+Albury. Mr. Gordon Goodwin points out to me
+that Dr. Samuel Kem was a somewhat notorious
+character (<i>Dict. Nat. Biog.</i>, s.v. <i>Kem</i>): perhaps this
+friendship, together with the personal confession
+quoted below, throws light on the charges which
+lost Vaughan his living. On the other hand<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxxvii" id="Page_xxxvii">[xxxvii]</a></span>
+Anthony &agrave; Wood speaks well of him, and the
+tone of his writings bears out this more kindly
+judgment, at any rate so far as his later years are
+concerned.</p>
+
+<p>What has been said fairly well exhausted the
+available information on Thomas Vaughan until a
+few years ago, when Mr. A. E. Waite discovered in
+Sloane MS. 1741 a valuable manuscript of his, containing
+amongst other things a number of autobiographical
+memoranda. He printed some extracts
+from this in the preface to an edition of some of <i>The
+Magical Writings of Thomas Vaughan</i> (Redway,
+1888), and has been kind enough to furnish me with
+a reference to the MS. itself, which I have carefully
+examined. It bears the title <i>Aqua Vitae non Vitis</i>,
+and the inscription "Ex libris Thomas et Rebecca
+Vaughan, 1651, Sept. 28. Quos Deus coniunxit quis
+separabit?" The contents are partly personal
+jottings and records of dreams, partly alchemical
+formulae. They appear to cover the period 1658-1662.
+We learn from them the following facts:&mdash;Vaughan
+was married on September 28, 1651, to a
+lady named Rebecca (f. 106 (b)). With her and his
+"Sister Vaughan" he lived and studied alchemy at
+the Pinner of Wakefield.<a name="FNanchor_21_21" id="FNanchor_21_21"></a><a href="#Footnote_21_21" class="fnanchor">[21]</a> He had previously lodged
+at Mr. Coalman's in Holborn (f. 104 (b)). His wife
+died on Saturday, April 17, 1658, and was buried at
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxxviii" id="Page_xxxviii">[xxxviii]</a></span>
+Mappersall, in Bedfordshire (f. 106 (b)).<a name="FNanchor_22_22" id="FNanchor_22_22"></a><a href="#Footnote_22_22" class="fnanchor">[22]</a> In 1658 his
+father and his brother W. were both dead, and he
+mentions the news of his father's death coming to
+his niece in a letter from the country (f. 89 (b)). On
+April 9, 1659, he saw his brother H. in a dream.
+On 16 July, 1658, he was living at Wapping
+(f. 103 (b)), and at an earlier period at Paddington.
+There is an inventory of his wife's goods left at Mrs.
+Highgate's, and mention of a Mr. Highgate and a
+Sir John Underhill (f. 107). He names his cousin,
+Mr. J. Walbeoffe, with whom he had some money
+transactions (f. 18), and speaks of "a certain person
+with whom I had in former times revelled away my
+years in drinking" (f. 103). Perhaps this also was
+John Walbeoffe, on whom <i>see</i> vol. ii., p. 189, <i>note</i>.
+The alchemical formulae and receipts are interesting.
+In one place (f. 12) Vaughan announces the discovery
+of the "Extract of Oil of Halcaly," which he had
+previously found in his wife's days and had lost
+again. This he calls "the greatest joy I can ever
+have in this world after her death." He seems to
+have regarded it as the key to an universal solvent.
+Nearly every receipt is followed by his and his wife's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxxix" id="Page_xxxix">[xxxix]</a></span>
+initials in the form T. R. V. or T. <span class='super'>V.</span> R., and by some
+expression of devotion to her or of religious piety.</p>
+
+<p>I now come to the remarkable statements made
+with respect to Thomas Vaughan in the <i>M&eacute;moires
+d'une ex-Palladiste</i>, now in course of publication by
+Miss Diana Vaughan. Miss Vaughan is a lady who
+has created a considerable sensation in Paris. Her
+own account of herself is that she was brought up as
+a worshipper of Lucifer, and was for some years a
+leading spirit amongst certain androgynous lodges of
+Freemasons, in which the worship of Lucifer is
+largely practised. She has now, owing to the direct
+interposition of Joan of Arc, become a Catholic, and
+has made it her mission to combat Luciferian Freemasonry
+in every way. Her <i>Memoirs</i> are partly a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xl" id="Page_xl">[xl]</a></span>
+biography, partly an account of this cult.<a name="FNanchor_23_23" id="FNanchor_23_23"></a><a href="#Footnote_23_23" class="fnanchor">[23]</a> Miss
+Vaughan claims to be a great-grand-daughter of
+Thomas Vaughan's. She declares him to have been
+a Luciferian, Grand-master of the Rosicrucian order,
+and the founder of modern Freemasonry; and gives<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xli" id="Page_xli">[xli]</a></span>
+an exhaustive account of his career on the authority
+of family archives. The following paragraphs contain
+the substance of her narrative, the "legend of
+Philalethes," as it was told to Miss Vaughan by her
+father and her uncle, who were intimate friends of
+Albert Pike.</p>
+
+<p>The traditional accounts of Thomas Vaughan, says
+Miss Vaughan, contain serious errors. The dates
+of his birth and of his death, and the pseudonym
+under which he wrote are all incorrectly stated<a name="FNanchor_24_24" id="FNanchor_24_24"></a><a href="#Footnote_24_24" class="fnanchor">[24]</a>
+(p. 110). He was born in Monmouth in 1612,
+being two years the elder of his brother Henry.
+The two boys were brought up at Oxford, after<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xlii" id="Page_xlii">[xlii]</a></span>
+their father's death, by their uncle, Robert Vaughan
+the antiquary,<a name="FNanchor_25_25" id="FNanchor_25_25"></a><a href="#Footnote_25_25" class="fnanchor">[25]</a> and entered at Jesus College
+(p. 114). In 1636, at the age of 24, Thomas
+Vaughan went to London, and became the disciple of
+Robert Fludd, who was a Rosicrucian (p. 148). The
+real nature of the Rosicrucians has hitherto been a
+mystery. They were in reality Luciferians, and
+carried on in secret during the seventeenth century
+that warfare against Adonai, the god of the Catholics,
+out of which had already sprung Wiclif, Luther, and
+the Reformation, and out of which was some day to
+spring, more deadly and more dangerous still, Freemasonry.
+The Fraternity of Rosie-Cross was
+founded by Faustus Socinus in 1597. He was
+succeeded as head of it by Caesar Cremonini (1604-1617),
+Michael Maier (1617-1622), Valentin Andreae
+(1622-1654), and Thomas Vaughan (1654-1678).<a name="FNanchor_26_26" id="FNanchor_26_26"></a><a href="#Footnote_26_26" class="fnanchor">[26]</a>
+When Thomas Vaughan first came to London in
+1636, Valentin Andreae was <i>Summus Magister</i> of
+the Fraternity, and amongst its leading members
+were Robert Fludd and Amos Komenski, or
+Comenius (pp. 129-148). Robert Fludd initiated
+Thomas Vaughan into the lower degrees of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xliii" id="Page_xliii">[xliii]</a></span>
+Golden Cross (p. 148), and sent him to Andreae at
+Calw, near Stuttgart, with a letter in which he prophesied
+for him a miraculous future (p. 163). After
+this visit to Germany, Vaughan returned to London,
+and after Fludd's death, in 1637, undertook in 1638
+his first visit to America. In many of his writings
+he speaks as a Christian minister, and at this time he
+probably passed as a Nonconformist (p. 164). He
+was back in London early in June, 1639 (p. 165), and
+in the same year visited Denmark, and made a report
+to Komenski on the mysterious golden horn found at
+Tondern in that country (p. 166). In 1640 Vaughan
+received from Komenski the first initiation of the
+Rosie Cross, and chose the pseudonym of Eirenaeus
+Philalethes.<a name="FNanchor_27_27" id="FNanchor_27_27"></a><a href="#Footnote_27_27" class="fnanchor">[27]</a> He now became exceedingly active,
+going and coming upon the face of the earth. When<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xliv" id="Page_xliv">[xliv]</a></span>
+in England, he divided his time between Oxford and
+London (p. 167). Between 1640 and 1644 he
+visited Hamburg, the Netherlands, Italy and
+Sweden (pp. 171-174). It was at this period that he
+conceived the design of obtaining a far wider circulation
+than they had yet met with for the ideas of
+Faustus Socinus. Some of the Rosicrucians were
+already "accepted masons." Vaughan determined
+to capture the vast organization of craft masonry by
+permeating the lodges with Luciferianism. His
+associate in this task was Elias Ashmole, with whose
+aid, a few years later, he composed the degrees of
+Apprentice (1646), Companion (1648), and Master
+(1649) (pp. 142, 169-175, 197-206). The Civil War
+had now approached. Oliver Cromwell was a freemason,
+a Rosicrucian, and a friend of Vaughan's
+(p. 176). With the execution of Laud came the
+crisis of Vaughan's life, his initiation into the highest
+degree of Rosie Cross by the hands of Lucifer himself.
+It took place in this wise. At the last moment
+Vaughan was substituted for the intended executioner
+of Laud.<a name="FNanchor_28_28" id="FNanchor_28_28"></a><a href="#Footnote_28_28" class="fnanchor">[28]</a> He had prepared a sacramental cloth which
+he soaked in the martyr's blood, and on the same
+night he sacrificed the relic to Lucifer. The divinity<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xlv" id="Page_xlv">[xlv]</a></span>
+appeared, consecrated Vaughan as <i>Magus</i>, named
+him as the next <i>Summus Magister</i> of the Fraternity,
+and signed a pact, granting him thirty-three years
+more life, at the end of which he should be borne
+away from earth without death (p. 177). In 1645
+Vaughan wrote, but did not yet publish, his most
+important treatise, the <i>Introitus Apertus ad Occlusum
+Regis Palatium</i>. In 1645, still following the direct
+command of Lucifer, he departed for America. Here
+he met the apothecary George Starkey, and in his
+presence performed the alchemical feat of making gold
+(p. 179).<a name="FNanchor_29_29" id="FNanchor_29_29"></a><a href="#Footnote_29_29" class="fnanchor">[29]</a> Here, too, he lived amongst the Lenni-Lennaps,
+where he was united to the demon Venus-Astarte
+in the form of a beautiful woman, who after
+eleven days bore him a daughter. This girl was brought
+up among the Lenni-Lennaps under the name of Diana
+Wulisso-Waghan, and became Miss Diana Vaughan's
+great-great-grandmother (p. 181). In 1648 Vaughan
+returned to England, and after composing the
+masonic degree of Master in 1649 (p. 197), he began
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xlvi" id="Page_xlvi">[xlvi]</a></span>
+the publication of a series of alchemical and, in
+reality, Luciferian writings. In 1650 appeared the
+<i>Anthroposophia Theomagica</i> and the <i>Magia Adamica</i>,
+in 1651 the <i>Lumen de Lumine</i>; in 1652 the <i>Aula
+Lucis</i> (p. 211). In 1654 Valentin Andreae died, and
+Vaughan succeeded him as <i>Summus Magister</i> of the
+Rosie Cross, the event being announced to him by
+the homage of three demons, Leviathan, Cerberus,
+and Belphegor (p. 214). In 1655 he published his
+<i>Euphrates</i>, and in 1656 made his head-quarters at
+Amsterdam or Eirenaeopolis. In 1659 came his
+<i>Fraternity of R. C.</i>; in 1664 his <i>Medulla Alchymiae</i>.<a name="FNanchor_30_30" id="FNanchor_30_30"></a><a href="#Footnote_30_30" class="fnanchor">[30]</a>
+In 1666 he exhibited the philosopher's stone to
+Helvetius at La Haye and converted him to
+occultism: in 1667 he at last resolved to publish his
+Opus Magnum, the <i>Introitus Apertus</i>, already
+written in 1645 (p. 215). In 1668 this was followed
+by the <i>Experimenta de Praeparatione Mercurii
+Sophici</i> and the <i>Tractatus Tres</i> (p. 236). The time
+was now approaching when Vaughan, in fulfilment of
+the pact of 1644, must disappear from earth. He
+named Charles Blount as his successor (p. 237), and
+was granted a magical vision of his grandson, the
+child of Diana Wulisso-Waghan and a Lenni-Lennap
+(p. 239). He finished his <i>Memoirs</i>, published
+the <i>Ripley Revised</i><a name="FNanchor_31_31" id="FNanchor_31_31"></a><a href="#Footnote_31_31" class="fnanchor">[31]</a>
+and the <i>Enarratio Methodica
+trium Gebri Medicinarum</i>,
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xlvii" id="Page_xlvii">[xlvii]</a></span>
+left his poems to his
+brother Henry, who published them in the next year
+as the <i>Thalia Rediviva</i>,<a name="FNanchor_32_32" id="FNanchor_32_32"></a><a href="#Footnote_32_32" class="fnanchor">[32]</a> and on March 25, 1678,
+disappeared in the company of <i>Lucifer Dieu-Bon</i>
+himself (p. 240). This event is vouched for, not
+only by a written statement of Henry Vaughan
+(p. 114), but also by the existence in a masonic
+triangle at Valetta of a magical talisman into which,
+when properly evoked, the spirit of Philalethes
+enters and records his glorious end for the edification
+of the Luciferians present<a name="FNanchor_33_33" id="FNanchor_33_33"></a><a href="#Footnote_33_33" class="fnanchor">[33]</a> (p. 243).</p>
+
+<p>I fear that I have taken Miss Vaughan with undue
+seriousness. Her account of Thomas Vaughan is not
+only unsupported by direct evidence,<a name="FNanchor_34_34" id="FNanchor_34_34"></a><a href="#Footnote_34_34" class="fnanchor">[34]</a> but much of it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xlviii" id="Page_xlviii">[xlviii]</a></span>
+is of a character which we should not be justified in
+accepting, even were direct evidence forthcoming.
+And it is all discordant with the little that we do
+happen to know of Thomas Vaughan from other
+sources. The whole thing is, in fact, a pretty obvious
+romance of very modern fabrication. It appears to
+have been compiled from such information as to the
+alchemical and mystical writers of the seventeenth
+century as was within the reach of Albert Pike
+and the brothers Vaughan about the year 1870.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xlix" id="Page_xlix">[xlix]</a></span><a name="FNanchor_35_35" id="FNanchor_35_35"></a><a href="#Footnote_35_35" class="fnanchor">[35]</a>
+It is always better to explain than to refute an error;
+and the nature of the Luciferian tradition of Thomas
+Vaughan is pretty clearly shown by the fact that it is
+not corroborated in a single particular by any of the
+new facts about him that have come to light since this
+probable date of its composition.<a name="FNanchor_36_36" id="FNanchor_36_36"></a><a href="#Footnote_36_36" class="fnanchor">[36]</a> The fabricator put
+Thomas Vaughan's birth-place in Monmouth instead
+of Brecon, because he had never seen Dr. Grosart's
+<i>Fuller Worthies</i> Edition of Henry Vaughan. He
+makes no mention of any of the facts contained in
+Sloane MS. 1741, because that MS. was still
+unknown. And, most fatal of all, he puts Thomas
+Vaughan's birth in 1612 instead of 1621-2, because
+Foster's <i>Alumni Oxonienses</i> being yet unpublished,
+he was ignorant of the record of that date preserved
+in the University Registers. But we can go
+a step further. We can confute him, not only by
+pointing to the books he did not use, but by pointing
+to those he did. It has already been shown that the
+ascription to Vaughan of the English translation of
+Maier's <i>Themis Aurea</i> is due to a misunderstanding<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_l" id="Page_l">[l]</a></span>
+of a phrase used by Anthony &agrave; Wood. The <i>Athenae
+Oxonienses</i> then was one source of the compilation.
+Another was the <i>Histoire de la Philosophie
+Herm&eacute;tique</i>, written by Lenglet-Dufresnoy in 1742.
+Here is the proof. Miss Vaughan supports her
+statement as to the birth-date in 1612 by a quotation
+from the <i>Introitus Apertus</i>, in which the writer
+states it to have been composed "en l'an 1645 de
+notre salut, et le trente-troisi&egrave;me de mon age." This
+she professes to translate from the <i>editio princeps</i>
+published by Jean Lange in 1667. As a matter of
+fact it is taken from the version given in Lenglet-Dufresnoy's
+book. And Lenglet-Dufresnoy followed,
+not the edition of 1667, but the later edition published
+by J. M. Faust at Frankfort in 1706. In this
+the words are "trigesimo tertio," whereas in the
+<i>editio princeps</i> they are "vicesimo tertio," and in
+W. Cooper's English translation of 1669, "in the 23rd
+year of my age," thus bringing the date of the birth
+of Eirenaeus Philalethes not to 1612, but to 1622.
+The "legend of Philalethes" need detain us no
+longer. Miss Vaughan's narrative is a very insufficient
+basis for regarding the pious minister and
+mystic which Thomas Vaughan appears to have
+been as a secret enemy of Christianity and a worshipper of Lucifer.</p>
+
+<p>But when the legend is set aside, there still remain
+certain questions suggested by it which may be considered
+without much reference to the statements of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_li" id="Page_li">[li]</a></span>
+Miss Vaughan. Was Thomas Vaughan a Rosicrucian?
+And was he, admittedly the author of a
+series of tracts under the name of Eugenius Philalethes,
+also the author of those which bear the name of
+Eirenaeus Philalethes? The first question is, I am
+afraid, insoluble, until it has been decided whether
+the Fraternity of R. C. ever had an actual existence.
+Anthony &agrave; Wood states that Thomas Vaughan was a
+zealous Rosicrucian, but probably Anthony &agrave; Wood
+took the term in the general sense of mystic and
+alchemist. On the other hand Vaughan himself, in
+his preface to the English translation of the Rosicrucian
+manifestoes, seems to disavow any personal
+acquaintance with the members of the fraternity.
+Even this is not conclusive, for the Rosicrucian rule,
+as given in the <i>Laws of the Brotherhood</i>, published
+by Sincerus Renatus in 1710,<a name="FNanchor_37_37" id="FNanchor_37_37"></a><a href="#Footnote_37_37" class="fnanchor">[37]</a> obliges the
+members to deny their membership.</p>
+
+<p>There is more material for the discussion of the
+second question, but I do not know that it is more
+possible to come to a definite conclusion. The
+personality of the anonymous adept who took
+the name of Eirenaeus Philalethes was shrouded in
+mystery even to his contemporaries. The fullest
+account given of him on any of his title-pages is on
+that of the <i>Experimenta de Praeparatione Mercurii
+Sophici</i> (1668), which is said to be "ex manuscripto<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_lii" id="Page_lii">[lii]</a></span>
+Philosophi Americani alias Eyrenaei Philalethis,
+natu Angli, habitatione Cosmopolitae."<a name="FNanchor_38_38" id="FNanchor_38_38"></a><a href="#Footnote_38_38" class="fnanchor">[38]</a> We have
+also the description given by George Starkey, or
+whoever it was, in the <i>Marrow of Alchemy</i> (1654-5),
+p. 25. Starkey says:&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"His present place in which he doth abide<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I know not, for the world he walks about,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of which he is a citizen; this tide<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">He is to visit artists and seek out<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Antiquities a voyage gone and will<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Return when he of travel hath his fill.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"By nation an Englishman, of note<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">His family is in the place where he<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was born, his fortune's good, and eke his coat<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of arms is of a great antiquity;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">His learning rare, his years scarce thirty-three;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Fuller description get you not from me."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_liii" id="Page_liii">[liii]</a></span></p>
+<p>Starkey gives the age of Eirenaeus Philalethes as
+33 in 1654. This precisely confirms the writer's own
+statement in the earlier editions of the <i>Introitus
+Apertus</i> that he was 23 in 1645, and fixes the birth-date
+as 1621 or 1622. Now this agrees remarkably
+with the birth-date ascertained from other sources of
+Thomas Vaughan. But Thomas died in 1666, and
+it is usually asserted that Eirenaeus Philalethes lived
+until at least 1678. Miss Vaughan states that he
+must have been alive in that year, because he then
+published the <i>Ripley Revived</i>, and the <i>Enarratio
+Trium Gebri Medicinarum</i>. She declares that the
+author of the <i>Enarratio</i> mentions the pains taken
+about that edition (p. 240). I do not find any prefatory
+matter in this book at all. There is a preface
+to the <i>Ripley Revived</i>, but this was written long
+before 1678, for it mentions the <i>Introitus Apertus</i>,
+published in 1667, as still in manuscript. Neither
+Jean Lange, the editor of the <i>Introitus Apertus</i> of
+1667, writing 9th December, 1666, nor William
+Cooper, the editor of the English translation<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_liv" id="Page_liv">[liv]</a></span><a name="FNanchor_39_39" id="FNanchor_39_39"></a><a href="#Footnote_39_39" class="fnanchor">[39]</a>
+of 1669, writing 15th September, 1668, know
+whether the author is still alive. In fact he cannot
+be shown to have outlived Thomas Vaughan, for there
+is no proof that the adept who showed the philosopher's
+stone to Helvetius on December 27th, 1666,<a name="FNanchor_40_40" id="FNanchor_40_40"></a><a href="#Footnote_40_40" class="fnanchor">[40]</a>
+was the same as he who showed it to George
+Starkey many years before. I will briefly enumerate
+a few other links which connect Eirenaeus Philalethes
+with Thomas Vaughan. A German translation of
+the <i>Introitus Apertus</i>, published at Hamburg under
+the title of <i>Abyssus Alchemiae</i> (1704), is said on the
+title-page to be "von T. de Vagan." Miss Vaughan
+states that a similar translation of the first of the
+<i>Tres Tractatus</i>, published at Hamburg in 1705, also
+bears this name (p. 237), and this is borne out by
+Lenglet-Dufresnoy (iii. 261-6), who speaks of a
+French MS. of the <i>Tres Tractatus</i> inscribed "par
+Thomas de Vagan, dit Philal&egrave;the ou Martin Birrhius."
+Birrhius, however, was only the editor. These ascriptions
+are probably made on the authority of G. W.
+Wedelius, who in his preface, dated 2nd Sept., 1698,
+to an edition of the <i>Introitus Apertus</i>, published at
+Jena in 1699, says of the author:&mdash;"Ex Anglia
+tamen vulgo habetur oriundus ... et Thomas De
+Vagan appellatus." The English <i>Three Tracts</i>
+(1694) are stated on the title-page to have been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_lv" id="Page_lv">[lv]</a></span>
+written in Latin by Eirenaeus Philalethes; but there
+is a note in the British Museum Catalogue to the
+effect that the Latin original has the name <i>Eugenius</i>
+Philalethes. Unfortunately this Latin <i>Tres Tractatus</i>,
+published in 1668 by Martin Birrhius at Amsterdam,
+is not in the Library, and I cannot verify the statement.
+Finally, I may note that the <i>Ripley Revived</i>
+(1678) has an engraved title-page by Robert
+Vaughan, who also did the title-page to <i>Olor Iscanus</i>,
+and that Starkey's <i>Marrow of Alchemy</i> contains, at
+the end of the preface to Part ii., some lines by
+William Sampson, which mention</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i8">"Harry Mastix Moor<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who judged of Nature when he did not know her";<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>clearly an allusion to More's controversy with
+Thomas Vaughan.</p>
+
+<p>It will be seen that there is some <i>prim&acirc; facie</i>
+evidence for identifying Eirenaeus Philalethes with
+Thomas Vaughan, whereas he was probably not
+George Starkey (Eirenaeus Philoponos Philalethes),
+and cannot be shown to have been anyone else. But
+I am not satisfied. We do not know that Thomas
+Vaughan was ever in America, and there is the strong
+evidence of Anthony &agrave; Wood, who distinguishes
+between Eirenaeus and Eugenius, and who appears
+to have had information from Henry Vaughan himself.
+Mr. A. E. Waite argues against the identification
+on the ground that Eirenaeus Philalethes was a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_lvi" id="Page_lvi">[lvi]</a></span>
+"physical alchemist," whereas Thomas Vaughan's
+alchemy was spiritual and mystical. But we have
+Vaughan's authority for saying that he had pursued
+the physical alchemy also.<a name="FNanchor_41_41" id="FNanchor_41_41"></a><a href="#Footnote_41_41" class="fnanchor">[41]</a> And he was clearly doing
+so when he wrote Sloane MS. 1741. A more
+pertinent objection is perhaps that Eirenaeus Philalethes
+appears to have been in possession of the
+grand secret when he wrote the <i>Introitus Apertus</i> in
+1645, whereas Thomas Vaughan was still seeking it
+in 1658. To pursue the matter further would require
+a wide knowledge of the alchemical writings of the
+seventeenth century, which unfortunately I do not
+possess.<a name="FNanchor_42_42" id="FNanchor_42_42"></a><a href="#Footnote_42_42" class="fnanchor">[42]</a></p>
+
+<p>My gratitude is due for help received in compiling
+the biographical and other notes in these volumes to
+Dr. Grosart, Mr. C. H. Firth, Mr. W. C. Hazlitt,
+Mr. A. E. Waite, and the Rev. Llewellyn Thomas;
+notably to Miss G. E. F. Morgan of Brecon, whose
+knowledge of local genealogy and antiquities has
+been invaluable.</p>
+
+<p>
+   July, 1896.<span class='smcap' style='margin-left:20em;'>E. K. Chambers.</span>
+</p>
+
+<div class="footnotes">
+
+<h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3>
+
+  <div class="footnote">
+    <p>
+      <a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a>
+      <a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a>
+      Dr. Grosart, however, says (ii. 298), "In all the pedigrees
+      that have been submitted to me, Thomas is placed as the first
+      of the twins." But, as Henry inherited Newton, and Thomas
+      took orders, Anthony &agrave; Wood is probably right.
+      </p>
+    </div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> The tombstone says 73. G. T. Clark repeats Jones' error.</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> The tombstone is actually in the north aisle of the church itself.</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_4_4" id="Footnote_4_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_4"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> Obviously Mr. Clark has confused Lucy Jones with her
+daughter, Denise Jones.</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_5_5" id="Footnote_5_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_5"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> This was noted by Mr W. B. Rye in <i>The Genealogist</i>, iii.
+33, from the Entry Book of the Registry at Hereford. Since
+then Mr. Clark of Hereford has kindly sent me, through Miss
+Morgan, a copy of the bond entered into by the administratrix,
+Elizabetha Vaughan de Llansanfread, and her son-in-law and
+surety, Roger Prosser de Villa Brecon. The bond, or the copy,
+is dated in error "30 May, 1694, et 7th Wm. iii." Administration
+was granted on May 29, 1695. The inventory of the
+personal property amounted to &pound;49 4s. 0d. The witnesses are
+Walter Prosser and David Thomas.</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote">
+<p>
+<a name="Footnote_6_6" id="Footnote_6_6"></a>
+<a href="#FNanchor_6_6"><span class="label">[6]</span></a>
+An old alphabetical catalogue of wills in the Hereford
+Registry, between 1660-1677, has the following entries:&mdash;
+</p>
+<p style='margin-left:2em;text-indent:0;'>
+Thomas Vaughan, Lansamfread, 11 Dec., 1660.<br />
+Franca Vaughan, Lansamfread, 16 Nov., 1677.
+</p>
+<p style='text-indent:0'>
+The wills cannot, in the present state of the Registry, be found
+(<i>Genealogist</i>, iii., 33). These dates are much too early for
+the poet's son and daughter-in-law; but whose are the wills?</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_7_7" id="Footnote_7_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_7_7"><span class="label">[7]</span></a> The <i>Turberville</i> and <i>Jones</i> lines are taken
+from Theophilus Jones' <i>History of Brecknockshire</i> (ii. 444),
+and from Harl. MS. 2289, f. 70, respectively. Miss Morgan has kindly traced
+the Prossers from the <i>Registers</i> of St. John's and St. Mary's
+Churches, Brecon.</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_8_8" id="Footnote_8_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor_8_8"><span class="label">[8]</span></a> Miss Morgan tells me that David Morgan David Howel's
+father, Morgan ap Howel, is described in a pedigree as "of
+Trenewydd in Penkelley"; and I find from Harl. MS. 2289,
+ff. 84 (b), 85, that the Powells "of Newton Penkelley" were
+related to the Powells of Cantreff. (<i>See</i> vol. ii., p. 57, <i>note</i>.)</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_9_9" id="Footnote_9_9"></a><a href="#FNanchor_9_9"><span class="label">[9]</span></a> The will of this Charles Vaughan has been abstracted by
+Mr. W. B. Rye (<i>Genealogist</i>, iii. 33) from the Hereford Will
+Office. It was made 9th April, 1707, and proved 29th May,
+1707. The testator is described as of Skellrog, Llansanffread,
+and mention is made of his wife Margaret Powell, and of a son
+William. This William, therefore, and not a grandson of Henry
+Vaughan, may be the William Vaughan of Llansantffread, who
+married Mary Games of Tregaer (p. xxi). Skellrog appears to
+have passed to another and probably elder son, Charles.</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_10_10" id="Footnote_10_10"></a><a href="#FNanchor_10_10"><span class="label">[10]</span></a> S. W. Williams, <i>Llansaintffread Church</i> in <i>Archaeologia
+Cambrensis</i> (1887.)</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_11_11" id="Footnote_11_11"></a><a href="#FNanchor_11_11"><span class="label">[11]</span></a> W. B. Rye in <i>Genealogist</i>, iii. 36, from Entry Book in
+Hereford Will Office.</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_12_12" id="Footnote_12_12"></a><a href="#FNanchor_12_12"><span class="label">[12]</span></a> An account of the part played by Beeston Castle during
+the Civil War will be found in Ormerod's <i>History of Cheshire</i>
+(ed. Helsby), ii. 272 <i>sqq.</i></p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_13_13" id="Footnote_13_13"></a><a href="#FNanchor_13_13"><span class="label">[13]</span></a> Gardiner, <i>The Great Civil War</i>, ch. xxxvi.; J. R. Phillips,
+<i>The Civil War in Wales and the Marches</i>, i. 329; ii. 270.</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_14_14" id="Footnote_14_14"></a><a href="#FNanchor_14_14"><span class="label">[14]</span></a> Ormerod, i. 243.</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_15_15" id="Footnote_15_15"></a><a href="#FNanchor_15_15"><span class="label">[15]</span></a> Phillips, i. 314.</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_16_16" id="Footnote_16_16"></a><a href="#FNanchor_16_16"><span class="label">[16]</span></a> Phillips, ii. 272.</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_17_17" id="Footnote_17_17"></a><a href="#FNanchor_17_17"><span class="label">[17]</span></a> Both Wood and Foster give the father's name as Thomas,
+but it appears to be Henry in all the pedigrees.</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_18_18" id="Footnote_18_18"></a><a href="#FNanchor_18_18"><span class="label">[18]</span></a> The following list of Vaughan's admitted prose treatises is
+mainly taken from Dr. Grosart:&mdash;<i>Anthroposophia Theomagica</i>
+(1650); <i>Anima Magica Abscondita</i> (1650); <i>Magia Adamica</i>
+with the <i>Coelum Terrae</i> (1650); <i>The Man-Mouse taken in a
+Trap</i> (1650); <i>The Second Wash; or, the Moor scoured once
+more</i> (1651) [These two are polemics against Henry More];
+<i>Lumen de Lumine</i>, with the <i>Aphorismi Magici Eugeniani</i>
+(1651); <i>The Fame and Confession of the Fraternity of R:C:</i>
+(1653); <i>Aula Lucis</i> (1652); <i>Euphrates</i> (1655); <i>Nollius'
+Chymist's Key</i> (1657); <i>A Brief Natural History</i> (1669);
+[Wood ascribes this to another writer, as it was not in the list
+furnished him by Henry Vaughan].&mdash;Henry More's pamphlets
+against Vaughan are the <i>Observations upon Anthroposophia
+Theomagica and Anima Magica Abscondita</i> (1650), issued
+under the name of Alazonomastix Philalethes and <i>The Second
+Lash of Alazonomastix</i> (1651).</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_19_19" id="Footnote_19_19"></a><a href="#FNanchor_19_19"><span class="label">[19]</span></a> Walker falls into the curious confusion of supposing that
+there were two Thomas Vaughans, one rector of Llansantffread,
+the other of Newton St. Bridget. But "St. Bridget" is only
+the English form of the Welsh "Santffread."</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_20_20" id="Footnote_20_20"></a><a href="#FNanchor_20_20"><span class="label">[20]</span></a> Printed from the Rawl. MSS. in Thurloe's <i>State Papers</i>, ii. 120.</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_21_21" id="Footnote_21_21"></a><a href="#FNanchor_21_21"><span class="label">[21]</span></a> Is this the inn of that name once in the Gray's Inn Road?
+(Cunningham and Wheatley, <i>Handbook to London</i>.)</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_22_22" id="Footnote_22_22"></a><a href="#FNanchor_22_22"><span class="label">[22]</span></a> The Rev. Henry Howlett has kindly sent me the following
+extract from the registers of Meppershall:&mdash;
+</p><p class='center' style="text-indent:0;">
+"1658.<br />
+Buried.<br />
+Rebecka, the Wife of Mr. Vahanne<br />
+the 26th of Aprill."
+</p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_23_23" id="Footnote_23_23"></a><a href="#FNanchor_23_23"><span class="label">[23]</span></a> An entire literature has grown up in Paris during the last
+year around the question whether the cultus of Lucifer is
+practised in certain Masonic Lodges. A number of Catholic
+journalists and pamphleteers assert very categorically that this
+is the case, that the centre of this cultus, containing the full
+Luciferian initiates, is the 33<span class='super'>rd</span> degree of a so-called New and
+Reformed Palladian Rite, having its head-quarters at Charlestown,
+and that the chiefs of this Rite have obtained a controlling
+influence over the whole of Freemasonry. The creed is
+described as Manichaean in character, with Lucifer as Dieu-Bon
+and Adonai, the God of the Catholics, as Dieu-Mauvais.
+Adonai is the principle of asceticism, Lucifer of natural
+humanity and <i>la joie de vivre</i>. The rituals and the accepted
+interpretation of the Masonic symbolism used in the lodges, or
+"triangles," are of a phallic type. Women are admitted to
+membership. Immorality, a parody of the Eucharist, known
+as the black mass, and the practice of black magic, take place
+at the meetings. Lucifer is worshipped in the form of
+Baphomet, but from time to time he is personally evoked, and
+manifested to his followers. Luciferianism tends to become
+identical with Satanism, in which Lucifer and Satan are
+identified and frankly worshipped as evil. The first mention
+of Luciferian Freemasonry was in the <i>Y-a-t-il des Femmes
+dans la Franc Ma&ccedil;onnerie?</i> (1891), of the somewhat notorious
+Leo Taxil. But the case rests mainly on the alleged revelations
+of writers who claim to have themselves been members of
+the Palladian Rite. The chief of these are Dr. Hacke or
+Bataille, Signor Margiotta and Miss Diana Vaughan.
+Unfortunately very little evidence is forthcoming as to the
+identity of any of these personages. Many leading Masons,
+<i>e.g.</i>, M. Papus in his <i>Le Diable et l'Occultisme</i>, deny that
+Luciferian Freemasonry exists at all, and it is freely stated
+(<i>cf.</i> <i>Light</i> for 27 June and 4 July, 1896, pp. 305, 322)
+that Miss Diana Vaughan is a myth, and that her <i>M&eacute;moires</i>
+with the rest of the revelations are the ingenious concoction
+of a band of irresponsible journalists of whom
+Leo Taxil is the chief. No one appears to have seen
+Miss Vaughan, and she is alleged to be hiding in some
+convent from the vengeance of the Luciferians. Probably
+there will be some further light thrown on the matter before
+long: in the meantime a good summary of the evidence up-to-date
+may be found in A. E. Waite's <i>Devil-Worship in France</i>
+(1896). Assuming that Luciferianism really exists, I do not
+for a moment believe that it has the antiquity which Miss
+Vaughan claims for it. The various Rites of modern Freemasonry,
+with their fantastic and high-sounding degrees, are
+comparatively recent excrescences upon the original Craft
+Masonry. The New and Reformed Palladian Rite is said to
+have been founded at Charlestown by the well-known Mason,
+Albert Pike, in 1870. It is based on the Ancient and
+Accepted Scottish Rite, which dates from the beginning of the
+century. If there is such a thing as Luciferianism, I do not
+think we need look further back than 1870 for its origin. As
+expounded by Miss Vaughan and others, it is pretty clearly a
+compilation from Eliphaz Levi and other occultist and
+Cabbalistic writers, with a good deal of modern American
+Spiritualism thrown in. Albert Pike, a man of considerable
+learning, could easily have invented it. Masonic symbolism
+lends itself readily enough to a wide range of interpretations.
+I do not say that seventeenth-century occultism has left no
+traces upon Freemasonry which modern ritual-mongers may
+have elaborated; but it is a far cry from this to the belief
+that Thomas Vaughan and Luther were Manichaean worshippers
+of Lucifer and Protestantism an organized warfare
+on Adonai.</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_24_24" id="Footnote_24_24"></a><a href="#FNanchor_24_24"><span class="label">[24]</span></a> Miss Vaughan quotes from Allibone's <i>History of English
+Literature</i>. Allibone only repeats Anthony &agrave; Wood's account.</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_25_25" id="Footnote_25_25"></a><a href="#FNanchor_25_25"><span class="label">[25]</span></a> Robert Vaughan belonged to quite a different branch from
+the Vaughans of Newton: and, as Sl. MS. 1741 shows, the
+father of Henry and Thomas Vaughan did not die until 1658.</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_26_26" id="Footnote_26_26"></a><a href="#FNanchor_26_26"><span class="label">[26]</span></a> Miss Vaughan gives an elaborate account of the Rosicrucians
+and of their famous manifestoes, which I have no room to reproduce.</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_27_27" id="Footnote_27_27"></a><a href="#FNanchor_27_27"><span class="label">[27]</span></a> Miss Vaughan states that Thomas Vaughan signed "not
+<i>Eugenius Philalethes</i>, but <i>Eirenaeus Philalethes</i>" (p. 114).
+But she ascribes to him the <i>Anthroposophia Theomagica</i> and
+other writings which are signed, though she does not mention
+it, <i>Eugenius Philalethes</i> (p. 211). She quotes from Anthony
+&agrave; Wood the assertion, which he does not make, that the
+English translations of the <i>Fama Fraternitatis Rosae Crucis</i>
+(1652) and of Maier's <i>Themis Aurea</i> (1656) both bear the name
+of Eugenius, and were by another Thomas Vaughan! The
+manuscripts of both are, she says, signed <i>Eirenaeus</i> (p. 163).
+What Wood says is that he has seen a translation of Maier's
+tract, dedicated to Elias Ashmole by [N. L.]/[T. S.] H. S., and that
+Ashmole has forgotten whose the initials are. He does not
+suggest that this translation is by a Thomas Vaughan. (<i>Ath.
+Oxon.</i>, iii. 724.)</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_28_28" id="Footnote_28_28"></a><a href="#FNanchor_28_28"><span class="label">[28]</span></a> This episode has previously done duty in the <i>Vingt Ans
+Apr&egrave;s</i> (vol. iii., ch. 8-10), of Alexandre Dumas, in which
+Mordaunt acts as the executioner of Charles. There is a
+Latin poem amongst Vaughan's remains in <i>Thalia Rediviva</i>
+entitled <i>Epitaphium Gulielmi Laud Episcopi Cantuariensis</i>,
+full of sorrow for the archbishop's death.</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_29_29" id="Footnote_29_29"></a><a href="#FNanchor_29_29"><span class="label">[29]</span></a> Miss Vaughan refers to Lenglet-Dufresnoy's <i>Histoire de la
+Philosophie Herm&eacute;tique</i> as an authority on Starkey's relations
+with Eirenaeus Philalethes. Lenglet-Dufresnoy probably took
+his account from <i>The Marrow of Alchemy</i> (1654-5). The
+prefaces to this are signed with anagrams of George Starkey's
+name. But he ascribes the poem to a friend, who is called in
+the <i>Breve Manuductorium ad Campum Sophiae</i> Agricola
+Rhomaeus. Perhaps Starkey himself was the real author.
+The title-page has the name Eirenaeus Philoponus Philalethes,
+apparently a distinct designation from that of Eirenaeus Philalethes.</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_30_30" id="Footnote_30_30"></a><a href="#FNanchor_30_30"><span class="label">[30]</span></a> The <i>Medulla Alchemiae</i> (1664) is only a Latin translation
+of the <i>Marrow of Alchemy</i> (1654-5) of Eirenaeus Philoponos Philalethes.</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_31_31" id="Footnote_31_31"></a><a href="#FNanchor_31_31"><span class="label">[31]</span></a> The actual name of the tract is <i>Ripley Revived</i>.</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_32_32" id="Footnote_32_32"></a><a href="#FNanchor_32_32"><span class="label">[32]</span></a> The <i>Thalia Rediviva</i> was actually published in 1678, not 1679.</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_33_33" id="Footnote_33_33"></a><a href="#FNanchor_33_33"><span class="label">[33]</span></a> Miss Vaughan has herself witnessed this, in the presence of
+Lucifer. Moreover, the spirit of Philalethes has appeared,
+and conversed with her (pp. 257-267).</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_34_34" id="Footnote_34_34"></a><a href="#FNanchor_34_34"><span class="label">[34]</span></a> Miss Vaughan refers to several family documents, but does
+not offer them for inspection. They include (<i>a</i>) the will of her
+grandfather James, enumerating the proofs of his descent
+(p. 111); (<i>b</i>) the autobiographical Memoirs of Philalethes, from
+which Miss Vaughan quotes largely (pp. 174, 240); (<i>c</i>) a letter
+from Fludd to Andreae (pp. 114, 149); (<i>d</i>) a MS. of the
+<i>Introitus Apertus</i>, of which the margin has been covered by
+Vaughan with a comment for Luciferian initiates (pp. 111, 217,
+225); (<i>e</i>) a letter from Andreae in the archives of the Sovereign
+Patriarchal Council of Hamburg (p. 197); (<i>f</i>) Henry Vaughan's
+account of his brother's disappearance in the archives of
+the Supreme Dogmatic Directory of Charleston (p. 114);
+(<i>g</i>) Masonic rituals in the archives of Masonic chapters at
+Bristol and Gibraltar (p. 200); (<i>h</i>) Rosicrucian rituals drawn
+up by one Nick Stone in the hands of Dr. W. W. W[estcott]
+of London (p. 141). The documents in Masonic hands are
+presumably, like the Valetta talisman, now out of Miss
+Vaughan's reach. A communication signed Q. V. in <i>Light</i> for
+May 16, 1896, denies, on Dr. Westcott's authority, that his
+rituals have anything to do with Nick Stone, or that Miss
+Vaughan ever saw them. Dr. Westcott is the head of the
+modern <i>Societas Rosicruciana in Anglia</i>. This body does not
+even pretend to be the <i>Fraternity of R. C.</i> Finally, there
+is (<i>i</i>) Thomas Vaughan's original pact with Lucifer, now,
+according to Miss Vaughan, in holy hands, and to be destroyed
+on the day she takes the veil.</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_35_35" id="Footnote_35_35"></a><a href="#FNanchor_35_35"><span class="label">[35]</span></a> Miss Vaughan somewhat na&iuml;vely gives us a lead. After
+describing Thomas Vaughan's sojourn with Venus-Astarte
+among the Lenni-Lennaps, she adds: "This legend is not
+accepted by all the Elect Mages; there are those who regard
+it as fabricated by my grandfather James of Boston, who was,
+they believe, of Delaware origin, or, at any rate, a half-breed;
+and they even assert that, in the desire to Anglicize himself, he
+invented an entirely false genealogy, by way of justifying his
+change of the Lennap name Waghan into Vaughan. Herein
+the opponents of the Luciferian legend of Thomas Vaughan go
+too far" (p. 181).</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_36_36" id="Footnote_36_36"></a><a href="#FNanchor_36_36"><span class="label">[36]</span></a> I have already pointed out that Miss Vaughan is quite
+possibly a myth. But, if she exists, I do not see any reason to
+suppose that she personally invented the "legend of Philalethes."
+It lies between Leo Taxil and his friends in 1895, and
+the alleged founders of Palladism in or about 1870, that is Albert
+Pike and Miss Vaughan's father and uncle. And, so far as it
+goes, the ignorance shown in the legend of all books published
+in the last twenty years is evidence for the earlier date, and therefore,
+to some extent, for the actual existence of Luciferianism.</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote">
+<p><a name="Footnote_37_37" id="Footnote_37_37"></a>
+<a href="#FNanchor_37_37"><span class="label">[37]</span></a>
+<i>Cf.</i> A. E. Waite, <i>Real History of the Rosicrucians</i>, p. 274.
+</p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_38_38" id="Footnote_38_38"></a><a href="#FNanchor_38_38"><span class="label">[38]</span></a> The principal writings ascribed to Eirenaeus Philalethes
+are <i>Introitus Apertus in Occlusum Regis Palatium</i> (1667),
+<i>Tres Tractatus</i> (1668), <i>Experimenta de Praeparatione Mercurii
+Sophici</i> (1668), <i>Ripley Revived</i> (1678), <i>Enarratio Trium
+Gebri Medicinarum</i> (1678). The works of Eirenaeus Philoponos
+Philalethes (George Starkey?) are often attributed to
+him in error. The B. M. Catalogue, s.vv. <i>Philaletha, Philalethes</i>,
+is a mass of confusions. Lenglet-Dufresnoy, <i>Histoire
+de la Philosophie Herm&eacute;tique</i> (iii. 261-266), gives a long list of
+printed and manuscript works. Most of these he had probably
+never seen. He probably took many items in his list from one
+in J. M. Faust's edition of the <i>Introitus Apertus</i> (Frankfort,
+1706); and this, in its turn, was based on what Eirenaeus
+Philalethes himself says he has written in the preface to <i>Ripley
+Revived</i>. He there says, after naming other works: "Two
+English Poems I wrote, declaring the whole secret, which are
+lost. Also an Enchiridion of Experiments, together with a
+Diurnal of Meditations, in which were many Philosophical
+receipts, declaring the whole secret, with an Aenigma annexed;
+which also fell into such hands which I conceive will never
+restore it. This last was written in English." Can this Enchiridion
+and Diurnal be Sl. MS. 1741? I find no "Aenigma."
+Can Starkey have stolen the poems and published them as the
+<i>Marrow of Alchemy</i>?</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_39_39" id="Footnote_39_39"></a><a href="#FNanchor_39_39"><span class="label">[39]</span></a> The preface to <i>Ripley Revived</i> makes it clear that the
+<i>Introitus Apertus</i> was originally written in Latin, not in English.</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_40_40" id="Footnote_40_40"></a><a href="#FNanchor_40_40"><span class="label">[40]</span></a> This is recorded in Helvetius' <i>Vitulus Aureus</i> (1667).
+Helvetius describes his master as 43 or 44 years old, and calls
+him Elias Artistes.</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_41_41" id="Footnote_41_41"></a><a href="#FNanchor_41_41"><span class="label">[41]</span></a> <i>See</i> the passage from the Epistle to <i>Euphrates</i>, quoted by
+Grosart (Vol. ii., p. 312).</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_42_42" id="Footnote_42_42"></a><a href="#FNanchor_42_42"><span class="label">[42]</span></a> The "legend of Philalethes" has already been exposed
+by Mr. A. E. Waite in his <i>Devil Worship in France</i> (ch. xiii.).
+I am also indebted to what Mr. Waite has written on Eirenaeus
+Philalethes in that book, as well as in his <i>True History of the
+Rosicrucians</i> (1887) and his
+<i>Lives of Alchymistical Philosophers</i> (1888).</p></div>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_lvii" id="Page_lvii">[lvii]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="BIBLIOGRAPHY_OF_HENRY_VAUGHANS_WORKS" id="BIBLIOGRAPHY_OF_HENRY_VAUGHANS_WORKS"></a>BIBLIOGRAPHY OF HENRY VAUGHAN'S WORKS.</h2>
+<hr class='head' />
+
+<h3>(1)</h3>
+
+<p>POEMS, | WITH | The tenth SATYRE of | IUVENAL |
+ENGLISHED. | By <i>Henry Vaughan</i>, Gent. |&mdash;<i>Tam nil,
+nulla tibi vendo</i> | <i>Illiade</i>&mdash;| <i>LONDON</i>, | Printed for <i>G.
+Badger</i>, and are to be sold at his | shop under Saint <i>Dunstan's</i>
+Church in | Fleet-street. 1646. [8<span class='super'>vo</span>.]</p>
+
+<p>The translation from Juvenal has a separate title-page.</p>
+
+<p>IVVENAL'S | TENTH | SATYRE | TRANSLATED. |
+<i>N&egrave;c verbum verbo curabit reddere fidus</i> | <i>Interpres</i>&mdash;|
+<i>LONDON</i>, | Printed for G. B., and are to be sold at his
+Shop | under Saint <i>Dunstan's</i> Church. 1646.</p>
+
+
+<h3>(2)</h3>
+
+<p>[Emblem] | Silex Scintillans: | <i>or</i> | <i>SACRED POEMS</i> |
+<i>and</i> | <i>Priuate Eiaculations</i> | <i>By</i> | Henry Vaughan <i>Silurist</i> |
+LONDON | <i>Printed by T. W. for H. Blunden</i> | <i>at ye Castle
+in Cornehill.</i> 1650. [8<span class='super'>vo</span>.]</p>
+
+
+<h3>(3)</h3>
+
+<p><i>OLOR ISCANUS.</i> | A COLLECTION | OF SOME SELECT |
+POEMS, | AND | TRANSLATIONS, | Formerly
+written by | <i>Mr.</i> Henry Vaughan <i>Silurist</i>. | Published by a
+Friend. | Virg. Georg. | <i>Flumina amo, Sylvasq. Inglorius</i>&mdash;|
+LONDON | Printed by <i>T. W.</i> for <i>Humphrey Moseley</i>, | and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_lviii" id="Page_lviii">[lviii]</a></span>
+are to be sold at his shop, at the | Signe of the Princes Arms
+in St. <i>Pauls</i> | Church-yard, 1651. [8<span class='super'>vo</span>.]</p>
+
+<p>The Preface is dated "Newton by Usk this 17 of Decemb. 1647."</p>
+
+<p>The prose translations in this volume have separate title-pages:</p>
+
+<p>(<i>a</i>) OF THE | BENEFIT | Wee may get by our |
+ENEMIES. | A DISCOURSE | Written originally in the |
+Greek by <i>Plutarchus Chaeronensis</i>, | translated in to Latin by
+<i>I. Reynolds</i> Dr. | of Divinitie and lecturer of the Greeke
+Tongue | In <i>Corpus Christi</i> College In <i>Oxford</i>. | <i>Englished By</i>
+H: V: <i>Silurist</i>. |&mdash;<i>Dolus, an virtus quis in hoste requirat.</i> |&mdash;<i>fas
+est, et ab hoste doceri.</i> | LONDON. | Printed for
+<i>Humphry Moseley</i> [etc.].</p>
+
+<p>(<i>b</i>) OF THE | DISEASES | OF THE | MIND | And
+the BODY. | A DISCOURSE | Written originally in the |
+Greek by <i>Plutarchus Chaeronensis</i>, | put in to latine by <i>I.
+Reynolds D.D.</i> | Englished by <i>H: V:</i> Silurist. | <i>Omnia
+perversae poterunt Corrumpere mentes.</i> | LONDON. |
+Printed for <i>Humphry Moseley</i> [etc.].</p>
+
+<p>(<i>c</i>) OF THE DISEASES | OF THE | MIND, | AND
+THE | BODY, | and which of them is | most pernicious. | The
+Question stated, and decided | by <i>Maximus Tirius</i>, a Platonick
+Philosopher, written originally in | the Greek, put into
+Latine by | <i>John Reynolds</i> D.D. | <i>Englished</i> by Henry
+Vaughan <i>Silurist</i>. | LONDON, | Printed for <i>Humphry
+Moseley</i> [etc.].</p>
+
+<p>(<i>d</i>) THE | PRAISE | AND | HAPPINESSE | OF THE
+| <i>COUNTRIE-LIFE</i>; | Written Originally in | <i>Spanish</i> by
+<i>Don Antonio de Guevara</i>, | Bishop of <i>Carthagena</i>, and |
+Counsellour of Estate to | <i>Charls</i> the Fifth Emperour | of
+<i>Germany</i>. |<i>Put into English by</i> H. Vaughan <i>Silurist.</i> |
+Virgil. Georg. | <i>O fortunatos nimi&ugrave;m, bona si sua n&ocirc;rint</i>, |
+<i>Agricolas!</i>&mdash;| LONDON, | Printed for <i>Humphry
+Moseley</i> [etc.].
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_lix" id="Page_lix">[lix]</a></span>
+</p>
+
+
+<h3>(4)</h3>
+
+<p>THE | MOUNT of OLIVES: | OR, | SOLITARY
+DEVOTIONS. | By | HENRY VAUGHAN <i>Silurist</i>. |
+With | An excellent Discourse of the | blessed State of MAN
+in GLORY, | written by the most Reverend and | holy Father
+ANSELM Arch-| Bishop of <i>Canterbury</i>, and now | done into
+English. | Luke 21, v. 39, 37. | [quoted in full]. | LONDON,
+Printed for WILLIAM LEAKE at the | Crown in Fleet-Street
+between the two | Temple-Gates. 1652 [12<span class='super'>mo</span>].</p>
+
+<p>The preface is dated "Newton by Usk this first of October 1651."</p>
+
+<p>The translation from Anselm has a separate title-page:</p>
+
+<p>MAN | IN | GLORY: | OR, | A Discourse of the blessed
+| state of the Saints in the | New JERUSALEM. | Written
+in Latin by the most | Reverend and holy Father |
+<i>ANSELMUS</i> | Archbishop of <i>Canterbury</i>, and now | done
+into English. | Printed <i>Anno Dom.</i> 1652.</p>
+
+
+<h3>(5)</h3>
+
+<p><i>Flores Solitudinis.</i> | Certaine Rare and Elegant |
+PIECES; | <i>Viz.</i> | Two Excellent Discourses | Of 1. <i>Temperance,
+and Patience</i>; | 2. <i>Life and Death</i>. | BY | <i>I. E.</i>
+NIEREMBERGIUS. | THE WORLD | CONTEMNED;
+| BY | EUCHERIUS, Bp. of LYONS. | And the Life of
+| PAULINUS, | Bp. of <i>NOLA</i>. | Collected in his Sicknesse
+and Retirement, | BY | <i>HENRY VAUGHAN</i>, Silurist. |
+<i>Tantus Amor Florum, &amp; generandi gloria Mellis.</i> | <i>London</i>,
+Printed for <i>Humphry Moseley</i> at the | <i>Princes Armes</i> in St.
+<i>Pauls</i> Church-yard. 1654. [12<span class='super'>mo</span>.]</p>
+
+<p>The Preface is dated "Newton by Usk, in South-Wales,
+April 17, 1652." The pieces have separate title-pages:</p>
+
+<p>(<i>a</i>) Two Excellent | DISCOURSES | Of 1. Temperance
+and Patience. | 2. Life and Death. | Written in Latin by |
+<i>Johan: Euseb: Nierembergius</i>. | Englished by | HENRY
+VAUGHAN, Silurist. | ... <i>Mors vitam temperet, &amp;</i>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_lx" id="Page_lx">[lx]</a></span>
+<i>vita Mortem</i>. | <i>LONDON:</i> | Printed for <i>Humphrey Moseley</i>, etc.</p>
+
+<p>The Preface is dated "Newton by Uske neare Sketh-Rock. 1653."</p>
+
+<p>(<i>b</i>) THE WORLD | CONTEMNED, | IN A | Parenetical
+Epistle written by | the Reverend Father | <i>EUCHERIUS</i>,
+| Bishop of <i>Lyons</i>, to his Kinsman | <i>VALERIANUS</i>. |
+[Texts] | <i>London</i>, Printed for <i>Humphrey Moseley</i> [etc.].</p>
+
+<p>(<i>c</i>) Primitive Holiness, | Set forth in the | LIFE | of
+blessed | PAULINUS, | The most Reverend, and | Learned
+BISHOP of | <i>NOLA</i>: | Collected out of his own Works, |
+and other Primitive Authors by | <i>Henry Vaughan</i>, Silurist. |
+2 Kings <i>cap.</i> 2. <i>ver.</i> 12 | <i>My Father, my Father, the Chariot
+of</i> | Israel, <i>and the Horsmen thereof.</i> | <i>LONDON</i>, | Printed
+for <i>Humphry Moseley</i> [etc.].</p>
+
+
+<h3>(6)</h3>
+
+<p>Silex Scintillans: | SACRED | POEMS | And private |
+EJACULATIONS. | The second Edition, In two Books; |
+By <i>Henry Vaughan</i>, Silurist. | Job chap. 35 ver. 10, 11.
+| [quoted in full] | <i>London</i>, Printed for <i>Henry Crips</i>, and
+<i>Lodo-</i> | <i>wick Lloyd</i>, next to the Castle in <i>Cornhil</i>, | and in
+<i>Popes-head Alley</i>. 1655. [8<span class='super'>vo</span>.]</p>
+
+<p>A reissue, with additions and a fresh title-page, of (2).
+The Preface is dated "Newton by Usk, near Sketh-rock Septem. 30, 1654."</p>
+
+
+<h3>(7)</h3>
+
+<p>HERMETICAL | PHYSICK: | <i>OR</i>, | The right
+way to pre-| serve, and to restore | HEALTH | <i>BY</i> | That
+famous and faith-| full Chymist, | <i>HENRY NOLLIUS</i>. |
+Englished by | HENRY UAUGHAN, Gent. | <i>LONDON.</i> |
+Printed for <i>Humphrey Moseley</i>, and | are to be sold at his shop,
+at the | <i>Princes Armes</i>, in S<span class='super'>t</span>
+<i>Pauls Church-Yard</i>, 1655. [12<span class='super'>mo</span>.]</p>
+
+
+<h3>(8)</h3>
+
+<p><i>Thalia Rediviva:</i> | THE | <i>Pass-Times</i> and <i>Diversions</i>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_lxi" id="Page_lxi">[lxi]</a></span>
+| OF A | COUNTREY-MUSE, | In Choice | POEMS | On
+several Occasions. | WITH | Some Learned <i>Remains</i> of the
+Eminent | <i>Eugenius Philalethes</i>. | Never made Publick till
+now. |&mdash;Nec erubuit sylvas habitare Thalia. <i>Virgil.</i> | Licensed,
+<i>Roger L'Estrange</i>. | <i>London</i>, Printed for <i>Robert Pawlet</i> at the
+Bible in | <i>Chancery-lane</i>, near <i>Fleetstreet</i>, 1678 [8<span class='super'>vo</span>.]</p>
+
+<p>The Remains of Eugenius Philalethes [Thomas Vaughan]
+have a separate title-page.</p>
+
+<p><i>Eugenii Philalethis</i>, | VIRI | INSIGNISSIMI | ET |
+Poetarum | Sui Saeculi, merit&ograve; Principis: | <i>VERTUMNUS</i> |
+ET | <i>CYNTHIA</i>, &amp;c. | Q. Horat. |&mdash;<i>Qui praegravat artes
+Infra se positas,</i> | <i>extinctus am[a]bitur.</i>&mdash;| <i>LONDINI</i>, |
+Impensis <i>Roberti Pawlett</i>, M.DC.LXXVIII. [12<span class='super'>mo</span>.]</p>
+
+
+<h3>(9)</h3>
+
+<p>Olor Iscanus. A collection of some Select Poems, Together
+with these Translations following, etc. All Englished by
+H. Vaughan, Silurist. London: Printed and are to be sold by
+Peter Parker ... 1679. [8<span class='super'>vo</span>.]</p>
+
+<p>A reissue, according to Dr. Grosart (ii. 59) and W. C. Hazlitt
+(<i>Supplement to Third Series Of Collections</i>, p. 106), of the 1651
+<i>Olor Iscanus</i>, with a fresh title-page. I have not seen a copy.</p>
+
+
+<h3>(10)</h3>
+
+<p>[Miss L. I. Guiney writes in her essay on <i>Henry
+Vaughan, the Silurist</i> (Atlantic Monthly, May, 1894): "Mr.
+Carew Hazlitt has been fortunate enough to discover the
+advertisement of an eighteenth-century Vaughan reprint."</p>
+
+<p>As to this Mr. Hazlitt writes to me: "I cannot tell where
+Miss Guiney heard about the Vaughan&mdash;not certainly from me.
+But there is an edition of his 'Spiritual Songs,' 8<span class='super'>vo</span>, 1706, of
+which, however, I don't at present know the whereabouts."]</p>
+
+
+<h3>(11)</h3>
+
+<p>Silex Scintillans: Sacred Poems and Private Ejaculations
+of Henry Vaughan, with Memoir by the Rev. H. F.
+Lyte. London: William Pickering, 1847. [12<span class='super'>mo</span>.]</p>
+
+<p>An edition of (6) and part of (8).<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_lxii" id="Page_lxii">[lxii]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<h3>(12)</h3>
+
+<p>The Sacred Poems and Private Ejaculations of Henry
+Vaughan, with a Memoir by the Rev. H. F. Lyte. Boston
+[U. S. A.]: Little, Brown and Company, 1856. [8<span class='super'>vo</span>.]</p>
+
+<p>A reprint of (11).</p>
+
+
+<h3>(13)</h3>
+
+<p>Silex Scintillans, etc.: Sacred Poems and Private Ejaculations,
+by Henry Vaughan. London: Bell and Daldy. 1858.</p>
+
+<p>A reprint, with a revised text, of (11).</p>
+
+
+<h3>(14)</h3>
+
+<p>The Fuller Worthies' Library. The Works in Verse and
+Prose complete of Henry Vaughan, Silurist, for the first time
+collected and edited: with Memorial-Introduction: Essay on
+Life and Writings: and Notes: by the Rev. Alexander B.
+Grosart, St. George's, Blackburn, Lancashire. In four
+Volumes.... Printed for Private Circulation. 1871.</p>
+
+<p>A reprint of the original editions, with biographical and
+critical matter. Only 50 4<span class='super'>to</span>, 106 8<span class='super'>vo</span>, and 156 12<span class='super'>mo</span> copies
+printed. In Vol. II. are included the Poems of Thomas
+Vaughan, with a separate title-page.</p>
+
+<p>The English and Latin Verse-Remains of Thomas Vaughan
+('Eugenius Philalethes'), twin-brother of the Silurist. For
+the first time collected and edited: with Memorial-Introduction
+and Notes: by the Rev. Alexander B. Grosart [etc.].</p>
+
+
+<h3>(15)</h3>
+
+<p>Silex Scintillans, etc. Sacred Poems and Pious Ejaculations.
+By Henry Vaughan, "Silurist." With a Memoir
+by the Rev. H. F. Lyte. Job xxxv. 10, 11 [in full]. London:
+George Bell and Sons, York Street, Covent Garden. 1883. [8<span class='super'>vo</span>.]</p>
+
+<p>A reprint, with a text further revised, of (11) and (13), forming
+a volume of the <i>Aldine Poets</i>. Since reprinted in 1891.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_lxiii" id="Page_lxiii">[lxiii]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<h3>(16)</h3>
+
+<p>The Jewel Poets. Henry Vaughan. Edinburgh. Macniven
+and Wallace. 1884.</p>
+
+<p>A selection, with a short preface by W. R. Nicoll.</p>
+
+
+<h3>(17)</h3>
+
+<p>Silex Scintillans. Sacred Poems and Private Ejaculations,
+by Henry Vaughan (Silurist). Being a facsimile of the
+First Edition, published in 1650, with an Introduction by the
+Rev. William Clare, B.A. (Adelaide). London: Elliot Stock,
+62, Paternoster Row. 1885. [12<span class='super'>mo</span>.]</p>
+
+<p>A facsimile reprint of (2).</p>
+
+
+<h3>(18)</h3>
+
+<p>Secular Poems by Henry Vaughan, Silurist. Including
+a few pieces by his twin-brother Thomas ("Eugenius Philalethes").
+Selected and arranged, with Notes and Bibliography,
+by J. R. Tutin, Editor of "Poems of Richard Crashaw," etc.
+Hull: J. R. Tutin. 1893.</p>
+
+<p>A selection from Vol. II. of (14).</p>
+
+
+<h3>(19)</h3>
+
+<p>The Poems of Henry Vaughan, Silurist. With an
+Introduction by H. C. Beeching, Rector of Yattendon. [Publishers'
+Device.] London: Lawrence and Bullen, 16, Henrietta
+Street, W.C. New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 153-157
+Fifth Avenue. 1896. [Two vols. 8<span class='super'>vo</span>.]</p>
+
+<p>The present edition. A hundred copies are printed on large paper.</p>
+
+<hr class="major" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2 style='line-height:2em;'>
+<a name="POEMS_WITH_THE_TENTH_SATIRE_OF_JUVENAL_ENGLISHED"
+id="POEMS_WITH_THE_TENTH_SATIRE_OF_JUVENAL_ENGLISHED"></a>
+<span style='font-size:150%;letter-spacing:5px;'>POEMS,</span><br />
+
+<span style='font-size:50%;'>WITH THE</span><br />
+
+                           TENTH SATIRE OF JUVENAL<br />
+
+<span style='font-size:90%;'> ENGLISHED.</span><br />
+
+<span style='font-size:75%;'>  1646.</span><br />
+</h2>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span></p>
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span></p>
+
+<h3>TO ALL INGENIOUS LOVERS OF POESY.</h3>
+
+<p>Gentlemen,</p>
+
+<p>To you alone, whose more refined spirits
+out-wing these dull times, and soar above the drudgery
+of dirty intelligence, have I made sacred these
+fancies: I know the years, and what coarse entertainment
+they afford poetry. If any shall question
+that courage that durst send me abroad so late, and
+revel it thus in the dregs of an age, they have my silence: only,</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Languescente seculo, liceat &aelig;grotari.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>My more calm ambition, amidst the common noise,
+hath thus exposed me to the world: you have here
+a flame, bright only in its own innocence, that
+kindles nothing but a generous thought: which
+though it may warm the blood, the fire at highest
+is but Platonic; and the commotion, within these
+limits, excludes danger. For the satire, it was of
+purpose borrowed to feather some slower hours; and
+what you see here is but the interest: it is one of
+his whose Roman pen had as much true passion for
+the infirmities of that state, as we should have pity<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span>
+to the distractions of our own: honest&mdash;I am sure&mdash;it
+is, and offensive cannot be, except it meet with such
+spirits that will quarrel with antiquity, or purposely
+arraign themselves. These indeed may think that
+they have slept out so many centuries in this satire
+and are now awakened; which, had it been still
+Latin, perhaps their nap had been everlasting. But
+enough of these,&mdash;it is for you only that I have adventured
+thus far, and invaded the press with verse; to
+whose more noble indulgence I shall now leave it,
+and so am gone.&mdash;</p>
+
+<p style='text-align:right; margin-right:2em;'>H. V.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span></p>
+
+<hr class="major" />
+
+<h3>TO MY INGENUOUS FRIEND, R. W.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When we are dead, and now, no more<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Our harmless mirth, our wit, and score<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Distracts the town; when all is spent<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That the base niggard world hath lent<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy purse, or mine; when the loath'd noise<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of drawers, 'prentices and boys<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hath left us, and the clam'rous bar<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Items no pints i' th' Moon or Star;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When no calm whisp'rers wait the doors,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To fright us with forgotten scores;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And such aged long bills carry,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As might start an antiquary;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When the sad tumults of the maze,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Arrests, suits, and the dreadful face<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of sergeants are not seen, and we<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No lawyers' ruffs, or gowns must fee:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When all these mulcts are paid, and I<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From thee, dear wit, must part, and die;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We'll beg the world would be so kind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To give's one grave as we'd one mind;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There, as the wiser few suspect,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That spirits after death affect,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Our souls shall meet, and thence will they,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Freed from the tyranny of clay,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">With equal wings, and ancient love<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Into the Elysian fields remove,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where in those bless&egrave;d walks they'll find<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">More of thy genius, and my mind.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">First, in the shade of his own bays,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Great Ben they'll see, whose sacred lays<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The learn&egrave;d ghosts admire, and throng<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To catch the subject of his song.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then Randolph in those holy meads,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His <i>Lovers</i> and <i>Amyntas</i> reads,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whilst his Nightingale, close by,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sings his and her own elegy.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From thence dismiss'd, by subtle roads,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Through airy paths and sad abodes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They'll come into the drowsy fields<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of Lethe, which such virtue yields,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That, if what poets sing be true,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The streams all sorrow can subdue.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Here, on a silent, shady green,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The souls of lovers oft are seen,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who, in their life's unhappy space,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Were murder'd by some perjur'd face.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All these th' enchanted streams frequent,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To drown their cares, and discontent,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That th' inconstant, cruel sex<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Might not in death their spirits vex.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And here our souls, big with delight<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of their new state, will cease their flight:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And now the last thoughts will appear,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">They'll have of us, or any here;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But on those flow'ry banks will stay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And drink all sense and cares away.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">So they that did of these discuss,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Shall find their fables true in us.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<h3><a name="LES_AMOURS" id="LES_AMOURS"></a>LES AMOURS</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Tyrant, farewell! this heart, the prize<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And triumph of thy scornful eyes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I sacrifice to heaven, and give<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To quit my sins, that durst believe<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A woman's easy faith, and place<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">True joys in a changing face.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Yet ere I go: by all those tears<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And sighs I spent 'twixt hopes and fears;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By thy own glories, and that hour<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which first enslav'd me to thy power;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I beg, fair one, by this last breath,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This tribute from thee after death.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If, when I'm gone, you chance to see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That cold bed where I lodg&egrave;d be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let not your hate in death appear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But bless my ashes with a tear:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This influx from that quick'ning eye,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By secret pow'r, which none can spy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The cold dust shall inform, and make<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Those flames, though dead, new life partake<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose warmth, help'd by your tears, shall bring<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O'er all the tomb a sudden spring<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of crimson flowers, whose drooping heads<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shall curtain o'er their mournful beds:<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">And on each leaf, by Heaven's command,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">These emblems to the life shall stand<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Two hearts, the first a shaft withstood;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The second, shot and wash'd in blood;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And on this heart a dew shall stay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which no heat can court away;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But fix'd for ever, witness bears<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That hearty sorrow feeds on tears.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thus Heaven can make it known, and true<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That you kill'd me, 'cause I lov'd you.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<h3><a name="TO_AMORET" id="TO_AMORET"></a>TO AMORET.</h3>
+
+
+<h4>The Sigh.</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Nimble sigh, on thy warm wings,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Take this message and depart;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Tell Amoret, that smiles and sings,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At what thy airy voyage brings,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That thou cam'st lately from my heart.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Tell my lovely foe that I<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Have no more such spies to send,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But one or two that I intend,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some few minutes ere I die,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To her white bosom to commend.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then whisper by that holy spring,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Where for her sake I would have died,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whilst those water-nymphs did bring<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Flowers to cure what she had tried;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And of my faith and love did sing.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">That if my Amoret, if she<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In after-times would have it read,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How her beauty murder'd me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With all my heart I will agree,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">If she'll but love me, being dead.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<h3><a name="TO_HIS_FRIEND_BEING_IN_LOVE" id="TO_HIS_FRIEND_BEING_IN_LOVE"></a>TO HIS FRIEND BEING IN LOVE.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Ask, lover, ere thou diest; let one poor breath<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Steal from thy lips, to tell her of thy death;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Doating idolater! can silence bring<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy saint propitious? or will Cupid fling<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">One arrow for thy paleness? leave to try<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This silent courtship of a sickly eye.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Witty to tyranny, she too well knows<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This but the incense of thy private vows,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That breaks forth at thine eyes, and doth betray<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The sacrifice thy wounded heart would pay;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ask her, fool, ask her; if words cannot move,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The language of thy tears may make her love.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Flow nimbly from me then; and when you fall<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On her breast's warmer snow, O may you all,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By some strange fate fix'd there, distinctly lie,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The much lov'd volume of my tragedy.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where, if you win her not, may this be read,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The cold that freez'd you so, did strike me dead.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<h3><a name="SONG" id="SONG"></a>SONG.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Amyntas go, thou art undone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Thy faithful heart is cross'd by fate;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That love is better not begun,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Where love is come to love too late.<a name="FNanchor_43_43" id="FNanchor_43_43"></a><a href="#Footnote_43_43" class="fnanchor">[43]</a><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Had she profess&egrave;d<a name="FNanchor_44_44" id="FNanchor_44_44"></a><a href="#Footnote_44_44" class="fnanchor">[44]</a> hidden fires,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Or show'd one<a name="FNanchor_45_45" id="FNanchor_45_45"></a><a href="#Footnote_45_45" class="fnanchor">[45]</a> knot that tied her heart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I could have quench'd my first desires,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And we had only met to part.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But, tyrant, thus to murder men,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And shed a lover's harmless blood,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And burn him in those flames again,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Which he at first might have withstood.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Yet, who that saw fair Chloris weep<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Such sacred dew, with such pure<a name="FNanchor_46_46" id="FNanchor_46_46"></a><a href="#Footnote_46_46" class="fnanchor">[46]</a> grace;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Durst think them feign&egrave;d tears, or seek<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For treason in an angel's face.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">This is her art, though this be true,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Men's joys are kill'd with<a name="FNanchor_47_47" id="FNanchor_47_47"></a><a href="#Footnote_47_47" class="fnanchor">[47]</a> griefs and fears,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet she, like flowers oppress'd with dew,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Doth thrive and flourish in her tears.
+<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">This, cruel, thou hast done, and thus<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That face hath many servants slain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though th' end be not to ruin us,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But to seek glory by our pain.<a name="FNanchor_48_48" id="FNanchor_48_48"></a><a href="#Footnote_48_48" class="fnanchor">[48]</a><br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="footnotes">
+<h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_43_43" id="Footnote_43_43"></a><a href="#FNanchor_43_43"><span class="label">[43]</span></a> MS. <i>Whose pure offering comes too late.</i></p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_44_44" id="Footnote_44_44"></a><a href="#FNanchor_44_44"><span class="label">[44]</span></a> MS. <i>profess'd her.</i></p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_45_45" id="Footnote_45_45"></a><a href="#FNanchor_45_45"><span class="label">[45]</span></a> MS. <i>the.</i></p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_46_46" id="Footnote_46_46"></a><a href="#FNanchor_46_46"><span class="label">[46]</span></a> MS. <i>such a.</i></p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_47_47" id="Footnote_47_47"></a><a href="#FNanchor_47_47"><span class="label">[47]</span></a> MS. <i>by.</i></p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote">
+<p><a name="Footnote_48_48" id="Footnote_48_48"></a>
+<a href="#FNanchor_48_48"><span class="label">[48]</span></a>
+</p>
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">MS. <i>Your aime is sure to ruine us.</i></span><br />
+<span class="i2"><i>Seeking your glory by our paine</i></span><br />
+</div></div>
+</div>
+
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span></p>
+<h3>TO AMORET.</h3>
+
+<h4>Walking in a Starry Evening.</h4>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">If, Amoret, that glorious eye,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">In the first birth of light,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">And death of Night,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Had with those elder fires you spy<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Scatter'd so high,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Receiv&egrave;d form and sight;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">We might suspect in the vast ring,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Amidst these golden glories,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And fiery stories;<a name="FNanchor_49_49" id="FNanchor_49_49"></a><a href="#Footnote_49_49" class="fnanchor">[49]</a><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whether the sun had been the king<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And guide of day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Or your brighter eye should sway.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But, Amoret, such is my fate,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That if thy face a star<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Had shin'd from far,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I am persuaded in that state,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">'Twixt thee and me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of some predestin'd sympathy.<a name="FNanchor_50_50" id="FNanchor_50_50"></a><a href="#Footnote_50_50" class="fnanchor">[50]</a><br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">For sure such two conspiring minds,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Which no accident, or sight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Did thus unite;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whom no distance can confine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Start, or decline,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">One for another were design'd.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="footnotes">
+
+<h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3>
+
+<div class="footnote">
+<p>
+<a name="Footnote_49_49" id="Footnote_49_49"></a><a href="#FNanchor_49_49"><span class="label">[49]</span></a>
+</p>
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">MS. <i>We may suspect in the vast ring</i>,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4"><i>Which rolls those fiery spheres</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i6"><i>Thro' years and years.</i><br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_50_50" id="Footnote_50_50"></a><a href="#FNanchor_50_50"><span class="label">[50]</span></a> MS. <i>There would be perfect sympathy.</i></p></div>
+
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span></p>
+<h3>TO AMORET GONE FROM HIM.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Fancy and I, last evening, walk'd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Amoret, of thee we talk'd;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The West just then had stolen the sun,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And his last blushes were begun:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We sate, and mark'd how everything<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Did mourn his absence: how the spring<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That smil'd and curl'd about his beams,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whilst he was here, now check'd her streams:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The wanton eddies of her face<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Were taught less noise, and smoother grace;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And in a slow, sad channel went,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whisp'ring the banks their discontent:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The careless ranks of flowers that spread<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their perfum'd bosoms to his head.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And with an open, free embrace,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Did entertain his beamy face,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like absent friends point to the West,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And on that weak reflection feast.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If creatures then that have no sense,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But the loose tie of influence,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though fate and time each day remove<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Those things that element their love,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At such vast distance can agree,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Why, Amoret, why should not we?<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<h3><a name="A_SONG_TO_AMORET" id="A_SONG_TO_AMORET"></a>A SONG TO AMORET.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">If I were dead, and in my place<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Some fresher youth design'd<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To warm thee with new fires, and grace<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Those arms I left behind;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Were he as faithful as the sun,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That's wedded to the sphere;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His blood as chaste and temp'rate run,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As April's mildest tear;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Or were he rich, and with his heaps<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And spacious share of earth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Could make divine affection cheap,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And court his golden birth:<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">For all these arts I'd not believe,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">&mdash;No, though he should be thine&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The mighty amorist could give<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">So rich a heart as mine.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Fortune and beauty thou might'st find,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And greater men than I:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But my true resolv&egrave;d mind<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">They never shall come nigh.<a name="FNanchor_51_51" id="FNanchor_51_51"></a><a href="#Footnote_51_51" class="fnanchor">[51]</a><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">For I not for an hour did love,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Or for a day desire,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But with my soul had from above<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">This endless, holy fire.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3>
+
+<div class="footnote">
+<p>
+<a name="Footnote_51_51" id="Footnote_51_51"></a>
+<a href="#FNanchor_51_51"><span class="label">[51]</span></a>
+</p>
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">MS. <i>But with my true steadfast minde</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i4"><i>None can pretend to vie.</i><br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span></p>
+<h3><a name="AN_ELEGY" id="AN_ELEGY"></a>AN ELEGY.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">'Tis true, I am undone: yet, ere I die,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'll leave these sighs and tears a legacy<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To after-lovers: that, rememb'ring me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Those sickly flames which now benighted be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fann'd by their warmer sighs, may love; and prove<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In them the metempsychosis of love.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Twas I&mdash;when others scorn'd&mdash;vow'd you were fair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And sware that breath enrich'd the coarser air,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lent roses to your cheeks, made Flora bring<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her nymphs with all the glories of the spring<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To wait upon thy face, and gave my heart<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A pledge to Cupid for a quicker dart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To arm those eyes against myself; to me<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou ow'st that tongue's bewitching harmony.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I courted angels from those upper joys,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And made them leave their spheres to hear thy voice.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I made the Indian curse the hours he spent<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To seek his pearls, and wisely to repent<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His former folly, and confess a sin,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Charm'd by the brighter lustre of thy skin.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I borrow'd from the winds the gentler wing<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of Zephyrus, and soft souls of the spring;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And made&mdash;to air those cheeks with fresher grace&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The warm inspirers dwell upon thy face.<br /></span>
+<span class="i14"><i>Oh! jam satis</i> ...<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<h3><a name="A_RHAPSODIS" id="A_RHAPSODIS"></a>A RHAPSODIS:</h3>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<i>Occasionally written upon a meeting with some of his friends at the
+Globe Tavern, in a chamber painted overhead with a cloudy sky and
+some few dispersed stars, and on the sides with landscapes, hills,
+shepherds and sheep.</i>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Darkness, and stars i' th' mid-day! They invite<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Our active fancies to believe it night:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For taverns need no sun, but for a sign,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where rich tobacco and quick tapers shine;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And royal, witty sack, the poet's soul,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With brighter suns than he doth gild the bowl;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As though the pot and poet did agree,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sack should to both illuminator be.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That artificial cloud, with its curl'd brow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Tells us 'tis late; and that blue space below<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is fir'd with many stars: mark! how they break<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In silent glances o'er the hills, and speak<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The evening to the plains, where, shot from far,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They meet in dumb salutes, as one great star.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The room, methinks, grows darker; and the air<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Contracts a sadder colour, and less fair.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or is't the drawer's skill? hath he no arts<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To blind us so we can't know pints from quarts?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No, no, 'tis night: look where the jolly clown<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Musters his bleating herd and quits the down.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hark! how his rude pipe frets the quiet air,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Whilst ev'ry hill proclaims Lycoris fair.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Rich, happy man! that canst thus watch and sleep,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Free from all cares, but thy wench, pipe and sheep!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But see, the moon is up; view, where she stands<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sentinel o'er the door, drawn by the hands<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of some base painter, that for gain hath made<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her face the landmark to the tippling trade.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This cup to her, that to Endymion give;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Twas wit at first, and wine that made them live.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Choke may the painter! and his box disclose<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No other colours than his fiery nose;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And may we no more of his pencil see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Than two churchwardens, and mortality.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Should we go now a-wand'ring, we should meet<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With catchpoles, whores and carts in ev'ry street:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Now when each narrow lane, each nook and cave,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sign-posts and shop-doors, pimp for ev'ry knave,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When riotous sinful plush, and tell-tale spurs<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Walk Fleet Street and the Strand, when the soft stirs<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of bawdy, ruffled silks, turn night to day;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the loud whip and coach scolds all the way;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When lust of all sorts, and each itchy blood<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From the Tower-wharf to Cymbeline, and Lud,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hunts for a mate, and the tir'd footman reels<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Twixt chairmen, torches, and the hackney wheels.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Come, take the other dish; it is to him<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That made his horse a senator: each brim<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Look big as mine: the gallant, jolly beast<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of all the herd&mdash;you'll say&mdash;was not the least.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span>
+<span class="i2">Now crown the second bowl, rich as his worth<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'll drink it to; he, that like fire broke forth<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Into the Senate's face, cross'd Rubicon,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the State's pillars, with their laws thereon,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And made the dull grey beards and furr'd gowns fly<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Into Brundusium to consult, and lie.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">This, to brave Sylla! why should it be said<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We drink more to the living than the dead?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Flatt'rers and fools do use it: let us laugh<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At our own honest mirth; for they that quaff<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To honour others, do like those that sent<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their gold and plate to strangers to be spent.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Drink deep; this cup be pregnant, and the wine<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Spirit of wit, to make us all divine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That big with sack and mirth we may retire<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Possessors of more souls, and nobler fire;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And by the influx of this painted sky,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And labour'd forms, to higher matters fly;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So, if a nap shall take us, we shall all,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">After full cups, have dreams poetical.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Let's laugh now, and the press'd grape drink,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till the drowsy day-star wink;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And in our merry, mad mirth run<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Faster, and further than the sun;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And let none his cup forsake,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till that star again doth wake;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So we men below shall move<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Equally with the gods above.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span></p>
+<h3>
+<a name="TO_AMORET_OF_THE_DIFFERENCE_TWIXT_HIM_AND_OTHER_LOVERS_AND_WHAT_TRUE"
+    id="TO_AMORET_OF_THE_DIFFERENCE_TWIXT_HIM_AND_OTHER_LOVERS_AND_WHAT_TRUE"></a>
+TO AMORET, OF THE DIFFERENCE<br />
+'TWIXT HIM AND OTHER LOVERS,<br />
+AND WHAT TRUE LOVE IS.
+</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Mark, when the evening's cooler wings<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Fan the afflicted air, how the faint sun,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Leaving undone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">What he begun,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Those spurious flames suck'd up from slime and earth<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">To their first, low birth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Resigns, and brings.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">They shoot their tinsel beams and vanities,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Threading with those false fires their way;<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">But as you stay<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">And see them stray,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You lose the flaming track, and subtly they<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Languish away,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">And cheat your eyes.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Just so base, sublunary lovers' hearts<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Fed on loose profane desires,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">May for an eye<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Or face comply:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But those remov'd, they will as soon depart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">And show their art,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">And painted fires.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Whilst I by pow'rful love, so much refin'd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">That my absent soul the same is,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Careless to miss<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">A glance or kiss,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Can with those elements of lust and sense<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Freely dispense,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">And court the mind.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Thus to the North the loadstones move,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And thus to them th' enamour'd steel aspires:<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Thus Amoret<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">I do affect;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And thus by wing&egrave;d beams, and mutual fire,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Spirits and stars conspire:<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">And this is Love.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span></p>
+<h3><a name="TO_AMORET_WEEPING" id="TO_AMORET_WEEPING"></a>TO AMORET WEEPING.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Leave Amoret, melt not away so fast<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy eyes' fair treasure; Fortune's wealthiest cast<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Deserves not one such pearl; for these, well spent,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Can purchase stars, and buy a tenement<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For us in heaven; though here the pious streams<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Avail us not; who from that clue of sunbeams<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Could ever steal one thread? or with a kind<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Persuasive accent charm the wild loud wind?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Fate cuts us all in marble, and the Book<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Forestalls our glass of minutes; we may look<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But seldom meet a change; think you a tear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Can blot the flinty volume? shall our fear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or grief add to their triumphs? and must we<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Give an advantage to adversity?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dear, idle prodigal! is it not just<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We bear our stars? What though I had not dust<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Enough to cabinet a worm? nor stand<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Enslav'd unto a little dirt, or sand?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I boast a better purchase, and can show<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The glories of a soul that's simply true.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But grant some richer planet at my birth<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Had spied me out, and measur'd so much earth<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or gold unto my share: I should have been<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Slave to these lower elements, and seen<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">My high-born soul flag with their dross, and lie<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A pris'ner to base mud, and alchemy.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I should perhaps eat orphans, and suck up<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A dozen distress'd widows in one cup;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nay, further, I should by that lawful stealth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Damn'd usury, undo the commonwealth;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or patent it in soap, and coals, and so<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Have the smiths curse me, and my laundress too;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Geld wine, or his friend tobacco; and so bring<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The incens'd subject rebel to his king;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And after all&mdash;as those first sinners fell&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sink lower than my gold, and lie in hell.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Thanks then for this deliv'rance! blessed pow'rs,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You that dispense man's fortune and his hours,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How am I to you all engag'd! that thus<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By such strange means, almost miraculous,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You should preserve me; you have gone the way<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To make me rich by taking all away.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For I&mdash;had I been rich&mdash;as sure as fate,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Would have been meddling with the king, or State,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or something to undo me; and 'tis fit,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We know, that who hath wealth should have no wit,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But, above all, thanks to that Providence<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That arm'd me with a gallant soul, and sense,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Gainst all misfortunes, that hath breath'd so much<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of Heav'n into me, that I scorn the touch<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of these low things; and can with courage dare<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whatever fate or malice can prepare:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I envy no man's purse or mines: I know<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">That, losing them, I've lost their curses too;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Amoret&mdash;although our share in these<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is not contemptible, nor doth much please&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet, whilst content and love we jointly vie,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We have a blessing which no gold can buy.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span></p>
+<h3><a name="UPON_THE_PRIORY_GROVE_HIS_USUAL_RETIREMENT"
+id="UPON_THE_PRIORY_GROVE_HIS_USUAL_RETIREMENT"></a>
+UPON THE PRIORY GROVE,<br />
+HIS USUAL RETIREMENT.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Hail, sacred shades! cool, leafy house!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Chaste treasurer of all my vows<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And wealth! on whose soft bosom laid<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My love's fair steps I first betray'd:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Henceforth no melancholy flight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No sad wing, or hoarse bird of night,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Disturb this air, no fatal throat<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of raven, or owl, awake the note<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of our laid echo, no voice dwell<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Within these leaves, but Philomel.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The poisonous ivy here no more<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His false twists on the oak shall score;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Only the woodbine here may twine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As th' emblem of her love, and mine;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The amorous sun shall here convey<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His best beams, in thy shades to play;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The active air the gentlest show'rs<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shall from his wings rain on thy flowers;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the moon from her dewy locks<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shall deck thee with her brightest drops.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whatever can a fancy move,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or feed the eye, be on this grove!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span>
+<span class="i2">And when at last the winds and tears<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of heaven, with the consuming years,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shall these green curls bring to decay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And clothe thee in an aged grey<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">&mdash;If ought a lover can foresee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or if we poets prophets be&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From hence transplanted, thou shalt stand<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A fresh grove in th' Elysian land;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where&mdash;most bless'd pair!&mdash;as here on earth<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou first didst eye our growth, and birth;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So there again, thou'lt see us move<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In our first innocence and love;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And in thy shades, as now, so then,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We'll kiss, and smile, and walk again.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span></p>
+<h3><a name="JUVENALS_TENTH_SATIRE_TRANSLATED" id="JUVENALS_TENTH_SATIRE_TRANSLATED"></a>
+JUVENAL'S TENTH SATIRE TRANSLATED.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">In all the parts of earth, from farthest West,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the Atlantic Isles, unto the East<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And famous Ganges, few there be that know<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What's truly good, and what is good, in show,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Without mistake: for what is't we desire,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or fear discreetly? to whate'er aspire,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So throughly bless'd, but ever as we speed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Repentance seals the very act, and deed?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The easy gods, mov'd by no other fate<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Than our own pray'rs, whole kingdoms ruinate,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And undo families: thus strife, and war<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are the sword's prize, and a litigious bar<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The gown's prime wish. Vain confidence to share<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In empty honours and a bloody care<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To be the first in mischief, makes him die<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fool'd 'twixt ambition and credulity.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An oily tongue with fatal, cunning sense,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And that sad virtue ever, eloquence,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are th' other's ruin, but the common curse;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And each day's ill waits on the rich man's purse;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He, whose large acres and imprison'd gold<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So far exceeds his father's store of old,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As British whales the dolphins do surpass.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In sadder times therefore, and when the laws<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Of Nero's fiat reign'd, an arm&egrave;d band<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Seiz'd on Longinus, and the spacious land<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of wealthy Seneca, besieg'd the gates<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of Lateranus, and his fair estate<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Divided as a spoil: in such sad feasts<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Soldiers&mdash;though not invited&mdash;are the guests.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Though thou small pieces of the bless&egrave;d mine<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hast lodg'd about thee, travelling in the shine<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of a pale moon, if but a reed doth shake,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Mov'd by the wind, the shadow makes thee quake.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wealth hath its cares, and want has this relief,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It neither fears the soldier nor the thief;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Thy first choice vows, and to the gods best known,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are for thy stores' increase, that in all town<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy stock be greatest, but no poison lies<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I' th' poor man's dish; he tastes of no such spice.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Be that thy care, when, with a kingly gust,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou suck'st whole bowls clad in the gilded dust<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of some rich mineral, whilst the false wine<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sparkles aloft, and makes the draught divine.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Blam'st thou the sages, then? because the one<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Would still be laughing, when he would be gone<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From his own door; the other cried to see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His times addicted to such vanity?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Smiles are an easy purchase, but to weep<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is a hard act; for tears are fetch'd more deep.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Democritus his nimble lungs would tire<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With constant laughter, and yet keep entire<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His stock of mirth, for ev'ry object was<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Addition to his store; though then&mdash;alas!&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sedans, and litters, and our Senate gowns,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With robes of honour, fasces, and the frowns<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of unbrib'd tribunes were not seen; but had<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He liv'd to see our Roman pr&aelig;tor clad<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In Jove's own mantle, seated on his high<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Embroider'd chariot 'midst the dust and cry<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of the large theatre, loaden with a crown,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which scarce he could support&mdash;for it would down,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But that his servant props it&mdash;and close by<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His page, a witness to his vanity:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To these his sceptre and his eagle add,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His trumpets, officers, and servants clad<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In white and purple; with the rest that day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He hir'd to triumph, for his bread, and pay;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Had he these studied, sumptuous follies seen,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Tis thought his wanton and effusive spleen<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Had kill'd the Abderite, though in that age<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">&mdash;When pride and greatness had not swell'd the stage<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So high as ours&mdash;his harmless and just mirth<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From ev'ry object had a sudden birth.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor was't alone their avarice or pride,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their triumphs or their cares he did deride;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their vain contentions or ridiculous fears,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But even their very poverty and tears.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He would at Fortune's threats as freely smile<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As others mourn; nor was it to beguile<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His crafty passions; but this habit he<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By nature had, and grave philosophy.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">He knew their idle and superfluous vows,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And sacrifice, which such wrong zeal bestows,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Were mere incendiaries; and that the gods,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not pleas'd therewith, would ever be at odds.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet to no other air, nor better place<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ow'd he his birth, than the cold, homely Thrace;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which shows a man may be both wise and good,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Without the brags of fortune, or his blood.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But envy ruins all: what mighty names<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of fortune, spirit, action, blood, and fame,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hath this destroy'd? yea, for no other cause<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Than being such; their honour, worth and place,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was crime enough; their statues, arms and crowns<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their ornaments of triumph, chariots, gowns,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And what the herald, with a learn&egrave;d care,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Had long preserv'd, this madness will not spare.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">So once Sejanus' statue Rome allow'd<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her demi-god, and ev'ry Roman bow'd<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To pay his safety's vows; but when that face<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Had lost Tiberius once, its former grace<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was soon eclips'd; no diff'rence made&mdash;alas!&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Betwixt his statue then, and common brass,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They melt alike, and in the workman's hand<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For equal, servile use, like others stand.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Go, now fetch home fresh bays, and pay new vows<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To thy dumb Capitol gods! thy life, thy house,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And state are now secur'd: Sejanus lies<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I' th' lictors' hands. Ye gods! what hearts and eyes<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Can one day's fortune change? the solemn cry<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Of all the world is, "Let Sejanus die!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They never lov'd the man, they swear; they know<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nothing of all the matter, when, or how,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By what accuser, for what cause, or why,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By whose command or sentence he must die.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But what needs this? the least pretence will hit,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When princes fear, or hate a favourite.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A large epistle stuff'd with idle fear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Vain dreams, and jealousies, directed here<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From Caprea does it; and thus ever die<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Subjects, when once they grow prodigious high.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">'Tis well, I seek no more; but tell me how<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This took his friends? no private murmurs now?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No tears? no solemn mourner seen? must all<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His glory perish in one funeral?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O still true Romans! State-wit bids them praise<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The moon by night, but court the warmer rays<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O' th' sun by day; they follow fortune still,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And hate or love discreetly, as their will<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the time leads them. This tumultuous fate<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Puts all their painted favours out of date.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And yet this people that now spurn, and tread<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This mighty favourite's once honour'd head,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Had but the Tuscan goddess, or his stars<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Destin'd him for an empire, or had wars,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Treason, or policy, or some higher pow'r<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Oppress'd secure Tiberius; that same hour<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That he receiv'd the sad Gemonian doom,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Had crown'd him emp'ror of the world and Rome<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span>
+<span class="i2">But Rome is now grown wise, and since that she<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her suffrages, and ancient liberty<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lost in a monarch's name, she takes no care<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For favourite or prince; nor will she share<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their fickle glories, though in Cato's days<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She rul'd whole States and armies with her voice.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of all the honours now within her walls,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She only dotes on plays and festivals.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor is it strange; for when these meteors fall,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They draw an ample ruin with them: all<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Share in the storm; each beam sets with the sun,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And equal hazard friends and flatt'rers run.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This makes, that circled with distractive fear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The lifeless, pale Sejanus' limbs they tear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And lest the action might a witness need,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They bring their servants to confirm the deed;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor is it done for any other end,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Than to avoid the title of his friend.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So falls ambitious man, and such are still<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All floating States built on the people's will:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Hearken all you! whom this bewitching lust<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of an hour's glory, and a little dust<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Swells to such dear repentance! you that can<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Measure whole kingdoms with a thought or span!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Would you be as Sejanus? would you have,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So you might sway as he did, such a grave?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Would you be rich as he? command, dispose,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All acts and offices? all friends and foes?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Be generals of armies and colleague<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Unto an emperor? break or make a league?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No doubt you would; for both the good and bad<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An equal itch of honour ever had.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But O! what state can be so great or good,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As to be bought with so much shame and blood?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Alas! Sejanus will too late confess<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Twas only pride and greatness made him less:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For he that moveth with the lofty wind<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of Fortune, and Ambition, unconfin'd<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In act or thought, doth but increase his height,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That he may loose it with more force and weight;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Scorning a base, low ruin, as if he<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Would of misfortune make a prodigy.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Tell, mighty Pompey, Crassus, and O thou<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That mad'st Rome kneel to thy victorious brow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What but the weight of honours, and large fame<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">After your worthy acts, and height of name,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Destroy'd you in the end? The envious Fates,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Easy to further your aspiring States,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Us'd them to quell you too; pride, and excess.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In ev'ry act did make you thrive the less.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Few kings are guilty of grey hairs, or die<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Without a stab, a draught, or treachery.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And yet to see him, that but yesterday<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Saw letters first, how he will scrape, and pray;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all her feast-time tire Minerva's ears<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For fame, for eloquence, and store of years<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To thrive and live in; and then lest he dotes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His boy assists him with his box and notes.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Fool that thou art! not to discern the ill<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">These vows include; what, did Rome's consul kill<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her Cicero? what, him whose very dust<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Greece celebrates as yet; whose cause, though just,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Scarce banishment could end; nor poison save<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His free-born person from a foreign grave?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All this from eloquence! both head and hand<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The tongue doth forfeit; petty wits may stand<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Secure from danger, but the nobler vein<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With loss of blood the bar doth often stain.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+
+<div style='float:right;margin-right:5em;width:8em;'>
+    <div style='float:left;font-size:300%;font-weight:lighter;'>
+        <p style='margin:0;line-height:1em;text-indent:0'>}</p>
+    </div>
+   <p style='margin:0.5em 0 0 0;line-height:1em;text-indent:0;'><span class='smcap'>Carmen</span></p>
+   <p style='margin:0;line-height:1em;text-indent:0;'><span class='smcap'>Ciceronianum</span></p>
+</div>
+<span class="i0" style='letter-spacing:2em'>········<br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>O fortunatam natam me Consule Romam</i>.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0" style='letter-spacing:2em'>········<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Had all been thus, thou might'st have scorn'd the sword<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of fierce Antonius; here is not one word<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Doth pinch; I like such stuff, 'tis safer far<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Than thy Philippics, or Pharsalia's war.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What sadder end than his, whom Athens saw<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At once her patriot, oracle, and law?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Unhappy then is he, and curs'd in stars<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whom his poor father, blind with soot and scars,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sends from the anvil's harmless chine, to wear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The factious gown, and tire his client's ear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And purse with endless noise. Trophies of war,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Old rusty armour, with an honour'd scar,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And wheels of captiv'd chariots, with a piece<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of some torn British galley, and to these<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The ensign too, and last of all the train<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">The pensive pris'ner loaden with his chain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are thought true Roman honours; these the Greek<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And rude barbarians equally do seek.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thus air, and empty fame, are held a prize<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Beyond fair virtue; for all virtue dies<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Without reward; and yet by this fierce lust<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of fame, and titles to outlive our dust,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And monuments&mdash;though all these things must die<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And perish like ourselves&mdash;whole kingdoms lie<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ruin'd and spoil'd: put Hannibal i' th' scale,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What weight affords the mighty general?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This is the man, whom Afric's spacious land<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bounded by th' Indian Sea, and Nile's hot sand<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Could not contain&mdash;Ye gods! that give to men<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Such boundless appetites, why state you them<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So short a time? either the one deny,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or give their acts and them eternity.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All &AElig;thiopia, to the utmost bound<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of Titan's course,&mdash;than which no land is found<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Less distant from the sun&mdash;with him that ploughs<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That fertile soil where fam'd<a name="FNanchor_52_52" id="FNanchor_52_52"></a><a href="#Footnote_52_52" class="fnanchor">[52]</a> Iberus flows,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are not enough to conquer; pass'd now o'er<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Pyrrhene hills, the Alps with all its store<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of ice, and rocks clad in eternal snow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">&mdash;As if that Nature meant to give the blow&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Denies him passage; straight on ev'ry side<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He wounds the hill, and by strong hand divides<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The monstrous pile; nought can ambition stay.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">The world and Nature yield to give him way.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And now pass'd o'er the Alps, that mighty bar<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Twixt France and Rome, fear of the future war<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Strikes Italy; success and hope doth fire<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His lofty spirits with a fresh desire.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All is undone as yet&mdash;saith he&mdash;unless<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Our P&aelig;nish forces we advance, and press<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Upon Rome's self; break down her gates and wall,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And plant our colours in Suburra's vale.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O the rare sight! if this great soldier we<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Arm'd on his Getick elephant might see!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But what's the event? O glory, how the itch<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of thy short wonders doth mankind bewitch!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He that but now all Italy and Spain<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Had conquer'd o'er, is beaten out again;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And in the heart of Afric, and the sight<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of his own Carthage, forc'd to open flight.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Banish'd from thence, a fugitive he posts<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To Syria first, then to Bithynia's coasts,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Both places by his sword secur'd, though he<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In this distress must not acknowledg'd be;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where once a general he triumphed, now<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To show what Fortune can, he begs as low.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And thus that soul which through all nations hurl'd<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Conquest and war, and did amaze the world,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of all those glories robb'd, at his last breath,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fortune would not vouchsafe a soldier's death.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For all that blood the field of Cann&aelig; boasts,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And sad Apulia fill'd with Roman ghosts,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">No other end&mdash;freed from the pile and sword&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Than a poor ring would Fortune him afford.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Go now, ambitious man! new plots design,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">March o'er the snowy Alps and Apennine;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That, after all, at best thou may'st but be<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A pleasing story to posterity!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The Macedon one world could not contain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We hear him of the narrow earth complain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And sweat for room, as if Seriphus Isle<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or Gyara had held him in exile;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But Babylon this madness can allay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And give the great man but his length of clay.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The highest thoughts and actions under heaven<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Death only with the lowest dust lays even.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It is believed&mdash;if what Greece writes be true&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That Xerxes with his Persian fleet did hew<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their ways through mountains, that their sails full blown<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like clouds hung over Athos and did drown<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The spacious continent, and by plain force<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Betwixt the mount and it, made a divorce;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That seas exhausted were, and made firm land,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Sestos joined unto Abydos strand;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That on their march his Medes but passing by<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Drank thee, Scamander, and Melenus dry;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With whatsoe'er incredible design<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sostratus sings, inspir'd with pregnant wine.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But what's the end? He that the other day<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Divided Hellespont, and forc'd his way<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Through all her angry billows, that assign'd<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">New punishments unto the waves, and wind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No sooner saw the Salaminian seas<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But he was driven out by Themistocles,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And of that fleet&mdash;supposed to be so great,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That all mankind shar'd in the sad defeat&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not one sail sav'd, in a poor fisher's boat,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Chas'd o'er the working surge, was glad to float,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Cutting his desp'rate course through the tir'd flood,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And fought again with carcases, and blood.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O foolish mad Ambition! these are still<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The famous dangers that attend thy will.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Give store of days, good Jove, give length of years,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are the next vows; these with religious fears<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And constancy we pay; but what's so bad<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As a long, sinful age? what cross more sad<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Than misery of years? how great an ill<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is that which doth but nurse more sorrow still?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It blacks the face, corrupt and dulls the blood,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Benights the quickest eye, distastes the food,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And such deep furrows cuts i' th' checker'd skin<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As in th' old oaks of Tabraca are seen.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Youth varies in most things; strength, beauty, wit,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are several graces; but where age doth hit<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It makes no difference; the same weak voice,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And trembling ague in each member lies:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A general hateful baldness, with a curs'd<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Perpetual pettishness; and, which is worst,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A foul, strong flux of humours, and more pain<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">To feed, than if he were to nurse again;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So tedious to himself, his wife, and friends,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That his own sons, and servants, wish his end.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His taste and feeling dies; and of that fire<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The am'rous lover burns in, no desire:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or if there were, what pleasure could it be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where lust doth reign without ability?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor is this all: what matters it, where he<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sits in the spacious stage? who can nor see,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor hear what's acted, whom the stiller voice<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of spirited, wanton airs, or the loud noise<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of trumpets cannot pierce; whom thunder can<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But scarce inform who enters, or what man<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He personates, what 'tis they act, or say?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How many scenes are done? what time of day?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Besides that little blood his carcase holds<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hath lost<a name="FNanchor_53_53" id="FNanchor_53_53"></a><a href="#Footnote_53_53" class="fnanchor">[53]</a> its native warmth, and fraught with colds<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Catarrhs, and rheums, to thick black jelly turns,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And never but in fits and fevers burns.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Such vast infirmities, so huge a stock<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of sickness and diseases to him flock,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That Hyppia ne'er so many lovers knew,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor wanton Maura; physic never slew<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So many patients, nor rich lawyers spoil<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">More wards and widows; it were lesser toil<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To number out what manors and domains<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Licinius' razor purchas'd: one complains<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Of weakness in the back, another pants<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For lack of breath, the third his eyesight wants;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nay, some so feeble are, and full of pain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That infant-like they must be fed again.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">These faint too at their meals; their wine they spill,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And like young birds, that wait the mother's bill,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They gape for meat; but sadder far than this<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their senseless ignorance and dotage is;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For neither they, their friends, nor servants know,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nay, those themselves begot, and bred up too,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No longer now they'll own; for madly they<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Proscribe them all, and what, on the last day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The misers cannot carry to the grave<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For their past sins, their prostitutes must have.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But grant age lack'd these plagues: yet must they see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As great, as many: frail mortality,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In such a length of years, hath many falls,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And deads a life with frequent funerals.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The nimblest hour in all the span can steal<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A friend, or brother from's; there's no repeal<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In death, or time; this day a wife we mourn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To-morrow's tears a son; and the next urn<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A sister fills. Long-livers have assign'd<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">These curses still, that with a restless mind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An age of fresh renewing cares they buy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And in a tide of tears grow old and die.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Nestor,&mdash;if we great Homer may believe&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In his full strength three hundred years did live:<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Happy&mdash;thou'lt say&mdash;that for so long a time<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Enjoy'd free nature, with the grape and wine<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of many autumns; but, I prithee thee, hear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What Nestor says himself, when he his dear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Antilochus had lost; how he complains<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of life's too large extent, and copious pains?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of all he meets, he asks what is the cause<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He liv'd thus long; for what breach of their laws<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The gods thus punish'd him? what sin had he<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Done worthy of a long life's misery.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thus Peleus his Achilles mourned, and he<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thus wept that his Ulysses lost at sea.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Had Priam died before Phereclus' fleet<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was built, or Paris stole the fatal Greek,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Troy had yet stood, and he perhaps had gone<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In peace unto the lower shades; his son<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sav'd with his plenteous offspring, and the rest<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In solemn pomp bearing his fun'ral chest.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But long life hinder'd this: unhappy he,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Kept for a public ruin, liv'd to see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All Asia lost, and ere he could aspire,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In his own house saw both the sword and fire;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All white with age and cares, his feeble arm<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Had now forgot the war; but this alarm<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Gathers his dying spirits; and as we<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An aged ox worn out with labour see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By his ungrateful master, after all<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His years of toil, a thankless victim fall:<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">So he by Jove's own altar; which shows we<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are nowhere safe from heaven, and destiny:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet died a man; but his surviving queen,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Freed from the Greekish sword, was barking seen.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I haste to Rome, and Pontus' king let pass,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With Lydian Cr&oelig;sus, whom in vain&mdash;alas!&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Just Solon's grave advice bad to attend,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That happiness came not before the end.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">What man more bless'd in any age to come<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or past, could Nature show the world, or Rome,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Than Marius was? if amidst the pomp of war,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And triumphs fetch'd with Roman blood from far,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His soul had fled; exile and fetters then<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He ne'er had seen, nor known Minturna's fen;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor had it, after Carthage got, been said<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A Roman general had begg'd his bread.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Thus Pompey th' envious gods, and Rome's ill stars<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">&mdash;Freed from Campania's fevers, and the wars&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Doom'd to Achilles' sword: our public vows<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Made C&aelig;sar guiltless; but sent him to lose<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His head at Nile: this curse Cethegus miss'd:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This Lentulus, and this made him resist<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That mangled by no lictor's axe, fell dead<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Entirely Catiline, and sav'd his head.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The anxious matrons, with their foolish zeal,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are the last votaries, and their appeal<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is all for beauty; with soft speech, and slow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They pray for sons, but with a louder vow<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Commend a female feature: all that can<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Make woman pleasing now they shift, and scan<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And when<a name="FNanchor_54_54" id="FNanchor_54_54"></a><a href="#Footnote_54_54" class="fnanchor">[54]</a> reprov'd, they say, Latona's pair<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The mother never thinks can be too fair.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But sad Lucretia warns to wish no face<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like hers: Virginia would bequeath her grace<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To crook-back Rutila in exchange; for still<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The fairest children do their parents fill<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With greatest cares; so seldom chastity<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is found with beauty; though some few there be<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That with a strict, religious care contend<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Th' old, modest, Sabine customs to defend:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Besides, wise Nature to some faces grants<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An easy blush, and where she freely plants<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A less instruction serves: but both these join'd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At Rome would both be forc'd or else purloin'd.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">So steel'd a forehead Vice hath, that dares win,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And bribe the father to the children's sin;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But whom have gifts defiled not? what good face<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Did ever want these tempters? pleasing grace<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Betrays itself; what time did Nero mind<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A coarse, maim'd shape? what blemish'd youth confin'd<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His goatish pathic? whence then flow these joys<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of a fair issue? whom these sad annoys<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wait, and grow up with; whom perhaps thou'lt see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Public adulterers, and must be<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Subject to all the curses, plagues, and awe<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Of jealous madmen, and the Julian law;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor canst thou hope they'll find a milder star,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or more escapes than did the god of war.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But worse than all, a jealous brain confines<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His fury to no law; what rage assigns<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is present justice: thus the rash sword spills<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This lecher's blood; the scourge another kills.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But thy spruce boy must touch no other face<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Than a patrician? is of any race<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So they be rich; Servilia is as good,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With wealth, as she that boasts Iulus' blood.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To please a servant all is cheap; what thing<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In all their stock to the last suit, and king,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But lust exacts? the poorest whore in this<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As generous as the patrician is.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But thou wilt say what hurt's a beauteous skin<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With a chaste soul? Ask Theseus' son, and him<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That Stenob&oelig;a murder'd; for both these<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Can tell how fatal 'twas in them to please.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A woman's spleen then carries most of fate,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When shame and sorrow aggravate her hate.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Resolve me now, had Silius been thy son,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In such a hazard what should he have done?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of all Rome's youth, this was the only best,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In whom alone beauty and worth did rest.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This Messalina saw, and needs he must<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Be ruin'd by the emp'ror, or her lust.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All in the face of Rome, and the world's eye<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though C&aelig;sar's wife, a public bigamy<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">She dares attempt; and that the act might bear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">More prodigy, the notaries appear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And augurs to't; and to complete the sin<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In solemn form, a dowry is brought in.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All this&mdash;thou'lt say&mdash;in private might have pass'd<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But she'll not have it so; what course at last?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What should he do? If Messaline be cross'd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Without redress thy Silius will be lost;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If not, some two days' length is all he can<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Keep from the grave; just so much as will span<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This news to Hostia, to whose fate he owes<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That Claudius last his own dishonour knows.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But he obeys, and for a few hours' lust<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Forfeits that glory should outlive his dust;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor was it much a fault; for whether he<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Obey'd or not, 'twas equal destiny.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So fatal beauty is, and full of waste.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That neither wanton can be safe, nor chaste.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What then should man pray for? what is't that he<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Can beg of Heaven, without impiety?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Take my advice: first to the gods commit<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All cares; for they things competent and fit<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For us foresee; besides, man is more dear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To them than to himself; we blindly here,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Led by the world and lust, in vain assay<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To get us portions, wives and sons; but they<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Already know all that we can intend,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And of our children's children see the end.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Yet that thou may'st have something to commend<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">With thanks unto the gods for what they send;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Pray for a wise and knowing soul; a sad,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Discreet, true valour, that will scorn to add<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A needless horror to thy death; that knows<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Tis but a debt which man to nature owes;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That starts not at misfortunes, that can sway<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And keep all passions under lock and key;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That covets nothing, wrongs none, and prefers<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An honest want, before rich injurers.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All this thou hast within thyself, and may<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Be made thy own, if thou wilt take the way;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What boots the world's wild, loose applause? what [can]<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Frail, perilous honours add unto a man?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What length of years, wealth, or a rich fair wife?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Virtue alone can make a happy life.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To a wise man nought comes amiss: but we<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fortune adore, and make our deity.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_52_52" id="Footnote_52_52"></a><a href="#FNanchor_52_52"><span class="label">[52]</span></a> The original has <i>framed</i>.</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_53_53" id="Footnote_53_53"></a><a href="#FNanchor_53_53"><span class="label">[53]</span></a> The original has <i>low</i>.</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_54_54" id="Footnote_54_54"></a><a href="#FNanchor_54_54"><span class="label">[54]</span></a> The original has <i>why</i></p></div>
+</div>
+
+<hr class="major" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2 style=''><a name="OLOR_ISCANUS" id="OLOR_ISCANUS"></a>
+
+<span style='font-size:125%;'> OLOR ISCANUS.</span><br />&nbsp;<br />
+
+<span style='font-size:75%;'> 1651</span>.
+</h2>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&mdash;&mdash;O quis me gelidis in vallibus Isc&aelig;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sistat, et ingenti ramorum protegat umbra!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span></p>
+
+<h3><a name="AD_POSTEROS" id="AD_POSTEROS"></a>AD POSTEROS.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Diminuat ne sera dies pr&aelig;sentis honorem<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Quis, qualisque fui, percipe Posteritas.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Cambria me genuit, patulis ubi vallibus errans<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Subjacet aeriis montibus Isca pater.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Inde sinu placido suscepit maximus arte<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Herbertus, Lati&aelig; gloria prima schol&aelig;.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bis ternos, illo me conducente, per annos<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Profeci, et geminam contulit unus opem;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ars et amor, mens atque manus certare solebant,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Nec lassata illi mensue, manusue fuit.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hinc qualem cernis crevisse: sed ut mea certus<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Tempora cognoscas, dura mere, scias.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Vixi, divisos cum fregerat h&aelig;resis Anglos<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Inter Tysiphonas presbyteri et populi.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His primum miseris per am&oelig;na furentibus arva<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Prostravit sanctam vilis avena rosam,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Turbarunt fontes, et fusis pax perit undis,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Moestaque coelestes obruit umbra dies.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Duret ut integritas tamen, et pia gloria, partem<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Me nullam in tanta strage fuisse, scias;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Credidimus nempe insonti vocem esse cruori,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Et vires qu&aelig; post funera flere docent.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Hinc cast&aelig;, fid&aelig;que pati me more parentis<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Commonui, et lachrymis fata levare meis;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hinc nusquam horrendis violavi sacra procellis,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Nec mihi mens unquam, nec manus atra fuit.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Si pius es, ne plura petas; satur ille recedat<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Qui sapit et nos non scripsimus insipidis.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span></p>
+
+<h3>
+<a name="TO_THE_TRULY_NOBLE_AND_MOST_EXCELLENTLY_ACCOMPLISHED_THE_LORD_KILDARE"
+id="TO_THE_TRULY_NOBLE_AND_MOST_EXCELLENTLY_ACCOMPLISHED_THE_LORD_KILDARE"></a>
+TO THE TRULY NOBLE AND MOST EXCELLENTLY ACCOMPLISHED, THE LORD KILDARE DIGBY.</h3>
+
+
+<p>My Lord,</p>
+
+<p>It is a position anciently known, and modern experience hath allowed it
+for a sad truth, that absence and time,&mdash;like cold weather, and an
+unnatural dormition&mdash;will blast and wear out of memory the most
+endearing obligations; and hence it was that some politicians in love
+have looked upon the former of these two as a main remedy against the
+fondness of that passion. But for my own part, my Lord, I shall deny
+this aphorism of the people, and beg leave to assure your Lordship,
+that, though these reputed obstacles have lain long in my way, yet
+neither of them could work upon me: for I am now&mdash;without adulation&mdash;as
+warm and sensible of those numerous favours and kind influences received
+sometimes from your Lordship, as I really was at the instant of
+fruition. I have no plot by preambling thus to set any rate upon this
+present address, as if I should presume to value a return of this nature
+equal with your Lordship's deserts, but the design is to let you see
+that this habit I have got of being<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span> troublesome flows from two
+excusable principles, gratitude and love. These inward counsellors&mdash;I
+know not how discreetly&mdash;persuaded me to this attempt and intrusion upon
+your name, which if your Lordship will vouchsafe to own as the genius to
+these papers, you will perfect my hopes, and place me at my full height.
+This was the aim, my Lord, and is the end of this work, which though but
+a <i>pazzarello</i> to the <i>voluminose insani</i>, yet as jessamine and the
+violet find room in the bank as well as roses and lilies, so happily may
+this, and&mdash;if shined upon by your Lordship&mdash;please as much. To whose
+protection, sacred as your name and those eminent honours which have
+always attended upon it through so many generations, I humbly offer it,
+and remain in all numbers of gratitude,</p>
+<p>
+<span style='margin-left:10em;'>My honoured Lord,</span><br />
+<span style='margin-left:3em;'>Your most affectionate, humblest Servant,</span><br />
+<span style='margin-left:17em;'>Vaughan.</span><br />
+Newton by Usk this<br />
+<span style='margin-left:1em;'>17 of Decemb. 1647.</span></p>
+
+<hr class="major" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span></p>
+
+<h3><a name="THE_PUBLISHER_TO_THE_READER" id="THE_PUBLISHER_TO_THE_READER"></a>
+THE PUBLISHER TO THE READER.</h3>
+
+
+<p>It was the glorious Maro that referred his legacies
+to the fire, and though princes are seldom executors,
+yet there came a C&aelig;sar to his testament, as if the
+act of a poet could not be repealed but by a king. I
+am not, Reader, <i>Augustus vindex</i>: here is no
+royal rescue, but here is a Muse that deserves it.
+The Author had long ago condemned these poems to
+obscurity, and the consumption of that further fate
+which attends it. This censure gave them a gust of
+death, and they have partly known that oblivion
+which our best labours must come to at last. I
+present thee then not only with a book, but with a
+prey, and in this kind the first recoveries from corruption.
+Here is a flame hath been sometimes
+extinguished, thoughts that have been lost and forgot,
+but now they break out again like the Platonic
+reminiscency. I have not the Author's approbation
+to the fact, but I have law on my side, though never
+a sword. I hold it no man's prerogative to fire his
+own house. Thou seest how saucy I am grown, and
+it thou dost expect I should commend what is
+published, I must tell thee, I cry no Seville oranges.
+I will not say, Here is fine or cheap: that were an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span>
+injury to the verse itself, and to the effects it can
+produce. Read on, and thou wilt find thy spirit
+engaged: not by the deserts of what we call tolerable,
+but by the commands of a pen that is above it.
+</p>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span></p>
+<h3>
+<a name="UPON_THE_MOST_INGENIOUS_PAIR_OF_TWINS_EUGENIUS_PHILALETHES_AND_THE"
+id="UPON_THE_MOST_INGENIOUS_PAIR_OF_TWINS_EUGENIUS_PHILALETHES_AND_THE"></a>
+UPON THE MOST INGENIOUS PAIR OF TWINS, EUGENIUS PHILALETHES, AND THE
+AUTHOR OF THESE POEMS.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">What planet rul'd your birth? what witty star?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That you so like in souls as bodies are!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So like in both, that you seem born to free<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The starry art from vulgar calumny.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My doubts are solv'd, from hence my faith begins,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not only your faces but your wits are twins.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When this bright Gemini shall from Earth ascend,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They will new light to dull-ey'd mankind lend,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Teach the star-gazers, and delight their eyes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Being fix'd a constellation in the skies.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p style='text-align:right; margin-right:2em;'>T. Powell, Oxoniensis.</p>
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span></p>
+
+<h3><a name="TO_MY_FRIEND_THE_AUTHOR_UPON_THESE_HIS_POEMS" id="TO_MY_FRIEND_THE_AUTHOR_UPON_THESE_HIS_POEMS"></a>
+TO MY FRIEND THE AUTHOR UPON THESE HIS POEMS.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I call'd it once my sloth: in such an age<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So many volumes deep, I not a page?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But I recant, and vow 'twas thrifty care<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That kept my pen from spending on slight ware,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And breath'd it for a prize, whose pow'rful shine<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Doth both reward the striver, and refine.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Such are thy poems, friend: for since th' hast writ,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I can't reply to any name, but wit;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And lest amidst the throng that make us groan,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Mine prove a groundless heresy alone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thus I dispute, Hath there not rev'rence been<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Paid to the beard at door, for Lord within?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who notes the spindle-leg or hollow eye<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of the thin usher, the fair lady by?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thus I sin freely, neighbour to a hand<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which, while I aim to strengthen, gives command<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For my protection; and thou art to me<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At once my subject and security.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p style='text-align:right; margin-right:2em;'>I. Rowlandson, Oxoniensis.</p>
+
+<hr class="major" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span></p>
+
+<h3><a name="UPON_THE_FOLLOWING_POEMS" id="UPON_THE_FOLLOWING_POEMS"></a>
+UPON THE FOLLOWING POEMS.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I write not here, as if thy last in store<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of learn&egrave;d friends; 'tis known that thou hast more;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who, were they told of this, would find a way<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To raise a guard of poets without pay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And bring as many hands to thy edition,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As th' City should unto their May'r's petition.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But thou wouldst none of this, lest it should be<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy muster rather than our courtesy;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou wouldst not beg as knights do, and appear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Poet by voice and suffrage of the shire;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That were enough to make my Muse advance<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Amongst the crutches; nay, it might enhance<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Our charity, and we should think it fit<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The State should build an hospital for wit.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But here needs no relief: thy richer verse<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Creates all poets, that can but rehearse,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And they, like tenants better'd by their land,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Should pay thee rent for what they understand.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou art not of that lamentable nation<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who make a blessed alms of approbation,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose fardel-notes are briefs in ev'rything,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But, that they are not <i>Licens'd by the king</i>.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Without such scrape-requests thou dost come forth<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Arm'd&mdash;though I speak it&mdash;with thy proper worth,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">And needest not this noise of friends, for we<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Write out of love, not thy necessity.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And though this sullen age possess&egrave;d be<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With some strange desamour to poetry,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet I suspect&mdash;thy fancy so delights&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Puritans will turn thy proselytes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And that thy flame, when once abroad it shines,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Will bring thee as many friends as thou hast lines.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p style='text-align:right; margin-right:2em;'>Eugenius Philalethes, Oxoniensis.</p>
+
+<hr class="major" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<p class='center' style='font-size:125%;letter-spacing:3px;'>OLOR ISCANUS.</p>
+
+<h3><a name="TO_THE_RIVER_ISCA" id="TO_THE_RIVER_ISCA"></a>TO THE RIVER ISCA.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When Daphne's lover here first wore the bays,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Eurotas' secret streams heard all his lays,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And holy Orpheus, Nature's busy child,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By headlong Hebrus his deep hymns compil'd;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Soft Petrarch&mdash;thaw'd by Laura's flames&mdash;did weep<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On Tiber's banks, when she&mdash;proud fair!&mdash;could sleep;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Mosella boasts Ausonius, and the Thames<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Doth murmur Sidney's Stella to her streams;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While Severn, swoln with joy and sorrow, wears<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Castara's smiles mix'd with fair Sabrin's tears.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thus poets&mdash;like the nymphs, their pleasing themes&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Haunted the bubbling springs and gliding streams;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And happy banks! whence such fair flow'rs have sprung,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But happier those where they have sat and sung!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Poets&mdash;like angels&mdash;where they once appear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hallow the place, and each succeeding year<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Adds rev'rence to't, such as at length doth give<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This aged faith, that there their genii live.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hence th' ancients say, that from this sickly air<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They pass to regions more refin'd and fair,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">To meadows strew'd with lilies and the rose,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And shades whose youthful green no old age knows;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where all in white they walk, discourse, and sing<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like bees' soft murmurs, or a chiding spring.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But Isca, whensoe'er those shades I see,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And thy lov'd arbours must no more know me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When I am laid to rest hard by thy streams,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And my sun sets, where first it sprang in beams,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'll leave behind me such a large, kind light,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As shall redeem thee from oblivious night,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And in these vows which&mdash;living yet&mdash;I pay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shed such a previous and enduring ray,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As shall from age to age thy fair name lead,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Till rivers leave to run, and men to read.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">First, may all bards born after me<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">&mdash;When I am ashes&mdash;sing of thee!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">May thy green banks or streams,&mdash;or none&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Be both their hill and Helicon!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">May vocal groves grow there, and all<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The shades in them prophetical,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Where laid men shall more fair truths see<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Than fictions were of Thessaly!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">May thy gentle swains&mdash;like flow'rs&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Sweetly spend their youthful hours,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And thy beauteous nymphs&mdash;like doves&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Be kind and faithful to their loves!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Garlands, and songs, and roundelays,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Mild, dewy nights, and sunshine days,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The turtle's voice, joy without fear,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span>
+<span class="i2">Dwell on thy bosom all the year!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">May the evet and the toad<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Within thy banks have no abode,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Nor the wily, winding snake<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Her voyage through thy waters make!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In all thy journey to the main<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">No nitrous clay, nor brimstone-vein<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Mix with thy streams, but may they pass<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Fresh on the air, and clear as glass,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And where the wand'ring crystal treads<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Roses shall kiss, and couple heads!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The factor-wind from far shall bring<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The odours of the scatter'd Spring,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And loaden with the rich arrear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Spend it in spicy whispers there.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">No sullen heats, nor flames that are<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Offensive, and canicular,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Shine on thy sands, nor pry to see<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Thy scaly, shading family,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But noons as mild as Hesper's rays,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Or the first blushes of fair days!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">What gifts more Heav'n or Earth can add,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With all those blessings be thou clad!<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Honour, Beauty,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Faith and Duty,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Delight and Truth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">With Love and Youth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Crown all about thee! and whatever Fate<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Impose elsewhere, whether the graver state<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Or some toy else, may those loud, anxious cares<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For dead and dying things&mdash;the common wares<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And shows of Time&mdash;ne'er break thy peace, nor make<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy repos'd arms to a new war awake!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But freedom, safety, joy and bliss,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">United in one loving kiss,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Surround thee quite, and style thy borders<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The land redeem'd from all disorders!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span></p>
+<h3><a name="THE_CHARNEL-HOUSE" id="THE_CHARNEL-HOUSE"></a>
+THE CHARNEL-HOUSE.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Bless me! what damps are here! how stiff an air!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Kelder of mists, a second fiat's care,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Front'spiece o' th' grave and darkness, a display<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of ruin'd man, and the disease of day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lean, bloodless shamble, where I can descry<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fragments of men, rags of anatomy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Corruption's wardrobe, the transplantive bed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of mankind, and th' exchequer of the dead!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How thou arrests my sense! how with the sight<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My winter'd blood grows stiff to all delight!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Torpedo to the eye! whose least glance can<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Freeze our wild lusts, and rescue headlong man.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Eloquent silence! able to immure<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An atheist's thoughts, and blast an epicure.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Were I a Lucian, Nature in this dress<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Would make me wish a Saviour, and confess.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Where are you, shoreless thoughts, vast tenter'd hope,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ambitious dreams, aims of an endless scope,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose stretch'd excess runs on a string too high,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And on the rack of self-extension die?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Chameleons of state, air-monging band,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose breath&mdash;like gunpowder&mdash;blows up a land,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Come see your dissolution, and weigh<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What a loath'd nothing you shall be one day.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As th' elements by circulation pass<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From one to th' other, and that which first was<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I so again, so 'tis with you; the grave<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Nature but complot; what the one gave<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The other takes; think, then, that in this bed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There sleep the relics of as proud a head,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As stern and subtle as your own, that hath<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Perform'd, or forc'd as much, whose tempest-wrath<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hath levell'd kings with slaves, and wisely then<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Calm these high furies, and descend to men.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thus Cyrus tam'd the Macedon; a tomb<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Check'd him, who thought the world too straight a room.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Have I obey'd the powers of face,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A beauty able to undo the race<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of easy man? I look but here, and straight<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I am inform'd, the lovely counterfeit<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was but a smoother clay. That famish'd slave<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Beggar'd by wealth, who starves that he may save,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Brings hither but his sheet; nay, th' ostrich-man<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That feeds on steel and bullet, he that can<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Outswear his lordship, and reply as tough<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To a kind word, as if his tongue were buff,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is chap-fall'n here: worms without wit or fear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Defy him now; Death hath disarm'd the bear.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thus could I run o'er all the piteous score<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of erring men, and having done, meet more,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Their shuffled wills, abortive, vain intents,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fantastic humours, perilous ascents,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">False, empty honours, traitorous delights,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And whatsoe'er a blind conceit invites;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But these and more which the weak vermins swell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are couch'd in this accumulative cell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which I could scatter; but the grudging sun<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Calls home his beams, and warns me to be gone;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Day leaves me in a double night, and I<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Must bid farewell to my sad library.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet with these notes&mdash;Henceforth with thought of thee<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'll season all succeeding jollity,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet damn not mirth, nor think too much is fit;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Excess hath no religion, nor wit;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But should wild blood swell to a lawless strain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">One check from thee shall channel it again.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span></p>
+<h3><a name="IN_AMICUM_FOENERATOREM" id="IN_AMICUM_FOENERATOREM"></a>
+IN AMICUM F&OElig;NERATOREM.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Thanks, mighty Silver! I rejoice to see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How I have spoil'd his thrift, by spending thee.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Now thou art gone, he courts my wants with more,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His decoy gold, and bribes me to restore.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As lesser lode-stones with the North consent,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Naturally moving to their element,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As bodies swarm to th' centre, and that fire<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Man stole from heaven, to heav'n doth still aspire,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So this vast crying sum draws in a less;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And hence this bag more Northward laid I guess,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For 'tis of pole-star force, and in this sphere<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though th' least of many, rules the master-bear.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Prerogative of debts! how he doth dress<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His messages in chink! not an express<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Without a fee for reading; and 'tis fit,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For gold's the best restorative of wit.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Oh how he gilds them o'er! with what delight<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I read those lines, which angels do indite!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But wilt have money, Og? must I dispurse<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Will nothing serve thee but a poet's curse?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wilt rob an altar thus? and sweep at once<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What Orpheus-like I forc'd from stocks and stones?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Twill never swell thy bag, nor ring one peal<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In thy dark chest. Talk not of shreeves, or gaol;<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">I fear them not. I have no land to glut<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy dirty appetite, and make thee strut<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nimrod of acres; I'll no speech prepare<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To court the hopeful cormorant, thine heir.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For there's a kingdom at thy beck if thou<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But kick this dross: Parnassus' flow'ry brow<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'll give thee with my Tempe, and to boot<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That horse which struck a fountain with his foot.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A bed of roses I'll provide for thee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And crystal springs shall drop thee melody.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The breathing shades we'll haunt, where ev'ry leaf<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shall whisper us asleep, though thou art deaf.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Those waggish nymphs, too, which none ever yet<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Durst make love to, we'll teach the loving fit;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We'll suck the coral of their lips, and feed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Upon their spicy breath, a meal at need:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Rove in their amber-tresses, and unfold<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That glist'ring grove, the curled wood of gold;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then peep for babies, a new puppet play,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And riddle what their prattling eyes would say.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But here thou must remember to dispurse,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For without money all this is a curse.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou must for more bags call, and so restore<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This iron age to gold, as once before.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This thou must do, and yet this is not all,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For thus the poet would be still in thrall,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou must then&mdash;if live thus&mdash;my nest of honey<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Cancel old bonds, and beg to lend more money.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span></p>
+<h3><a name="TO_HIS_FRIEND" id="TO_HIS_FRIEND"></a>
+TO HIS FRIEND&nbsp;&mdash;&mdash;
+</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I wonder, James, through the whole history<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of ages, such entails of poverty<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are laid on poets; lawyers&mdash;they say&mdash;have found<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A trick to cut them; would they were but bound<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To practise on us, though for this thing we<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Should pay&mdash;if possible&mdash;their bribes and fee.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Search&mdash;as thou canst&mdash;the old and modern store<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of Rome and ours, in all the witty score<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou shalt not find a rich one; take each clime,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And run o'er all the pilgrimage of time,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou'lt meet them poor, and ev'rywhere descry<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A threadbare, goldless genealogy.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nature&mdash;it seems&mdash;when she meant us for earth<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Spent so much of her treasure in the birth<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As ever after niggards her, and she,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thus stor'd within, beggars us outwardly.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Woful profusion! at how dear a rate<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are we made up! all hope of thrift and state<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lost for a verse. When I by thoughts look back<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Into the womb of time, and see the rack<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Stand useless there, until we are produc'd<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Unto the torture, and our souls infus'd<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To learn afflictions, I begin to doubt<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">That as some tyrants use from their chain'd rout<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of slaves to pick out one whom for their sport<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They keep afflicted by some ling'ring art;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So we are merely thrown upon the stage<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The mirth of fools and legend of the age.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When I see in the ruins of a suit<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some nobler breast, and his tongue sadly mute<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Feed on the vocal silence of his eye,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And knowing cannot reach the remedy;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When souls of baser stamp shine in their store,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And he of all the throng is only poor;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When French apes for foreign fashions pay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And English legs are dress'd th' outlandish way,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So fine too, that they their own shadows woo,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While he walks in the sad and pilgrim shoe;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'm mad at Fate, and angry ev'n to sin,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To see deserts and learning clad so thin;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To think how th' earthly usurer can brood<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Upon his bags, and weigh the precious food<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With palsied hands, as if his soul did fear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The scales could rob him of what he laid there.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like devils that on hid treasures sit, or those<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose jealous eyes trust not beyond their nose,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They guard the dirt and the bright idol hold<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Close, and commit adultery with gold.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A curse upon their dross! how have we sued<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For a few scatter'd chips? how oft pursu'd<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Petitions with a blush, in hope to squeeze<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For their souls' health, more than our wants, a piece?<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Their steel-ribb'd chests and purse&mdash;rust eat them both!&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Have cost us with much paper many an oath,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And protestations of such solemn sense,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As if our souls were sureties for the pence.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Should we a full night's learn&egrave;d cares present,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They'll scarce return us one short hour's content.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Las! they're but quibbles, things we poets feign,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The short-liv'd squibs and crackers of the brain.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But we'll be wiser, knowing 'tis not they<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That must redeem the hardship of our way.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whether a Higher Power, or that star<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which, nearest heav'n, is from the earth most far,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Oppress us thus, or angell'd from that sphere<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By our strict guardians are kept luckless here,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It matters not, we shall one day obtain<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Our native and celestial scope again.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span></p>
+<h3><a name="TO_HIS_RETIRED_FRIEND_AN_INVITATION_TO_BRECKNOCK" id="TO_HIS_RETIRED_FRIEND_AN_INVITATION_TO_BRECKNOCK"></a>
+TO HIS RETIRED FRIEND, AN INVITATION TO BRECKNOCK.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Since last we met, thou and thy horse&mdash;my dear&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Have not so much as drunk, or litter'd here;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I wonder, though thyself be thus deceas'd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou hast the spite to coffin up thy beast;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or is the palfrey sick, and his rough hide<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With the penance of one spur mortified?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or taught by thee&mdash;like Pythagoras's ox&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is then his master grown more orthodox<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whatever 'tis, a sober cause't must be<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That thus long bars us of thy company.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The town believes thee lost, and didst thou see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But half her suff'rings, now distress'd for thee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou'ldst swear&mdash;like Rome&mdash;her foul, polluted walls<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Were sack'd by Brennus and the savage Gauls.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Abominable face of things! here's noise<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of banged mortars, blue aprons, and boys,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Pigs, dogs, and drums, with the hoarse, hellish notes<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of politicly-deaf usurers' throats,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With new fine Worships, and the old cast team<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of Justices vex'd with the cough and phlegm.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Midst these the Cross looks sad, and in the Shire-<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hall furs of an old Saxon fox appear,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">With brotherly ruffs and beards, and a strange sight<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of high monumental hats, ta'en at the fight<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of 'Eighty-eight; while ev'ry burgess foots<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The mortal pavement in eternal boots.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Hadst thou been bach'lor, I had soon divin'd<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy close retirements, and monastic mind;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Perhaps some nymph had been to visit, or<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The beauteous churl was to be waited for,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And like the Greek, ere you the sport would miss,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You stay'd, and strok'd the distaff for a kiss.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But in this age, when thy cool, settled blood<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is ti'd t'one flesh, and thou almost grown good,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I know not how to reach the strange device,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Except&mdash;Domitian-like&mdash;thou murder'st flies.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or is't thy piety? for who can tell<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But thou may'st prove devout, and love a cell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And&mdash;like a badger&mdash;with attentive looks<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In the dark hole sit rooting up of books.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Quick hermit! what a peaceful change hadst thou,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Without the noise of haircloth, whip, or vow!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But there is no redemption? must there be<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No other penance but of liberty?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Why, two months hence, if thou continue thus,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy memory will scarce remain with us,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The drawers have forgot thee, and exclaim<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They have not seen thee here since Charles, his reign,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or if they mention thee, like some old man,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That at each word inserts&mdash;"Sir, as I can<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Remember"&mdash;so the cyph'rers puzzle me<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">With a dark, cloudy character of thee.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That&mdash;certs!&mdash;I fear thou wilt be lost, and we<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Must ask the fathers ere't be long for thee.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Come! leave this sullen state, and let not wine<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And precious wit lie dead for want of thine.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shall the dull market-landlord with his rout<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of sneaking tenants dirtily swill out<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This harmless liquor? shall they knock and beat<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For sack, only to talk of rye and wheat?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O let not such prepost'rous tippling be<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In our metropolis; may I ne'er see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Such tavern-sacrilege, nor lend a line<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To weep the rapes and tragedy of wine!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Here lives that chymic, quick fire which betrays<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fresh spirits to the blood, and warms our lays.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I have reserv'd 'gainst thy approach a cup<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That were thy Muse stark dead, shall raise her up,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And teach her yet more charming words and skill<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Than ever C&oelig;lia, Chloris, Astrophil,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or any of the threadbare names inspir'd<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Poor rhyming lovers with a mistress fir'd.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Come then! and while the slow icicle hangs<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At the stiff thatch, and Winter's frosty pangs<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Benumb the year, blithe&mdash;as of old&mdash;let us<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Midst noise and war of peace and mirth discuss.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This portion thou wert born for: why should we<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Vex at the time's ridiculous misery?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An age that thus hath fool'd itself, and will<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">&mdash;Spite of thy teeth and mine&mdash;persist so still.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Let's sit then at this fire, and while we steal<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A revel in the town, let others seal,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Purchase or cheat, and who can, let them pay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till those black deeds bring on the darksome day.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Innocent spenders we! a better use<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shall wear out our short lease, and leave th' obtuse<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Rout to their husks; they and their bags at best<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Have cares in earnest; we care for a jest.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span></p>
+<h3><a name="MONSIEUR_GOMBAULD" id="MONSIEUR_GOMBAULD"></a>MONSIEUR GOMBAULD.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I've read thy soul's fair nightpiece, and have seen<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Th' amours and courtship of the silent Queen,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her stoln descents to Earth, and what did move her<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To juggle first with Heav'n, then with a lover,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With Latmos' louder rescue, and&mdash;alas!&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To find her out a hue and cry in brass;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy journal of deep mysteries, and sad<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nocturnal pilgrimage, with thy dreams clad<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In fancies darker than thy cave, thy glass<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of sleepy draughts; and as thy soul did pass<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In her calm voyage what discourse she heard<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of spirits, what dark groves and ill-shap'd guard<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ismena led thee through, with thy proud flight<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O'er Periardes, and deep, musing night<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Near fair Eurotas' banks; what solemn green<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The neighbour shades wear, and what forms are seen<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In their large bowers, with that sad path and seat<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which none but light-heel'd nymphs and fairies beat;<a name="FNanchor_55_55" id="FNanchor_55_55"></a><a href="#Footnote_55_55" class="fnanchor">[55]</a><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their solitary life, and how exempt<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From common frailty, the severe contempt<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They have of man, their privilege to live<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A tree, or fountain, and in that reprieve<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What ages they consume, with the sad vale<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Of Diophania, and the mournful tale,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of th' bleeding vocal myrtle; these and more<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy richer thoughts, we are upon the score<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To thy rare fancy for, nor dost thou fall<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From thy first majesty, or ought at all<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Betray consumption; thy full vig'rous bays<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wear the same green, and scorn the lean decays<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of style, or matter. Just so have I known<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some crystal spring, that from the neighbour down<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Deriv'd her birth, in gentle murmurs steal<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To their next vale, and proudly there reveal<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her streams in louder accents, adding still<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">More noise and waters to her channel, till<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At last swoln with increase she glides along<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The lawns and meadows in a wanton throng<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of frothy billows, and in one great name<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Swallows the tributary brooks' drown'd fame.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Nor are they mere inventions, for we<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In th' same piece find scatter'd philosophy<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And hidden, dispers'd truths that folded lie<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In the dark shades of deep allegory;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So neatly weav'd, like arras, they descry<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fables with truth, fancy with history.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So that thou hast in this thy curious mould<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Cast that commended mixture wish'd of old,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which shall these contemplations render far<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Less mutable, and lasting as their star,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And while there is a people or a sun,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Endymion's story with the moon shall run.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_55_55" id="Footnote_55_55"></a><a href="#FNanchor_55_55"><span class="label">[55]</span></a> So Grosart, for the <i>heat</i> of the original.</p></div>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span></p>
+
+<h3>
+<a name="AN_ELEGY_ON_THE_DEATH_OF_MR_R_W_SLAIN_IN_THE_LATE_UNFORTUNATE"
+id="AN_ELEGY_ON_THE_DEATH_OF_MR_R_W_SLAIN_IN_THE_LATE_UNFORTUNATE"></a>
+AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF MR. R. W.,<br />
+SLAIN IN THE LATE UNFORTUNATE DIFFERENCES<br />
+AT ROUTON HEATH, NEAR CHESTER, 1645.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I am confirmed, and so much wing is given<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To my wild thoughts, that they dare strike at heav'n.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A full year's grief I struggled with, and stood<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Still on my sandy hopes' uncertain good,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So loth was I to yield; to all those fears<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I still oppos'd thee, and denied my tears.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But thou art gone! and the untimely loss<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like that one day hath made all others cross.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Have you seen on some river's flow'ry brow<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A well-built elm or stately cedar grow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose curled tops gilt with the morning-ray<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Beckon'd the sun, and whisper'd to the day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When unexpected from the angry North<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A fatal sullen whirlwind sallies forth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And with a full-mouth'd blast rends from the ground<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The shady twins, which rushing scatter round<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their sighing leaves, whilst overborn with strength<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their trembling heads bow to a prostrate length?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So forc'd fell he; so immaturely Death<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Stifled his able heart and active breath.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">The world scarce knew him yet, his early soul<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Had but new-broke her day, and rather stole<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A sight than gave one; as if subtly she<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Would learn our stock, but hide his treasury.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His years&mdash;should Time lay both his wings and glass<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Unto his charge&mdash;could not be summ'd&mdash;alas!&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To a full score; though in so short a span<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His riper thoughts had purchas'd more of man<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Than all those worthless livers, which yet quick<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Have quite outgone their own arithmetic.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He seiz'd perfections, and without a dull<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And mossy grey possess'd a solid skull;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No crooked knowledge neither, nor did he<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wear the friend's name for ends and policy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And then lay't by; as those lost youths of th' stage<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who only flourish'd for the Play's short age<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And then retir'd; like jewels, in each part<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He wore his friends, but chiefly at his heart.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Nor was it only in this he did excel,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His equal valour could as much, as well.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He knew no fear but of his God; yet durst<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No injury, nor&mdash;as some have&mdash;e'er purs'd<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The sweat and tears of others, yet would be<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">More forward in a royal gallantry<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Than all those vast pretenders, which of late<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Swell'd in the ruins of their king and State.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He weav'd not self-ends and the public good<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Into one piece, nor with the people's blood<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fill'd his own veins; in all the doubtful way<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Conscience and honour rul'd him. O that day<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When like the fathers in the fire and cloud<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I miss'd thy face! I might in ev'ry crowd<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">See arms like thine, and men advance, but none<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So near to lightning mov'd, nor so fell on.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Have you observ'd how soon the nimble eye<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Brings th' object to conceit, and doth so vie<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Performance with the soul, that you would swear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The act and apprehension both lodg'd there;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Just so mov'd he: like shot his active hand<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Drew blood, ere well the foe could understand.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But here I lost him. Whether the last turn<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of thy few sands call'd on thy hasty urn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or some fierce rapid fate&mdash;hid from the eye&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hath hurl'd thee pris'ner to some distant sky,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I cannot tell, but that I do believe<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy courage such as scorn'd a base reprieve.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whatever 'twas, whether that day thy breath<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Suffer'd a civil or the common death,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which I do most suspect, and that I have<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fail'd in the glories of so known a grave;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though thy lov'd ashes miss me, and mine eyes<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Had no acquaintance with thy exequies,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor at the last farewell, torn from thy sight<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On the cold sheet have fix'd a sad delight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet whate'er pious hand&mdash;instead of mine&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hath done this office to that dust of thine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And till thou rise again from thy low bed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lent a cheap pillow to thy quiet head,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Though but a private turf, it can do more<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To keep thy name and memory in store<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Than all those lordly fools which lock their bones<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In the dumb piles of chested brass, and stones<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Th'art rich in thy own fame, and needest not<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">These marble-frailties, nor the gilded blot<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of posthume honours; there is not one sand<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sleeps o'er thy grave, but can outbid that hand<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And pencil too, so that of force we must<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Confess their heaps show lesser than thy dust.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And&mdash;blessed soul!&mdash;though this my sorrow can<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Add nought to thy perfections, yet as man<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Subject to envy, and the common fate,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It may redeem thee to a fairer date.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As some blind dial, when the day is done,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Can tell us at midnight there was a sun,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So these perhaps, though much beneath thy fame,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">May keep some weak remembrance of thy name,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And to the faith of better times commend<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy loyal upright life, and gallant end.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2"><i>Nomen et arma locum servant, te, amice, nequivi</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>Conspicere</i>&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span></p>
+<h3><a name="UPON_A_CLOAK_LENT_HIM_BY_MR_J_RIDSLEY" id="UPON_A_CLOAK_LENT_HIM_BY_MR_J_RIDSLEY"></a>
+UPON A CLOAK LENT HIM BY MR. J. RIDSLEY.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Here, take again thy sackcloth! and thank heav'n<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy courtship hath not kill'd me; Is't not even<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whether we die by piecemeal, or at once?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Since both but ruin, why then for the nonce<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Didst husband my afflictions, and cast o'er<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Me this forc'd hurdle to inflame the score?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Had I near London in this rug been seen<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Without doubt I had executed been<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For some bold Irish spy, and 'cross a sledge<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Had lain mess'd up for their four gates and bridge.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When first I bore it, my oppress&egrave;d feet<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Would needs persuade me 'twas some leaden sheet;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Such deep impressions, and such dangerous holes<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Were made, that I began to doubt my soles,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And ev'ry step&mdash;so near necessity&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Devoutly wish'd some honest cobbler by;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Besides it was so short, the Jewish rag<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Seem'd circumcis'd, but had a Gentile shag.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hadst thou been with me on that day, when we<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Left craggy Biston, and the fatal Dee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When beaten with fresh storms and late mishap<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It shar'd the office of a cloak, and cap,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">To see how 'bout my clouded head it stood<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like a thick turban, or some lawyer's hood,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While the stiff, hollow pleats on ev'ry side<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like conduit-pipes rain'd from the bearded hide:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I know thou wouldst in spite of that day's fate<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let loose thy mirth at my new shape and state,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And with a shallow smile or two profess<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some Saracen had lost the clouted dress.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Didst ever see the good wife&mdash;as they say&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">March in her short cloak on the christ'ning day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With what soft motions she salutes the church,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And leaves the bedrid mother in the lurch;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Just so jogg'd I, while my dull horse did trudge<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like a circuit-beast, plagu'd with a gouty judge.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But this was civil. I have since known more<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And worser pranks: one night&mdash;as heretofore<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Th' hast known&mdash;for want of change&mdash;a thing which I<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Bias us'd before me&mdash;I did lie<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Pure Adamite, and simply for that end<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Resolv'd, and made this for my bosom-friend.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O that thou hadst been there next morn, that I<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Might teach thee new Micro-cosmo-graphy!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou wouldst have ta'en me, as I naked stood,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For one of the seven pillars before the flood.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Such characters and hieroglyphics were<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In one night worn, that thou mightst justly swear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'd slept in cere-cloth, or at Bedlam, where<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The madmen lodge in straw. I'll not forbear<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">To tell thee all; his wild impress and tricks<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like Speed's old Britons made me look, or Picts;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His villanous, biting, wire-embraces<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Had seal'd in me more strange forms and faces<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Than children see in dreams, or thou hast read<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In arras, puppet-plays, and gingerbread,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With angled schemes, and crosses that bred fear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of being handled by some conjurer;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And nearer, thou wouldst think&mdash;such strokes were drawn&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'd been some rough statue of Fetter-lane.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nay, I believe, had I that instant been<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By surgeons or apothecaries seen,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They had condemned my raz'd skin to be<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some walking herbal, or anatomy.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But&mdash;thanks to th' day!&mdash;'tis off. I'd now advise<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thee, friend, to put this piece to merchandise.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The pedlars of our age have business yet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And gladly would against the Fair-day fit<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Themselves with such a roof, that can secure<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their wares from dogs and cats rained in shower.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It shall perform; or if this will not do<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Twill take the ale-wives sure; 'twill make them two<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fine rooms of one, and spread upon a stick<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is a partition, without lime or brick.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Horn'd obstinacy! how my heart doth fret<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To think what mouths and elbows it would set<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In a wet day! have you for twopence ere<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Seen King Harry's chapel at Westminster,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Where in their dusty gowns of brass and stone<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The judges lie, and mark'd you how each one,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In sturdy marble-pleats about the knee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bears up to show his legs and symmetry?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Just so would this, that I think't weav'd upon<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some stiffneck'd Brownist's exercising loom.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O that thou hadst it when this juggling fate<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of soldiery first seiz'd me! at what rate<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Would I have bought it then; what was there but<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I would have giv'n for the compendious hut?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I do not doubt but&mdash;if the weight could please&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Twould guard me better than a Lapland-lease.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or a German shirt with enchanted lint<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Stuff'd through, and th' devil's beard and face weav'd in't.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But I have done. And think not, friend, that I<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This freedom took to jeer thy courtesy.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I thank thee for't, and I believe my Muse<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So known to thee, thou'lt not suspect abuse.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She did this, 'cause&mdash;perhaps&mdash;thy love paid thus<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Might with my thanks outlive thy cloak, and us.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span></p>
+<h3><a name="UPON_MR_FLETCHERS_PLAYS_PUBLISHED_1647" id="UPON_MR_FLETCHERS_PLAYS_PUBLISHED_1647"></a>
+UPON MR. FLETCHER'S PLAYS, PUBLISHED 1647.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I knew thee not, nor durst attendance strive,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Label to wit, verser remonstrative,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And in some suburb-page&mdash;scandal to thine&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like Lent before a Christmas scatter mine.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This speaks thee not, since at the utmost rate<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Such remnants from thy piece entreat their date;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor can I dub the copy, or afford<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Titles to swell the rear of verse with lord;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor politicly big, to inch low fame,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Stretch in the glories of a stranger's name,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And clip those bays I court; weak striver I,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But a faint echo unto poetry.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I have not clothes t'adopt me, nor must sit<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For plush and velvet's sake, esquire of wit.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet modesty these crosses would improve,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And rags near thee, some reverence may move.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I did believe&mdash;great Beaumont being dead&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy widow'd Muse slept on his flow'ry bed;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But I am richly cozen'd, and can see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wit transmigrates: his spirit stay'd with thee;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which, doubly advantag'd by thy single pen,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In life and death now treads the stage again.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">And thus are we freed from that dearth of wit<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which starv'd the land, since into schisms split,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wherein th' hast done so much, we must needs guess<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wit's last edition is now i' th' press.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For thou hast drain'd invention, and he<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That writes hereafter, doth but pillage thee.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But thou hast plots; and will not the Kirk strain<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At the designs of such a tragic brain?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Will they themselves think safe, when they shall see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy most abominable policy?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Will not the Ears assemble, and think't fit<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their Synod fast and pray against thy wit?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But they'll not tire in such an idle quest;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou dost but kill, and circumvent in jest;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And when thy anger'd Muse swells to a blow<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Tis but for Field's, or Swansted's overthrow.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet shall these conquests of thy bays outlive<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their Scottish zeal, and compacts made to grieve<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The peace of spirits: and when such deeds fail<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of their foul ends, a fair name is thy bail.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But&mdash;happy thou!&mdash;ne'er saw'st these storms, our air<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Teem'd with even in thy time, though seeming fair.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy gentle soul, meant for the shade and ease,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Withdrew betimes into the Land of Peace.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So nested in some hospitable shore<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The hermit-angler, when the mid-seas roar,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Packs up his lines, and&mdash;ere the tempest raves&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Retires, and leaves his station to the waves.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thus thou died'st almost with our peace, and we<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">This breathing time thy last fair issue see,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which I think such&mdash;if needless ink not soil<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So choice a Muse&mdash;others are but thy foil.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This, or that age may write, but never see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A wit that dares run parallel with thee.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">True, Ben must live! but bate him, and thou hast<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Undone all future wits, and match'd the past.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span></p>
+<h3>
+<a name="UPON_THE_POEMS_AND_PLAYS_OF_THE_EVER-MEMORABLE_MR_WILLIAM_CARTWRIGHT"
+id="UPON_THE_POEMS_AND_PLAYS_OF_THE_EVER-MEMORABLE_MR_WILLIAM_CARTWRIGHT"></a>
+UPON THE POEMS AND PLAYS OF THE EVER-MEMORABLE MR. WILLIAM CARTWRIGHT.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I did but see thee! and how vain it is<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To vex thee for it with remonstrances,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though things in fashion; let those judge, who sit<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their twelve pence out, to clap their hands at wit<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I fear to sin thus near thee; for&mdash;great saint!&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Tis known true beauty hath no need of paint.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Yet, since a label fix'd to thy fair hearse<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is all the mode, and tears put into verse<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Can teach posterity our present grief<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And their own loss, but never give relief;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'll tell them&mdash;and a truth which needs no pass&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That wit in Cartwright at her zenith was.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Arts, fancy, language, all conven'd in thee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With those grand miracles which deify<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The old world's writings, kept yet from the fire<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Because they force these worst times to admire.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy matchless genius, in all thou didst write,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like the sun, wrought with such staid heat and light,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That not a line&mdash;to the most critic he&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Offends with flashes, or obscurity.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span>
+<span class="i2">When thou the wild of humours track'st, thy pen<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So imitates that motley stock in men,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As if thou hadst in all their bosoms been,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And seen those leopards that lurk within.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The am'rous youth steals from thy courtly page<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His vow'd address, the soldier his brave rage;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And those soft beauteous readers whose looks can<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Make some men poets, and make any man<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A lover, when thy slave but seems to die,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Turn all his mourners, and melt at the eye.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thus thou thy thoughts hast dress'd in such a strain<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As doth not only speak, but rule and reign;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor are those bodies they assum'd dark clouds,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or a thick bark, but clear, transparent shrouds,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which who looks on, the rays so strongly beat<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They'll brush and warm him with a quick'ning heat;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So souls shine at the eyes, and pearls display<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Through the loose crystal-streams a glance of day.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But what's all this unto a royal test?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou art the man whom great Charles so express'd!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then let the crowd refrain their needless hum,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When thunder speaks, then squibs and winds are dumb.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span></p>
+<h3>
+<a name="TO_THE_BEST_AND_MOST_ACCOMPLISHED_COUPLE_mdash"
+id="TO_THE_BEST_AND_MOST_ACCOMPLISHED_COUPLE_mdash"></a>
+TO THE BEST AND MOST ACCOMPLISHED COUPLE&nbsp;&mdash;&mdash;</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Blessings as rich and fragrant crown your heads<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As the mild heav'n on roses sheds,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">When at their cheeks&mdash;like pearls&mdash;they wear<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The clouds that court them in a tear!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And may they be fed from above<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">By Him which first ordain'd your love!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Fresh as the hours may all your pleasures be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And healthful as eternity!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Sweet as the flowers' first breath, and close<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As th' unseen spreadings of the rose,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">When he unfolds his curtain'd head,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And makes his bosom the sun's bed!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Soft as yourselves run your whole lives, and clear<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As your own glass, or what shines there!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Smooth as heav'n's face, and bright as he<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">When without mask or tiffany!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In all your time not one jar meet<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But peace as silent as his feet!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Like the day's warmth may all your comforts be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Untoil'd for, and serene as he,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span>
+<span class="i2">Yet free and full as is that sheaf<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of sunbeams gilding ev'ry leaf,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">When now the tyrant-heat expires<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And his cool'd locks breathe milder fires!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And as those parcell'd glories he doth shed<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Are the fair issues of his head,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Which, ne'er so distant, are soon known<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">By th' heat and lustre for his own;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">So may each branch of yours we see<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Your copies and our wonders be!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And when no more on earth you must remain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Invited hence to heav'n again,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Then may your virtuous, virgin-flames<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Shine in those heirs of your fair names,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And teach the world that mystery,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Yourselves in your posterity!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">So you to both worlds shall rich presents bring,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And, gather'd up to heav'n, leave here a spring.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span></p>
+<h3><a name="AN_ELEGY_ON_THE_DEATH_OF_MR_R_HALL_SLAIN_AT_PONTEFRACT_1648"
+id="AN_ELEGY_ON_THE_DEATH_OF_MR_R_HALL_SLAIN_AT_PONTEFRACT_1648"></a>
+AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF MR. R. HALL,<br />
+SLAIN AT PONTEFRACT, 1648.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I knew it would be thus! and my just fears<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of thy great spirit are improv'd to tears.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet flow these not from any base distrust<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of a fair name, or that thy honour must<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Confin'd to those cold relics sadly sit<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In the same cell an obscure anchorite.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Such low distempers murder; they that must<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Abuse thee so, weep not, but wound thy dust.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But I past such dim mourners can descry<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy fame above all clouds of obloquy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And like the sun with his victorious rays<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Charge through that darkness to the last of days.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Tis true, fair manhood hath a female eye,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And tears are beauteous in a victory,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor are we so high-proof, but grief will find<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Through all our guards a way to wound the mind;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But in thy fall what adds the brackish sum<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">More than a blot unto thy martyrdom?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which scorns such wretched suffrages, and stands<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">More by thy single worth than our whole bands.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet could the puling tribute rescue ought<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In this sad loss, or wert thou to be brought<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Back here by tears, I would in any wise<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Pay down the sum, or quite consume my eyes.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou fell'st our double ruin; and this rent<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Forc'd in thy life shak'd both the Church and tent.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Learning in others steals them from the van,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And basely wise emasculates the man,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But lodg'd in thy brave soul the bookish feat<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Serv'd only as the light unto thy heat.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thus when some quitted action, to their shame,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And only got a discreet coward's name,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou with thy blood mad'st purchase of renown,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And died'st the glory of the sword and gown.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy blood hath hallow'd Pomfret, and this blow<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">&mdash;Profan'd before&mdash;hath church'd the Castle now.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Nor is't a common valour we deplore,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But such as with fifteen a hundred bore,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And lightning-like&mdash;not coop'd within a wall&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In storms of fire and steel fell on them all.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou wert no woolsack soldier, nor of those<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose courage lies in winking at their foes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That live at loopholes, and consume their breath<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On match or pipes, and sometimes peep at death;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No, it were sin to number these with thee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But that&mdash;thus pois'd&mdash;our loss we better see.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The fair and open valour was thy shield,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And thy known station, the defying field.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Yet these in thee I would not virtues call,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But that this age must know that thou hadst all.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Those richer graces that adorn'd thy mind<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Like stars of the first magnitude, so shin'd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That if oppos'd unto these lesser lights<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All we can say is this, they were fair nights.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy piety and learning did unite,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And though with sev'ral beams made up one light,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And such thy judgment was, that I dare swear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whole councils might as soon and synods err.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But all these now are out! and as some star<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hurl'd in diurnal motions from far,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And seen to droop at night, is vainly said<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To fall and find an occidental bed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though in that other world what we judge West<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Proves elevation, and a new, fresh East;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So though our weaker sense denies us sight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And bodies cannot trace the spirit's flight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We know those graces to be still in thee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But wing'd above us to eternity.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Since then&mdash;thus flown&mdash;thou art so much refin'd<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That we can only reach thee with the mind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I will not in this dark and narrow glass<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let thy scant shadow for perfections pass,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But leave thee to be read more high, more quaint,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In thy own blood a soldier and a saint.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">&mdash;&mdash;<i>Salve &aelig;ternum mihi maxime Palla!</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>&AElig;ternumque vale!</i>&mdash;&mdash;<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span></p>
+<h3>
+<a name="TO_MY_LEARNED_FRIEND_MR_T_POWELL_UPON_HIS_TRANSLATION_OF_MALVEZZIS"
+id="TO_MY_LEARNED_FRIEND_MR_T_POWELL_UPON_HIS_TRANSLATION_OF_MALVEZZIS"></a>
+TO MY LEARNED FRIEND, MR. T. POWELL,<br />
+UPON HIS TRANSLATION OF<br />
+MALVEZZI'S
+CHRISTIAN POLITICIAN.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">We thank you, worthy Sir, that now we see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><span class='smcap'>Malvezzi</span> languag'd like our infancy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And can without suspicion entertain<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This foreign statesman to our breast or brain;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You have enlarg'd his praise, and from your store<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By this edition made his worth the more.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thus by your learn&egrave;d hand&mdash;amidst the coil&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Outlandish plants thrive in our thankless soil,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And wise men after death, by a strange fate,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lie leiger here, and beg to serve our State.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Italy now, though mistress of the bays,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Waits on this wreath, proud of a foreign praise;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For, wise Malvezzi, thou didst lie before<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Confin'd within the language of one shore,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And like those stars which near the poles do steer<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Were't but in one part of the globe seen clear.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Provence and Naples were the best and most<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou couldst shine in; fix'd to that single coast,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Perhaps some cardinal, to be thought wise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And honest too, would ask, what was thy price?<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Then thou must pack to Rome, where thou mightst lie<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ere thou shouldst have new clothes eternally,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For though so near the sev'n hills, ne'ertheless<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou cam'st to Antwerp for thy Roman dress.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But now thou art come hither, thou mayst run<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Through any clime as well known as the sun,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And in thy sev'ral dresses, like the year,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Challenge acquaintance with each peopled sphere.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Come then, rare politicians of the time,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Brains of some standing, elders in our clime,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">See here the method. A wise, solid State<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is quick in acting, friendly in debate,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Joint in advice, in resolutions just,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Mild in success, true to the common trust.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It cements ruptures, and by gentle hand<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Allays the heat and burnings of a land;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Religion guides it, and in all the tract<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Designs so twist, that Heav'n confirms the act.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If from these lists you wander as you steer,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Look back, and catechize your actions here.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">These are the marks to which true statesmen tend,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And greatness here with goodness hath one end.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span></p>
+<h3><a name="TO_MY_WORTHY_FRIEND_MASTER_T_LEWES" id="TO_MY_WORTHY_FRIEND_MASTER_T_LEWES"></a>
+TO MY WORTHY FRIEND, MASTER T. LEWES.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Sees not my friend, what a deep snow<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Candies our country's woody brow?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The yielding branch his load scarce bears,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Oppress'd with snow and frozen tears;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While the dumb rivers slowly float,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All bound up in an icy coat.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Let us meet then! and while this world<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In wild eccentrics now is hurl'd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Keep we, like nature, the same key,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And walk in our forefathers' way.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Why any more cast we an eye<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On what may come, not what is nigh?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Why vex ourselves with fear, or hope<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And cares beyond our horoscope?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who into future times would peer,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Looks oft beyond his term set here,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And cannot go into those grounds<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But through a churchyard, which them bounds.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sorrows and sighs and searches spend<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And draw our bottom to an end,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But discreet joys lengthen the lease,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Without which life were a disease;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And who this age a mourner goes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Doth with his tears but feed his foes<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span></p>
+<h3><a name="TO_THE_MOST_EXCELLENTLY_ACCOMPLISHED_MRS_K_PHILIPS"
+id="TO_THE_MOST_EXCELLENTLY_ACCOMPLISHED_MRS_K_PHILIPS"></a>
+TO THE MOST EXCELLENTLY ACCOMPLISHED MRS.&nbsp;K.&nbsp;PHILIPS.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Say, witty fair one, from what sphere<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Flow these rich numbers you shed here?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For sure such incantations come<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From thence, which strike your readers dumb.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A strain, whose measures gently meet<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like virgin-lovers or Time's feet;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where language smiles, and accents rise<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As quick and pleasing as your eyes;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The poem smooth, and in each line<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Soft as yourself, yet masculine;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where not coarse trifles blot the page<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With matter borrow'd from the age,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But thoughts as innocent and high<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As angels have, or saints that die.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">These raptures when I first did see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">New miracles in poetry,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And by a hand their good would miss<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His bays and fountains but to kiss,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My weaker genius&mdash;cross to fashion&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Slept in a silent admiration:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A rescue, by whose grave disguise<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Pretenders oft have pass'd for wise.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">And yet as pilgrims humbly touch<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Those shrines to which they bow so much,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And clouds in courtship flock, and run<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To be the mask unto the sun,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So I concluded it was true<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I might at distance worship you,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A Persian votary, and say<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It was your light show'd me the way.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So loadstones guide the duller steel,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And high perfections are the wheel<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which moves the less, for gifts divine<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are strung upon a vital line,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which, touch'd by you, excites in all<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Affections epidemical.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And this made me&mdash;a truth most fit&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Add my weak echo to your wit;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which pardon, Lady, for assays<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Obscure as these might blast your bays;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As common hands soil flow'rs, and make<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That dew they wear weep the mistake.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But I'll wash off the stain, and vow<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No laurel grows but for your brow.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span></p>
+<h3><a name="AN_EPITAPH_UPON_THE_LADY_ELIZABETH_SECOND_DAUGHTER_TO_HIS_LATE_MAJESTY" id="AN_EPITAPH_UPON_THE_LADY_ELIZABETH_SECOND_DAUGHTER_TO_HIS_LATE_MAJESTY"></a>
+AN EPITAPH UPON THE LADY ELIZABETH, SECOND DAUGHTER TO HIS LATE MAJESTY.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Youth, beauty, virtue, innocence,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Heav'n's royal and select expense,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With virgin-tears and sighs divine<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sit here the genii of this shrine;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where now&mdash;thy fair soul wing'd away&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They guard the casket where she lay.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Thou hadst, ere thou the light couldst see,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sorrows laid up and stor'd for thee;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou suck'dst in woes, and the breasts lent<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their milk to thee but to lament;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy portion here was grief, thy years<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Distill'd no other rain but tears,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Tears without noise, but&mdash;understood&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As loud and shrill as any blood.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou seem'st a rosebud born in snow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A flower of purpose sprung to bow<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To headless tempests, and the rage<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of an incens&egrave;d, stormy age.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Others, ere their afflictions grow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are tim'd and season'd for the blow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But thine, as rheums the tend'rest part,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fell on a young and harmless heart.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">And yet, as balm-trees gently spend<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their tears for those that do them rend,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So mild and pious thou wert seen,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though full of suff'rings; free from spleen,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou didst not murmur, nor revile,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But drank'st thy wormwood with a smile.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As envious eyes blast and infect,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And cause misfortunes by asp&egrave;ct,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So thy sad stars dispens'd to thee<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No influx but calamity;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They view'd thee with eclips&egrave;d rays,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And but the back side of bright days.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0" style="letter-spacing:2em;">········<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">These were the comforts she had here,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As by an unseen Hand 'tis clear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which now she reads, and, smiling, wears<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A crown with Him who wipes off tears.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span></p>
+<h3><a name="TO_SIR_WILLIAM_DAVENANT_UPON_HIS_GONDIBERT" id="TO_SIR_WILLIAM_DAVENANT_UPON_HIS_GONDIBERT"></a>
+TO SIR WILLIAM D'AVENANT UPON HIS GONDIBERT.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Well, we are rescued! and by thy rare pen<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Poets shall live, when princes die like men.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Th' hast clear'd the prospect to our harmless hill,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of late years clouded with imputed ill,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the soft, youthful couples there may move,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As chaste as stars converse and smile above.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Th' hast taught their language and their love to flow<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Calm as rose-leaves, and cool as virgin-snow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which doubly feasts us, being so refin'd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They both delight and dignify the mind;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like to the wat'ry music of some spring,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose pleasant flowings at once wash and sing.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And where before heroic poems were<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Made up of spirits, prodigies, and fear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And show'd&mdash;through all the melancholy flight&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like some dark region overcast with night,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As if the poet had been quite dismay'd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While only giants and enchantments sway'd;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou like the sun, whose eye brooks no disguise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hast chas'd them hence, and with discoveries<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So rare and learn&egrave;d fill'd the place, that we<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Those fam'd grandezas find outdone by thee,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">And underfoot see all those vizards hurl'd<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which bred the wonder of the former world.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Twas dull to sit, as our forefathers did,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At crumbs and voiders, and because unbid,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Refrain wise appetite. This made thy fire<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Break through the ashes of thy aged sire,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To lend the world such a convincing light<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As shows his fancy darker than his sight.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor was't alone the bars and length of days<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">&mdash;Though those gave strength and stature to his bays&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Encounter'd thee, but what's an old complaint<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And kills the fancy, a forlorn restraint.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How couldst thou, mur'd in solitary stones,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dress Birtha's smiles, though well thou mightst her groans?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And, strangely eloquent, thyself divide<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Twixt sad misfortunes and a bloomy bride?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Through all the tenour of thy ample song,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Spun from thy own rich store, and shar'd among<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Those fair adventurers, we plainly see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Th' imputed gifts inherent are in thee.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then live for ever&mdash;and by high desert&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In thy own mirror, matchless Gondibert,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And in bright Birtha leave thy love enshrin'd<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fresh as her em'rald, and fair as her mind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While all confess thee&mdash;as they ought to do&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The prince of poets, and of lovers too.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+
+<h2>TRANSLATIONS FROM OVID</h2>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span></p>
+
+<h3>[OVID,] TRISTIUM, LIB. V. ELEG. III.<br /><br />
+TO HIS FELLOW-POETS AT ROME,<br />
+UPON THE BIRTHDAY OF BACCHUS.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">This is the day&mdash;blithe god of sack&mdash;which we,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If I mistake not, consecrate to thee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When the soft rose we marry to the bays,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And, warm'd with thy own wine, rehearse thy praise;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Mongst whom&mdash;while to thy poet fate gave way&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I have been held no small part of the day.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But now, dull'd with the cold Bear's frozen seat,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sarmatia holds me, and the warlike Gete.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My former life, unlike to this my last,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With Rome's best wits of thy full cup did taste,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who since have seen the savage Pontic band,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all the choler of the sea and land.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whether sad chance or Heav'n hath this design'd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And at my birth some fatal planet shin'd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of right thou shouldst the sisters' knots undo,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And free thy votary and poet too;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or are you gods&mdash;like us&mdash;in such a state<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As cannot alter the decrees of fate?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I know with much ado thou didst obtain<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy jovial godhead, and on earth thy pain<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Was no whit less, for, wand'ring, thou didst run<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To the Getes too, and snow-weeping Strymon,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With Persia, Ganges, and whatever streams<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The thirsty Moor drinks in the mid-day beams.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But thou wert twice-born, and the Fates to thee<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">&mdash;To make all sure&mdash;doubled thy misery.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My sufferings too are many&mdash;if it be<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Held safe for me to boast adversity&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor was't a common blow, but from above,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like his that died for imitating Jove;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which, when thou heardst, a ruin so divine<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And mother-like should make thee pity mine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And on this day, which poets unto thee<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Crown with full bowls, ask what's become of me?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Help, buxom god, then! so may thy lov'd vine<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Swarm with the num'rous grape, and big with wine<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Load the kind elm, and so thy orgies be<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With priests' loud shouts and satyrs' kept to thee!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So may in death Lycurgus ne'er be blest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor Pentheus' wand'ring ghost find any rest!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And so for ever bright&mdash;thy chief desires&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">May thy wife's crown outshine the lesser fires!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If but now, mindful of my love to thee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou wilt, in what thou canst, my helper be.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You gods have commerce with yourselves; try then<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If C&aelig;sar will restore me Rome again.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And you, my trusty friends&mdash;the jolly crew<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of careless poets! when, without me, you<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Perform this day's glad myst'ries, let it be<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Your first appeal unto his deity,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And let one of you&mdash;touch'd with my sad name&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Mixing his wine with tears, lay down the same,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And&mdash;sighing&mdash;to the rest this thought commend,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O! where is Ovid now, our banish'd friend?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This do, if in your breasts I e'er deserv'd<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So large a share, nor spitefully reserv'd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor basely sold applause, or with a brow<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Condemning others, did myself allow.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And may your happier wits grow loud with fame<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As you&mdash;my best of friends!&mdash;preserve my name.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span></p>
+<h3>[OVID, EPISTOLARUM] DE PONTO, LIB. III. [EPIST. VII.].<br /><br />
+TO HIS FRIENDS&mdash;AFTER HIS MANY SOLICITATIONS&mdash;REFUSING TO PETITION C&AElig;SAR FOR HIS RELEASEMENT.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">You have consum'd my language, and my pen,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Incens'd with begging, scorns to write again.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You grant, you knew my suit: my Muse and I<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Had taught it you in frequent elegy.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That I believe&mdash;yet seal'd&mdash;you have divin'd<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Our repetitions, and forestall'd my mind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So that my thronging elegies and I<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Have made you&mdash;more than poets&mdash;prophesy.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But I am now awak'd; forgive my dream<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which made me cross the proverb and the stream,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And pardon, friends, that I so long have had<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Such good thoughts of you; I am not so mad<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As to continue them. You shall no more<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Complain of troublesome verse, or write o'er<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How I endanger you, and vex my wife<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With the sad legends of a banish'd life.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'll bear these plagues myself: for I have pass'd<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Through greater ones, and can as well at last<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">These petty crosses. 'Tis for some young beast<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To kick his bands, or wish his neck releas'd<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">From the sad yoke. Know then, that as for me<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whom Fate hath us'd to such calamity,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I scorn her spite and yours, and freely dare<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The highest ills your malice can prepare.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">'Twas Fortune threw me hither, where I now<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Rude Getes and Thrace see, with the snowy brow<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of cloudy &AElig;mus, and if she decree<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her sportive pilgrim's last bed here must be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I am content; nay, more, she cannot do<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That act which I would not consent unto.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I can delight in vain hopes, and desire<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That state more than her change and smiles; then high'r<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I hug a strong despair, and think it brave<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To baffle faith, and give those hopes a grave.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Have you not seen cur'd wounds enlarg'd, and he<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That with the first wave sinks, yielding to th' free<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Waters, without th' expense of arms or breath,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hath still the easiest and the quickest death.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Why nurse I sorrows then? why these desires<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of changing Scythia for the sun and fires<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of some calm kinder air? what did bewitch<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My frantic hopes to fly so vain a pitch,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And thus outrun myself? Madman! could I<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Suspect fate had for me a courtesy?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">These errors grieve: and now I must forget<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Those pleas'd ideas I did frame and set<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Unto myself, with many fancied springs<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And groves, whose only loss new sorrow brings.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">And yet I would the worst of fate endure,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ere you should be repuls'd, or less secure.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But&mdash;base, low souls!&mdash;you left me not for this,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But 'cause you durst not. C&aelig;sar could not miss<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of such a trifle, for I know that he<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Scorns the cheap triumphs of my misery.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Then since&mdash;degen'rate friends&mdash;not he, but you<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Cancel my hopes, and make afflictions new,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You shall confess, and fame shall tell you, I<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At Ister dare as well as Tiber die.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span></p>
+
+<h3>[OVID, EPISTOLARUM] DE PONTO, LIB. IV. EPIST. III.<br /><br />
+
+TO HIS INCONSTANT FRIEND, TRANSLATED FOR THE USE OF ALL THE JUDASES OF
+THIS TOUCHSTONE-AGE.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Shall I complain, or not? or shall I mask<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy hateful name, and in this bitter task<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Master my just impatience, and write down<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy crime alone, and leave the rest unknown?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or wilt thou the succeeding years should see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And teach thy person to posterity?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No, hope it not; for know, most wretched man,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Tis not thy base and weak detraction can<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Buy thee a poem, nor move me to give<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy name the honour in my verse to live.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Whilst yet my ship did with no storms dispute,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And temp'rate winds fed with a calm salute<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My prosp'rous sails, thou wert the only man<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That with me then an equal fortune ran;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But now since angry heav'n with clouds and night<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Stifled those sunbeams, thou hast ta'en thy flight;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou know'st I want thee, and art merely gone<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To shun that rescue I reli'd upon;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nay, thou dissemblest too, and dost disclaim<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not only my acquaintance, but my name.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span>
+<span class="i2">Yet know&mdash;though deaf to this&mdash;that I am he<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose years and love had the same infancy<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With thine, thy deep familiar that did share<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Souls with thee, and partake thy joys or care;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whom the same roof lodg'd, and my Muse those nights<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So solemnly endear'd to her delights.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But now, perfidious traitor, I am grown<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The abject of thy breast, not to be known<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In that false closet more; nay, thou wilt not<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So much as let me know I am forgot.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If thou wilt say thou didst not love me, then<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou didst dissemble: or if love again,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Why now inconstant? Came the crime from me<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That wrought this change? Sure, if no justice be<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of my side, thine must have it. Why dost hide<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy reasons then? For me, I did so guide<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Myself and actions, that I cannot see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What could offend thee, but my misery.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Las! if thou wouldst not from thy store allow<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some rescue to my wants, at least I know<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou couldst have writ, and with a line or two<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Reliev'd my famish'd eye, and eas'd me so.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I know not what to think! and yet I hear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not pleas'd with this, th'art witty, and dost jeer.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bad man! thou hast in this those tears kept back<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I could have shed for thee, shouldst thou but lack.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Know'st not that Fortune on a globe doth stand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose upper slipp'ry part without command<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Turns lowest still? the sportive leaves and wind<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are but dull emblems of her fickle mind.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In the whole world there's nothing I can see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Will throughly parallel her ways but thee.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All that we hold hangs on a slender twine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And our best states by sudden chance decline.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who hath not heard of Cr&oelig;sus' proverb'd gold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet knows his foe did him a pris'ner hold?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He that once aw'd Sicilia's proud extent<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By a poor art could famine scarce prevent;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And mighty Pompey, ere he made an end,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was glad to beg his slave to be his friend.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nay, he that had so oft Rome's consul been,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And forc'd Jugurtha and the Cimbrians in,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Great Marius! with much want and more disgrace,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In a foul marsh was glad to hide his face.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A Divine hand sways all mankind, and we<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of one short hour have not the certainty.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hadst thou one day told me the time should be<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When the Getes' bows, and th' Euxine I should see,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I should have check'd thy madness, and have thought<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Th' hadst need of all Anticyra in a draught.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And yet 'tis come to pass! nor, though I might<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some things foresee, could I procure a sight<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of my whole destiny, and free my state<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From those eternal, higher ties of fate.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Leave then thy pride, and though now brave and high,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Think thou mayst be as poor and low as I.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span></p>
+<h3>[OVID,] TRISTIUM, LIB. III. ELEG. III.<br /><br />
+
+TO HIS WIFE AT ROME, WHEN HE WAS SICK.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Dearest! if you those fair eyes&mdash;wond'ring&mdash;stick<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On this strange character, know I am sick;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sick in the skirts of the lost world, where I<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Breathe hopeless of all comforts, but to die.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What heart&mdash;think'st thou?&mdash;have I in this sad seat,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Tormented 'twixt the Sauromate and Gete?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor air nor water please: their very sky<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Looks strange and unaccustom'd to my eye;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I scarce dare breathe it, and, I know not how,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The earth that bears me shows unpleasant now.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor diet here's, nor lodging for my ease,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor any one that studies a disease;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No friend to comfort me, none to defray<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With smooth discourse the charges of the day.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All tir'd alone I lie, and&mdash;thus&mdash;whate'er<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is absent, and at Rome, I fancy here.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But when thou com'st, I blot the airy scroll,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And give thee full possession of my soul.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thee&mdash;absent&mdash;I embrace, thee only voice.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And night and day belie a husband's joys.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nay, of thy name so oft I mention make<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That I am thought distracted for thy sake.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">When my tir'd spirits fail, and my sick heart<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Draws in that fire which actuates each part,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If any say, th'art come! I force my pain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And hope to see thee gives me life again.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thus I for thee, whilst thou&mdash;perhaps&mdash;more blest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Careless of me dost breathe all peace and rest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which yet I think not, for&mdash;dear soul!&mdash;too well<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Know I thy grief, since my first woes befell.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But if strict Heav'n my stock of days hath spun,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And with my life my error will be gone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How easy then&mdash;O C&aelig;sar!&mdash;were't for thee<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To pardon one, that now doth cease to be?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That I might yield my native air this breath,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And banish not my ashes after death.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Would thou hadst either spar'd me until dead,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or with my blood redeem'd my absent head!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou shouldst have had both freely, but O! thou<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wouldst have me live to die an exile now.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And must I then from Rome so far meet death,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And double by the place my loss of breath?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor in my last of hours on my own bed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">&mdash;In the sad conflict&mdash;rest my dying head?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor my soul's whispers&mdash;the last pledge of life,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Mix with the tears and kisses of a wife?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My last words none must treasure, none will rise<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And&mdash;with a tear&mdash;seal up my vanquish'd eyes;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Without these rites I die, distress'd in all<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The splendid sorrows of a funeral;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Unpitied, and unmourn'd for, my sad head<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">In a strange land goes friendless to the dead.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When thou hear'st this, O! how thy faithful soul<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Will sink, whilst grief doth ev'ry part control!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How often wilt thou look this way, and cry,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O! where is't yonder that my love doth lie?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet spare these tears, and mourn not thou for me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Long since&mdash;dear heart!&mdash;have I been dead to thee.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Think then I died, when thee and Rome I lost,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That death to me more grief than this hath cost.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Now, if thou canst&mdash;but thou canst not&mdash;best wife,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Rejoice, my cares are ended with my life.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At least, yield not to sorrows, frequent use<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Should make these miseries to thee no news.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And here I wish my soul died with my breath,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And that no part of me were free from death;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For, if it be immortal, and outlives<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The body, as Pythagoras believes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Betwixt these Sarmates' ghosts, a Roman I<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shall wander, vex'd to all eternity.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But thou&mdash;for after death I shall be free&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fetch home these bones, and what is left of me;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A few flow'rs give them, with some balm, and lay<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Them in some suburb grave, hard by the way;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And to inform posterity, who's there,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This sad inscription let my marble wear;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Here lies the soft-soul'd lecturer of love,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose envi'd wit did his own ruin prove.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But thou,&mdash;whoe'er thou be'st, that, passing by,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lend'st to this sudden stone a hasty eye,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">If e'er thou knew'st of love the sweet disease,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Grudge not to say, May Ovid rest in peace!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This for my tomb: but in my books they'll see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">More strong and lasting monuments of me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which I believe&mdash;though fatal&mdash;will afford<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An endless name unto their ruin'd lord.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And now thus gone, it rests, for love of me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou show'st some sorrow to my memory;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy funeral off'rings to my ashes bear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With wreaths of cypress bath'd in many a tear.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though nothing there but dust of me remain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet shall that dust perceive thy pious pain.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But I have done, and my tir'd, sickly head,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though I would fain write more, desires the bed;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Take then this word&mdash;perhaps my last&mdash;to tell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which though I want, I wish it thee, farewell!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span></p>
+<h3>AUSONII. IDYLL VI.<br /><br />
+
+CUPIDO [CRUCI AFFIXUS].</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">In those bless'd fields of everlasting air<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">&mdash;Where to a myrtle grove the souls repair<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of deceas'd lovers&mdash;the sad, thoughtful ghosts<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of injur'd ladies meet, where each accosts<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The other with a sigh, whose very breath<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Would break a heart, and&mdash;kind souls&mdash;love in death.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A thick wood clouds their walks, where day scarce peeps,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And on each hand cypress and poppy sleeps;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The drowsy rivers slumber, and springs there<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Blab not, but softly melt into a tear;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A sickly dull air fans them, which can have,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When most in force, scarce breath to build a wave.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On either bank through the still shades appear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A scene of pensive flow'rs, whose bosoms wear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Drops of a lover's blood, the emblem'd truths<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of deep despair, and love-slain kings and youths.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Hyacinth, and self-enamour'd boy<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Narcissus flourish there, with Venus' joy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The spruce Adonis, and that prince whose flow'r<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hath sorrow languag'd on him to this hour;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All sad with love they hang their heads, and grieve<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">As if their passions in each leaf did live;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And here&mdash;alas!&mdash;these soft-soul'd ladies stray,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And&mdash;O! too late!&mdash;treason in love betray.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Her blasted birth sad Semele repeats,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And with her tears would quench the thund'rer's heats,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then shakes her bosom, as if fir'd again,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And fears another lightning's flaming train.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The lovely Procris here bleeds, sighs, and swoons,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then wakes, and kisses him that gave her wounds.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sad Hero holds a torch forth, and doth light<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her lost Leander through the waves and night,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her boatman desp'rate Sappho still admires,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And nothing but the sea can quench her fires.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Distracted Ph&aelig;dra with a restless eye<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her disdain'd letters reads, then casts them by.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Rare, faithful Thisbe&mdash;sequest'red from these&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A silent, unseen sorrow doth best please;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For her love's sake and last good-night poor she<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Walks in the shadow of a mulberry.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Near her young Canace with Dido sits,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A lovely couple, but of desp'rate wits;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Both di'd alike, both pierc'd their tender breasts,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This with her father's sword, that with her guest's.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Within the thickest textures of the grove<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Diana in her silver beams doth rove;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her crown of stars the pitchy air invades,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And with a faint light gilds the silent shades,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whilst her sad thoughts, fix'd on her sleepy lover,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">To Latmos hill and his retirements move her.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A thousand more through the wide, darksome wood<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Feast on their cares, the maudlin lover's food;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For grief and absence do but edge desire,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And death is fuel to a lover's fire.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To see these trophies of his wanton bow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Cupid comes in, and all in triumph now&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Rash unadvis&egrave;d boy!&mdash;disperseth round<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The sleepy mists; his wings and quiver wound<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With noise the quiet air. This sudden stir<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Betrays his godship, and as we from far<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A clouded, sickly moon observe, so they<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Through the false mists his eclips'd torch betray.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A hot pursuit they make, and, though with care<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And a slow wing, he softly stems the air,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet they&mdash;as subtle now as he&mdash;surround<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His silenc'd course, and with the thick night bound<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Surprise the wag. As in a dream we strive<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To voice our thoughts, and vainly would revive<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Our entranc'd tongues, but cannot speech enlarge,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Till the soul wakes and reassumes her charge;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So, joyous of their prize, they flock about<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And vainly swell with an imagin'd shout.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Far in these shades and melancholy coasts<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A myrtle grows, well known to all the ghosts,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose stretch'd top&mdash;like a great man rais'd by Fate&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Looks big, and scorns his neighbour's low estate;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His leafy arms into a green cloud twist,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">And on each branch doth sit a lazy mist,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A fatal tree, and luckless to the gods,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where for disdain in life&mdash;Love's worst of odds&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The queen of shades, fair Proserpine, did rack<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The sad Adonis: hither now they pack<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This little god, where, first disarm'd, they bind<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His skittish wings, then both his hands behind<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His back they tie, and thus secur'd at last,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The peevish wanton to the tree make fast.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Here at adventure, without judge or jury,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He is condemn'd, while with united fury<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They all assail him. As a thief at bar<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Left to the law, and mercy of his star,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hath bills heap'd on him, and is question'd there<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By all the men that have been robb'd that year;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So now whatever Fate or their own will<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Scor'd up in life, Cupid must pay the bill.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their servant's falsehood, jealousy, disdain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all the plagues that abus'd maids can feign,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are laid on him, and then to heighten spleen,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their own deaths crown the sum. Press'd thus between<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His fair accusers, 'tis at last decreed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He by those weapons, that they died, should bleed.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">One grasps an airy sword, a second holds<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Illusive fire, and in vain wanton folds<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Belies a flame; others, less kind, appear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To let him blood, and from the purple tear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Create a rose. But Sappho all this while<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Harvests the air, and from a thicken'd pile<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of clouds like Leucas top spreads underneath<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A sea of mists; the peaceful billows breathe<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Without all noise, yet so exactly move<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They seem to chide, but distant from above<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Reach not the ear, and&mdash;thus prepar'd&mdash;at once<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She doth o'erwhelm him with the airy sconce.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Amidst these tumults, and as fierce as they,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Venus steps in, and without thought or stay<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Invades her son; her old disgrace is cast<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Into the bill, when Mars and she made fast<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In their embraces were expos'd to all<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The scene of gods, stark naked in their fall.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor serves a verbal penance, but with haste<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From her fair brow&mdash;O happy flow'rs so plac'd!&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She tears a rosy garland, and with this<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whips the untoward boy; they gently kiss<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His snowy skin, but she with angry haste<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Doubles her strength, until bedew'd at last<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With a thin bloody sweat, their innate red,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">&mdash;As if griev'd with the act&mdash;grew pale and dead.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This laid their spleen; and now&mdash;kind souls&mdash;no more<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They'll punish him; the torture that he bore<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Seems greater than his crime; with joint consent<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fate is made guilty, and he innocent.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As in a dream with dangers we contest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And fictious pains seem to afflict our rest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So, frighted only in these shades of night,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Cupid&mdash;got loose&mdash;stole to the upper light,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where ever since&mdash;for malice unto these&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The spiteful ape doth either sex displease.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But O! that had these ladies been so wise<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To keep his arms, and give him but his eyes!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span></p>
+<h3><a name="BOETHIUS_DE_CONSOLATIONE" id="BOETHIUS_DE_CONSOLATIONE"></a>
+BOET[HIUS, DE CONSOLATIONE]</h3>
+
+<h4>LIB. I. METRUM I.</h4>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I whose first year flourish'd with youthful verse,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In slow, sad numbers now my grief rehearse.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A broken style my sickly lines afford,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And only tears give weight unto my words.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet neither fate nor force my Muse could fright,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The only faithful consort of my flight.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thus what was once my green years' greatest glory,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is now my comfort, grown decay'd and hoary;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For killing cares th' effects of age spurr'd on,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That grief might find a fitting mansion;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O'er my young head runs an untimely grey,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And my loose skin shrinks at my blood's decay.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Happy the man, whose death in prosp'rous years<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Strikes not, nor shuns him in his age and tears!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But O! how deaf is she to hear the cry<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of th' oppress'd soul, or shut the weeping eye!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While treach'rous Fortune with slight honours fed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My first estate, she almost drown'd my head,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And now since&mdash;clouded thus&mdash;she hides those rays,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Life adds unwelcom'd length unto my days.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Why then, my friends, judg'd you my state so good?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He that may fall once, never firmly stood.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+<h4>METRUM II.</h4>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O in what haste, with clouds and night<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Eclips'd, and having lost her light,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The dull soul whom distraction rends<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Into outward darkness tends!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How often&mdash;by these mists made blind&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Have earthly cares oppress'd the mind!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">This soul, sometimes wont to survey<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The spangled Zodiac's fiery way,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Saw th' early sun in roses dress'd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With the cool moon's unstable crest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And whatsoever wanton star,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In various courses near or far,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Pierc'd through the orbs, he could full well<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Track all her journey, and would tell<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her mansions, turnings, rise and fall,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By curious calculation all.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of sudden winds the hidden cause,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And why the calm sea's quiet face<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With impetuous waves is curl'd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What spirit wheels th' harmonious world,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or why a star dropp'd in the west<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is seen to rise again by east,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who gives the warm Spring temp'rate hours,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Decking the Earth with spicy flow'rs,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Or how it comes&mdash;for man's recruit&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That Autumn yields both grape and fruit,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With many other secrets, he<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Could show the cause and mystery.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But now that light is almost out,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the brave soul lies chain'd about<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With outward cares, whose pensive weight<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sinks down her eyes from their first height.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And clean contrary to her birth<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Pores on this vile and foolish Earth.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+<h4>METRUM IV.</h4>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Whose calm soul in a settled state<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Kicks under foot the frowns of Fate,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And in his fortunes, bad or good,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Keeps the same temper in his blood;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not him the flaming clouds above,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor &AElig;tna's fiery tempests move;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No fretting seas from shore to shore,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Boiling with indignation o'er,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor burning thunderbolt that can<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A mountain shake, can stir this man.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dull cowards then! why should we start<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To see these tyrants act their part?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor hope, nor fear what may befall,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And you disarm their malice all.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But who doth faintly fear or wish,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And sets no law to what is his,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hath lost the buckler, and&mdash;poor elf!&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Makes up a chain to bind himself.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+<h4>METRUM V.</h4>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O Thou great builder of this starry frame,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who fix'd in Thy eternal throne doth tame<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The rapid spheres, and lest they jar<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hast giv'n a law to ev'ry star.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou art the cause that now the moon<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With fall orb dulls the stars, and soon<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Again grows dark, her light being done,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The nearer still she's to the sun.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou in the early hours of night<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Mak'st the cool evening-star shine bright,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And at sun-rising&mdash;'cause the least&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Look pale and sleepy in the east.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou, when the leaves in winter stray,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Appoint'st the sun a shorter way,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And in the pleasant summer light,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With nimble hours dost wing the night.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy hand the various year quite through<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Discreetly tempers, that what now<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The north-wind tears from ev'ry tree<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In spring again restor'd we see.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then what the winter stars between<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The furrows in mere seed have seen,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The dog-star since&mdash;grown up and born&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hath burnt in stately, full-ear'd corn.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Thus by creation's law controll'd<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">All things their proper stations hold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Observing&mdash;as Thou didst intend&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Why they were made, and for what end.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Only human actions Thou<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hast no care of, but to the flow<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And ebb of Fortune leav'st them all.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hence th' innocent endures that thrall<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Due to the wicked; whilst alone<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They sit possessors of his throne.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The just are kill'd, and virtue lies<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Buried in obscurities;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And&mdash;which of all things is most sad&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The good man suffers by the bad.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No perjuries, nor damn'd pretence<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Colour'd with holy, lying sense<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Can them annoy, but when they mind<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To try their force, which most men find,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They from the highest sway of things<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Can pull down great and pious kings.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">O then at length, thus loosely hurl'd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Look on this miserable world,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whoe'er Thou art, that from above<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dost in such order all things move!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And let not man&mdash;of divine art<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not the least, nor vilest part&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By casual evils thus bandied, be<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The sport of Fate's obliquity.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But with that faith Thou guid'st the heaven<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Settle this earth, and make them even.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span></div></div>
+
+<h4>METRUM VI.</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When the Crab's fierce constellation<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Burns with the beams of the bright sun,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then he that will go out to sow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shall never reap, where he did plough,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But instead of corn may rather<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The old world's diet, acorns, gather.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who the violet doth love,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Must seek her in the flow'ry grove,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But never when the North's cold wind<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The russet fields with frost doth bind.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If in the spring-time&mdash;to no end&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The tender vine for grapes we bend,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We shall find none, for only&mdash;still&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Autumn doth the wine-press fill.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Thus for all things&mdash;in the world's prime&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The wise God seal'd their proper time,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor will permit those seasons, He<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ordain'd by turns, should mingled be;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then whose wild actions out of season<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Cross to Nature, and her reason,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Would by new ways old orders rend,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shall never find a happy end.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+<h4>METRUM VII.</h4>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Curtain'd with clouds in a dark night,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The stars cannot send forth their light.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And if a sudden southern blast<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The sea in rolling waves doth cast,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That angry element doth boil,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And from the deep with stormy coil<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Spews up the sands, which in short space<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Scatter, and puddle his curl'd face.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then those calm waters, which but now<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Stood clear as heaven's unclouded brow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And like transparent glass did lie<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Open to ev'ry searcher's eye,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Look foully stirr'd and&mdash;though desir'd&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Resist the sight, because bemir'd.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So often from a high hill's brow<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some pilgrim-spring is seen to flow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And in a straight line keep her course,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Till from a rock with headlong force<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some broken piece blocks up the way,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And forceth all her streams astray.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Then thou that with enlighten'd rays<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wouldst see the truth, and in her ways<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Keep without error; neither fear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The future, nor too much give ear<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">To present joys; and give no scope<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To grief, nor much to flatt'ring hope.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For when these rebels reign, the mind<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is both a pris'ner, and stark blind.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+<h4>LIB. II. METRUM I.</h4>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Fortune&mdash;when with rash hands she quite turmoils<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The state of things, and in tempestuous foils<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Comes whirling like Euripus&mdash;beats quite down<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With headlong force the highest monarch's crown,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And in his place, unto the throne doth fetch<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The despis'd looks of some mechanic wretch:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So jests at tears and miseries, is proud,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And laughs to hear her vassals groan aloud.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">These are her sports, thus she her wheel doth drive,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And plagues man with her blind prerogative;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor is't a favour of inferior strain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If once kick'd down, she lets him rise again.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+<h4>METRUM II.</h4>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">If with an open, bounteous hand<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">&mdash;Wholly left at man's command&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Fortune should in one rich flow<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As many heaps on him bestow<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of massy gold, as there be sands<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Toss'd by the waves and winds rude bands,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Or bright stars in a winter night<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Decking their silent orbs with light;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Yet would his lust know no restraints,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Nor cease to weep in sad complaints.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Though Heaven should his vows regard,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And in a prodigal reward<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Return him all he could implore,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Adding new honours to his store,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Yet all were nothing. Goods in sight<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Are scorn'd, and lust in greedy flight<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Lays out for more; what measure then<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Can tame these wild desires of men?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Since all we give both last and first<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Doth but inflame, and feed their thirst.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For how can he be rich, who 'midst his store<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sits sadly pining, and believes he's poor.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+<h4>METRUM III.</h4>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">When the sun from his rosy bed<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The dawning light begins to shed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The drowsy sky uncurtains round,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And the&mdash;but now bright&mdash;stars all drown'd<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In one great light look dull and tame,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And homage his victorious flame.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Thus, when the warm Etesian wind<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The Earth's seal'd bosom doth unbind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Straight she her various store discloses,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And purples every grove with roses;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But if the South's tempestuous breath<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Breaks forth, those blushes pine to death.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Oft in a quiet sky the deep<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With unmov'd waves seems fast asleep,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And oft again the blust'ring North<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In angry heaps provokes them forth.<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">If then this world, which holds all nations,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Suffers itself such alterations,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That not this mighty massy frame,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Nor any part of it can claim<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">One certain course, why should man prate,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Or censure the designs of Fate?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Why from frail honours, and goods lent<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Should he expect things permanent?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Since 'tis enacted by Divine decree<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That nothing mortal shall eternal be.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+<h4>METRUM IV.</h4>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Who wisely would for his retreat<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Build a secure and lasting seat,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where stov'd in silence he may sleep<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Beneath the wind, above the deep;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let him th' high hills leave on one hand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And on the other the false sand.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The first to winds lies plain and even,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From all the blust'ring points of heaven;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The other, hollow and unsure,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No weight of building will endure.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Avoiding then the envied state<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of buildings bravely situate,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Remember thou thyself to lock<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Within some low neglected rock.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There when fierce heaven in thunder chides,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And winds and waves rage on all sides,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou happy in the quiet sense<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of thy poor cell, with small expense<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shall lead a life serene and fair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And scorn the anger of the air.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span></div></div>
+
+<h4>METRUM V.</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Happy that first white age! when we<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lived by the Earth's mere charity.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No soft luxurious diet then<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Had effeminated men,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No other meat, nor wine had any<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Than the coarse mast, or simple honey,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And by the parents' care laid up<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Cheap berries did the children sup.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No pompous wear was in those days<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of gummy silks, or scarlet baize,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their beds were on some flow'ry brink,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And clear spring-water was their drink.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The shady pine in the sun's heat<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was their cool and known retreat,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For then 'twas not cut down, but stood<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The youth and glory of the wood.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The daring sailor with his slaves<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then had not cut the swelling waves,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor for desire of foreign store<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Seen any but his native shore.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No stirring drum had scarr'd that age,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor the shrill trumpet's active rage,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No wounds by bitter hatred made<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With warm blood soil'd the shining blade;<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">For how could hostile madness arm<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An age of love, to public harm?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When common justice none withstood,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor sought rewards for spilling blood.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">O that at length our age would raise<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Into the temper of those days!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But&mdash;worse than &AElig;tna's fires!&mdash;debate<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And avarice inflame our State.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Alas! who was it that first found<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Gold, hid of purpose under ground,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That sought our pearls, and div'd to find<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Such precious perils for mankind!<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span></div></div>
+
+<h4>METRUM VII.</h4>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He that thirsts for glory's prize,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Thinking that the top of all,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let him view th' expans&egrave;d skies,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And the earth's contracted ball;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Twill shame him then: the name he wan<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fills not the short walk of one man.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h4>2</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O why vainly strive you then<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To shake off the bands of Fate,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though Fame through the world of men<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Should in all tongues your names relate,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And with proud titles swell that story:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The dark grave scorns your brightest glory.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h4>3</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There with nobles beggars sway,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And kings with commons share one dust.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What news of Brutus at this day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Or Fabricius the just?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some rude verse, cut in stone, or lead,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Keeps up the names, but they are dead.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+<h4>4</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">So shall you one day&mdash;past reprieve&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Lie&mdash;perhaps&mdash;without a name.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But if dead you think to live<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">By this air of human fame,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Know, when Time stops that posthume breath,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You must endure a second death.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span></div></div>
+
+<h4>METRUM VIII.</h4>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">That the world in constant force<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Varies her concordant course;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That seeds jarring hot and cold<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Do the breed perpetual hold;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That in his golden coach the sun<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Brings the rosy day still on;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That the moon sways all those lights<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which Hesper ushers to dark nights;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That alternate tides be found<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The sea's ambitious waves to bound,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lest o'er the wide earth without end<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their fluid empire should extend;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All this frame of things that be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Love which rules heaven, land, and sea,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Chains, keeps, orders as we see.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This, if the reins he once cast by,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All things that now by turns comply<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Would fall to discord, and this frame<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which now by social faith they tame,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And comely orders, in that fight<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And jar of things would perish quite.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This in a holy league of peace<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Keeps king and people with increase;<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">And in the sacred nuptial bands<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ties up chaste hearts with willing hands;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And this keeps firm without all doubt<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Friends by his bright instinct found out.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">O happy nation then were you,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If love, which doth all things subdue,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That rules the spacious heav'n, and brings<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Plenty and peace upon his wings,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Might rule you too! and without guile<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Settle once more this floating isle!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span></p>
+<h3><a name="CASIMIRUS_LYRICORUM_LIB_IV_ODE_XXVIII" id="CASIMIRUS_LYRICORUM_LIB_IV_ODE_XXVIII"></a>
+CASIMIRUS, [LYRICORUM] LIB. IV. ODE XXVIII.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Almighty Spirit! Thou that by<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Set turns and changes from Thy high<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And glorious throne dost here below<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Rule all, and all things dost foreknow!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Can those blind plots we here discuss<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Please Thee, as Thy wise counsels us?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When Thou Thy blessings here doth strow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And pour on earth, we flock and flow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With joyous strife and eager care,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Struggling which shall have the best share<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In Thy rich gifts, just as we see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Children about nuts disagree.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some that a crown have got and foil'd<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Break it; another sees it spoil'd<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ere it is gotten. Thus the world<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is all to piecemeals cut, and hurl'd<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By factious hands. It is a ball<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which Fate and force divide 'twixt all<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The sons of men. But, O good God!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While these for dust fight, and a clod,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Grant that poor I may smile, and be<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At rest and perfect peace with Thee!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span></p>
+<h3><a name="CASIMIRUS_LYRICORUM_LIB_II_ODE_VII" id="CASIMIRUS_LYRICORUM_LIB_II_ODE_VII"></a>
+CASIMIRUS, [LYRICORUM] LIB. II. ODE VII.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">It would less vex distress&egrave;d man<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If Fortune in the same pace ran<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To ruin him, as he did rise.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But highest States fall in a trice;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No great success held ever long;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A restless fate afflicts the throng<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of kings and commons, and less days<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Serve to destroy them than to raise.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Good luck smiles once an age, but bad<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Makes kingdoms in a minute sad,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And ev'ry hour of life we drive,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hath o'er us a prerogative.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Then leave&mdash;by wild impatience driv'n,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And rash resents&mdash;to rail at heav'n;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Leave an unmanly, weak complaint<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That death and fate have no restraint.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In the same hour that gave thee breath,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou hadst ordain'd thy hour of death,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But he lives most who here will buy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With a few tears, eternity.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span></p>
+<h3><a name="CASIMIRUS_LYRICORUM_LIB_III_ODE_XXII" id="CASIMIRUS_LYRICORUM_LIB_III_ODE_XXII"></a>
+CASIMIRUS, [LYRICORUM] LIB. III. ODE XXII.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Let not thy youth and false delights<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Cheat thee of life; those heady flights<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But waste thy time, which posts away<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like winds unseen, and swift as they.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Beauty is but mere paint, whose dye<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With Time's breath will dissolve and fly;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Tis wax, 'tis water, 'tis a glass,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It melts, breaks, and away doth pass.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Tis like a rose which in the dawn<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The air with gentle breath doth fawn<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And whisper to, but in the hours<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of night is sullied with smart showers.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Life spent is wish'd for but in vain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor can past years come back again.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Happy the man, who in this vale<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Redeems his time, shutting out all<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thoughts of the world, whose longing eyes<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are ever pilgrims in the skies,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That views his bright home, and desires<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To shine amongst those glorious fires!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span></p>
+<h3><a name="CASIMIRUS_LYRICORUM_LIB_III_ODE_XXIII"
+id="CASIMIRUS_LYRICORUM_LIB_III_ODE_XXIII"></a>
+CASIMIRUS, LYRIC[ORUM] LIB. III. ODE XXIII.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">'Tis not rich furniture and gems,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With cedar roofs and ancient stems,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor yet a plenteous, lasting flood<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of gold, that makes man truly good.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Leave to inquire in what fair fields<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A river runs which much gold yields;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Virtue alone is the rich prize<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Can purchase stars, and buy the skies.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let others build with adamant,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or pillars of carv'd marble plant,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which rude and rough sometimes did dwell<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Far under earth, and near to hell.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But richer much&mdash;from death releas'd&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shines in the fresh groves of the East<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The ph&oelig;nix, or those fish that dwell<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With silver'd scales in Hiddekel.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let others with rare, various pearls<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their garments dress, and in forc'd curls<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bind up their locks, look big and high,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And shine in robes of scarlet dye.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But in my thoughts more glorious far<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Those native stars and speckles are<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which birds wear, or the spots which we<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">In leopards dispers&egrave;d see.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The harmless sheep with her warm fleece<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Clothes man, but who his dark heart sees<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shall find a wolf or fox within,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That kills the castor for his skin.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Virtue alone, and nought else can<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A diff'rence make 'twixt beasts and man;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And on her wings above the spheres<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To the true light his spirit bears.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span></p>
+<h3><a name="CASIMIRUS_LYRICORUM_LIB_IV_ODE_XV" id="CASIMIRUS_LYRICORUM_LIB_IV_ODE_XV"></a>
+CASIMIRUS, [LYRICORUM] LIB. IV. ODE XV.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Nothing on earth, nothing at all<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Can be exempted from the thrall<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of peevish weariness! The sun,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which our forefathers judg'd to run<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Clear and unspotted, in our days<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is tax'd with sullen eclips'd rays.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whatever in the glorious sky<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Man sees, his rash audacious eye<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dares censure it, and in mere spite<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At distance will condemn the light.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The wholesome mornings, whose beams clear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Those hills our fathers walk'd on here,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We fancy not; nor the moon's light<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which through their windows shin'd at night<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We change the air each year, and scorn<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Those seats in which we first were born.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some nice, affected wand'rers love<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Belgia's mild winters, others remove,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For want of health and honesty,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To summer it in Italy;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But to no end; the disease still<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sticks to his lord, and kindly will<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">To Venice in a barge repair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or coach it to Vienna's air;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And then&mdash;too late with home content&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They leave this wilful banishment.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But he, whose constancy makes sure<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His mind and mansion, lives secure<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From such vain tasks, can dine and sup<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where his old parents bred him up.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Content&mdash;no doubt!&mdash;most times doth dwell<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In country shades, or to some cell<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Confines itself; and can alone<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Make simple straw a royal throne.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span></p>
+<h3><a name="CASIMIRUS_LYRICORUM_LIB_IV_ODE_XIII" id="CASIMIRUS_LYRICORUM_LIB_IV_ODE_XIII"></a>
+CASIMIRUS, [LYRICORUM] LIB. IV. ODE XIII.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">If weeping eyes could wash away<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Those evils they mourn for night and day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then gladly I to cure my fears<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With my best jewels would buy tears.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But as dew feeds the growing corn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So crosses that are grown forlorn<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Increase with grief, tears make tears' way,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And cares kept up keep cares in pay.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That wretch whom Fortune finds to fear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And melting still into a tear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She strikes more boldly, but a face<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Silent and dry doth her amaze.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then leave thy tears, and tedious tale<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of what thou dost misfortunes call.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What thou by weeping think'st to ease,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Doth by that passion but increase;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hard things to soft will never yield,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Tis the dry eye that wins the field;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A noble patience quells the spite<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of Fortune, and disarms her quite.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span></p>
+<h3><a name="THE_PRAISE_OF_A_RELIGIOUS_LIFE_BY_MATHIAS_CASIMIRUS_EPODON_ODE_III"
+id="THE_PRAISE_OF_A_RELIGIOUS_LIFE_BY_MATHIAS_CASIMIRUS_EPODON_ODE_III"></a>
+THE PRAISE OF A RELIGIOUS LIFE BY MATHIAS CASIMIRUS. [EPODON ODE III.]
+IN ANSWER TO THAT ODE OF HORACE, BEATUS ILLE QUI PROCUL NEGOTIIS, &amp;c.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Flaccus, not so! that worldly he<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whom in the country's shade we see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ploughing his own fields, seldom can<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Be justly styl'd the blessed man.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That title only fits a saint,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose free thoughts, far above restraint<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And weighty cares, can gladly part<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With house and lands, and leave the smart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Litigious troubles and loud strife<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of this world for a better life.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He fears no cold nor heat to blast<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His corn, for his accounts are cast;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He sues no man, nor stands in awe<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of the devouring courts of law;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But all his time he spends in tears<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For the sins of his youthful years;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or having tasted those rich joys<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of a conscience without noise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sits in some fair shade, and doth give<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">To his wild thoughts rules how to live.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">He in the evening, when on high<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The stars shine in the silent sky,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Beholds th' eternal flames with mirth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And globes of light more large than Earth;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then weeps for joy, and through his tears<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Looks on the fire-enamell'd spheres,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where with his Saviour he would be<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lifted above mortality.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Meanwhile the golden stars do set,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the slow pilgrim leave all wet<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With his own tears, which flow so fast<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They make his sleeps light, and soon past.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By this, the sun o'er night deceas'd<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Breaks in fresh blushes from the East,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When, mindful of his former falls,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With strong cries to his God he calls,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And with such deep-drawn sighs doth move<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That He turns anger into love.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In the calm Spring, when the Earth bears,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And feeds on April's breath and tears,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His eyes, accustom'd to the skies,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Find here fresh objects, and like spies<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or busy bees, search the soft flow'rs,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Contemplate the green fields and bow'rs,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where he in veils and shades doth see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The back parts of the Deity.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then sadly sighing says, "O! how<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">These flow'rs with hasty, stretch'd heads grow<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">And strive for heav'n, but rooted here<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lament the distance with a tear!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The honeysuckles clad in white,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The rose in red, point to the light;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the lilies, hollow and bleak,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Look as if they would something speak;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They sigh at night to each soft gale,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And at the day-spring weep it all.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shall I then only&mdash;wretched I!&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Oppress'd with earth, on earth still lie?"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thus speaks he to the neighbour trees,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And many sad soliloquies<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To springs and fountains doth impart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Seeking God with a longing heart.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But if to ease his busy breast<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He thinks of home, and taking rest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A rural cot and common fare<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are all his cordials against care.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There at the door of his low cell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Under some shade, or near some well<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where the cool poplar grows, his plate<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of common earth without more state<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Expect their lord. Salt in a shell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Green cheese, thin beer, draughts that will tell<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No tales, a hospitable cup,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With some fresh berries, do make up<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His healthful feast; nor doth he wish<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For the fat carp, or a rare dish<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of Lucrine oysters; the swift quist<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Or pigeon sometimes&mdash;if he list&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With the slow goose that loves the stream,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fresh, various salads, and the bean<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By curious palates never sought,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And, to close with, some cheap unbought<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dish for digestion, are the most<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And choicest dainties he can boast.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Thus feasted, to the flow'ry groves<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or pleasant rivers he removes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where near some fair oak, hung with mast,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He shuns the South's infectious blast.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On shady banks sometimes he lies,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sometimes the open current tries,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where with his line and feather'd fly<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He sports, and takes the scaly fry.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Meanwhile each hollow wood and hill<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Doth ring with lowings long and shrill,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And shady lakes with rivers deep<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Echo the bleating of the sheep;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The blackbird with the pleasant thrush<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And nightingale in ev'ry bush<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Choice music give, and shepherds play<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Unto their flock some loving lay!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The thirsty reapers, in thick throngs,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Return home from the field with songs,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the carts, laden with ripe corn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Come groaning to the well-stor'd barn.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Nor pass we by, as the least good,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A peaceful, loving neighbourhood,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose honest wit, and chaste discourse<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Make none&mdash;by hearing it&mdash;the worse,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But innocent and merry, may<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Help&mdash;without sin&mdash;to spend the day.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Could now the tyrant usurer,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who plots to be a purchaser<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of his poor neighbour's seat, but taste<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">These true delights, O! with what haste<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And hatred of his ways, would he<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Renounce his Jewish cruelty,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And those curs'd sums, which poor men borrow<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On use to-day, remit to-morrow!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span></p>
+<h3><a name="AD_FLUVIUM_ISCAM" id="AD_FLUVIUM_ISCAM"></a>AD FLUVIUM ISCAM.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Isca parens florum, placido qui spumeus ore<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Lambis lapillos aureos;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Qui m&aelig;stos hyacinthos, et picti
+<span title='anthea'>&#7940;&#957;&#952;&#949;&#945;</span>
+ tophi<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Mulces susurris humidis;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dumque novas pergunt menses consumere lunas<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">C&oelig;lumque mortales terit,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Accumulas cum sole dies, &aelig;vumque per omne<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Fidelis induras latex;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O quis inaccessos et quali murmure lucos<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Mutumque solaris nemus!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Per te discerpti credo Thracis ire querelas<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Plectrumque divini senis.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span></p>
+<h3>
+<a name="VENERABILI_VIRO_PRAECEPTORI_SUO_OLIM_ET_SEMPER_COLENDISSIMO_MAGISTRO"
+id="VENERABILI_VIRO_PRAECEPTORI_SUO_OLIM_ET_SEMPER_COLENDISSIMO_MAGISTRO"></a>
+VENERABILI VIRO PR&AElig;CEPTORI SUO OLIM ET SEMPER COLENDISSIMO MAGISTRO
+MATH&AElig;O HERBERT.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Quod vixi, Math&aelig;e, dedit pater, h&aelig;c tamen olim<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Vita fluat, nec erit fas meminisse datam.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ultra curasti solers, perituraque mecum<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Nomina post cineres das resonare meos.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Divide discipulum: brevis h&aelig;c et lubrica nostri<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Pars vertat patri, posthuma vita tibi.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span></p>
+<h3>
+<a name="PRAESTANTISSIMO_VIRO_THOMAE_POELLO_IN_SUUM_DE_ELEMENTIS_OPTICAE"
+id="PRAESTANTISSIMO_VIRO_THOMAE_POELLO_IN_SUUM_DE_ELEMENTIS_OPTICAE"></a>
+PR&AElig;STANTISSIMO VIRO THOM&AElig; PO&Euml;LLO IN SUUM DE ELEMENTIS OPTIC&AElig;
+LIBELLUM.<a name="FNanchor_56_56" id="FNanchor_56_56"></a><a href="#Footnote_56_56" class="fnanchor">[56]</a></h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Vivaces oculorum ignes et lumina dia<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Fixit in angusto maximus orbe Deus;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ille explorantes radios dedit, et vaga lustra<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In quibus intuitus lexque, modusque latent.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hos tacitos jactus, lususque, volubilis orbis<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Pingis in exiguo, magne<a name="FNanchor_57_57" id="FNanchor_57_57"></a><a href="#Footnote_57_57" class="fnanchor">[57]</a> Po&euml;lle, libro,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Excursusque situsque ut Lynceus opticus, edis,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Quotque modis fallunt, quotque adhibenda fides.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">&AElig;mula Natur&aelig; manus! et mens conscia c&oelig;li.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Ilia videre dedit, vestra videre docet.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_56_56" id="Footnote_56_56"></a><a href="#FNanchor_56_56"><span class="label">[56]</span></a> The version in <i>Elementa Optic&aelig;</i> has <i>Eximio viro, et
+amicorum long&egrave; optimo, T. P. in hunc suum de Elementis Optic&aelig;
+libellum</i>.</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_57_57" id="Footnote_57_57"></a><a href="#FNanchor_57_57"><span class="label">[57]</span></a> <i>El. Opt.</i> has <i>docte</i>.</p></div>
+
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span></p>
+
+<h3><a name="AD_ECHUM" id="AD_ECHUM"></a>AD ECHUM.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O qu&aelig; frondos&aelig; per am&oelig;na cubilia silv&aelig;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nympha volas, lucoque loquax spatiaris in alto,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Annosi numen nemoris, saltusque verendi<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Effatum, cui sola placent postrema relatus!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Te per Narcissi morientis verba, precesque<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Per pueri lassatam animam, et conamina vit&aelig;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ultima, palantisque precor suspiria lingu&aelig;.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Da quo secret&aelig; h&aelig;c inc&aelig;dua devia silv&aelig;,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Anfractusque loci dubios, et lustra repandam.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sic tibi perpetua&mdash;meritoque&mdash;h&aelig;c regna juventa<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Luxurient, dabiturque tuis, sine fine, viretis<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Intactas lun&aelig; lachrymas, et lambere rorem<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Virgineum, c&oelig;lique animas haurire tepentis.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nec cedant &aelig;vo stellis, sed lucida semper<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Et satiata sacro &aelig;terni medicamine veris<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ostendant longe vegetos, ut sidera, vultus!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sic spiret muscata comas, et cinnama passim!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Diffundat levis umbra, in funere qualia spargit<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ph&oelig;nicis rogus aut Panche&aelig; nubila flamm&aelig;!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span></p>
+
+<hr class="major" />
+
+<h2 style='line-height:2em;font-size:200%;'>
+<a name="THALIA_REDIVIVA" id="THALIA_REDIVIVA"></a>
+                             THALIA REDIVIVA.<br />
+
+<span style='font-size:50%;'>1678</span>.
+</h2>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span></p>
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span></p>
+
+<h3>
+<a name="TO_THE_MOST_HONOURABLE_AND_TRULY_NOBLE_HENRY_LORD_MARQUIS_AND_EARL_OF"
+id="TO_THE_MOST_HONOURABLE_AND_TRULY_NOBLE_HENRY_LORD_MARQUIS_AND_EARL_OF"></a>
+TO THE MOST HONOURABLE AND TRULY NOBLE HENRY, LORD MARQUIS AND EARL OF
+WORCESTER,&nbsp;&amp;c.</h3>
+
+<p>My Lord,</p>
+
+<p>Though dedications are now become a kind of tyranny over the peace and
+repose of great men; yet I have confidence I shall so manage the present
+address as to entertain your lordship without much disturbance; and
+because my purposes are governed by deep respect and veneration, I hope
+to find your Lordship more facile and accessible. And I am already
+absolved from a great part of that fulsome and designing guilt, being
+sufficiently removed from the causes of it: for I consider, my Lord,
+that you are already so well known to the world in your several
+characters and advantages of honour&mdash;it was yours by traduction, and the
+adjunct of your nativity; you were swaddled and rocked in't, bred up and
+grew in't, to your now wonderful height and eminence&mdash;that for me under
+pretence of the inscription, to give you the heraldry of your family, or
+to carry your person through the famed topics of mind, body, or estate,
+were all one as to persuade the world that fire and light were very
+bright bodies, or that the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span> luminaries themselves had glory. In point of
+protection I beg to fall in with the common wont, and to be satisfied by
+the reasonableness of the thing, and abundant worthy precedents; and
+although I should have secret prophecy and assurance that the ensuing
+verse would live eternally, yet would I, as I now do, humbly crave it
+might be fortified with your patronage; for so the sextile aspects and
+influences are watched for, and applied to the actions of life, thereby
+to make the scheme and good auguries of the birth pass into Fate, and a
+success infallible.</p>
+
+<p>My Lord, by a happy obliging intercession, and your own consequent
+indulgence, I have now recourse to your Lordship, hoping I shall not
+much displease by putting these twin poets into your hands. The minion
+and vertical planet of the Roman lustre and bravery, was never better
+pleased than when he had a whole constellation about him: not his
+finishing five several wars to the promoting of his own interest, nor
+particularly the prodigious success at Actium where he held in chase the
+wealth, beauty and prowess of the East; not the triumphs and absolute
+dominions which followed: all this gave him not half that serene pride
+and satisfaction of spirit as when he retired himself to umpire the
+different excellencies of his insipid friends, and to distribute laurels
+among his poetic heroes. If now upon the authority of this and several
+such examples, I had the ability and opportunity of drawing the value
+and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span> strange worth of a poet, and withal of applying some of the
+lineaments to the following pieces, I should then do myself a real
+service, and atone in a great measure for the present insolence. But
+best of all will it serve my defence and interest, to appeal to your
+Lordship's own conceptions and image of genuine verse; with which so
+just, so regular original, if these copies shall hold proportion and
+resemblance, then am I advanced very far in your Lordship's pardon: the
+rest will entirely be supplied me by your Lordship's goodness, and my
+own awful zeal of being, my Lord,</p>
+
+<p>
+Your Lordship's most obedient,<br />
+<span style='margin-left:6em;'>most humbly devoted servant,</span><br />
+<span style='margin-left:12em;'>J. W.</span></p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span></p>
+
+<hr class="major" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span></p>
+
+<h3>TO THE READER.</h3>
+
+
+<p>The Nation of Poets above all Writers has ever challenged perpetuity of
+name, or as they please by their charter of liberty to call it,
+Immortality. Nor has the World much disputed their claim, either easily
+resigning a patrimony in itself not very substantial; or, it may be, out
+of despair to control the authority of inspiration and oracle. Howsoever
+the price as now quarrelled for among the poets themselves is no such
+rich bargain: it is only a vanishing interest in the lees and dregs of
+Time, in the rear of those Fathers and Worthies in the art, who if they
+know anything of the heats and fury of their successors, must extremely
+pity them.</p>
+
+<p>I am to assure, that the Author has no portion of that airy happiness to
+lose, by any injury or unkindness which may be done to his Verse: his
+reputation is better built in the sentiment of several judicious
+persons, who know him very well able to give himself a lasting monument,
+by undertaking any argument of note in the whole circle of learning.</p>
+
+<p>But even these his Diversions have been valuable
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span>
+with the matchless
+Orinda; and since they deserved her esteem and commendations, who so
+thinks them not worth the publishing, will put himself in the opposite
+scale, where his own arrogance will blow him up.</p>
+
+<p style='text-align:right; margin-right:2em;'>I. W.</p>
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span></p>
+
+<h3><a name="TO_MR_HENRY_VAUGHAN_THE_SILURIST_UPON_THESE_AND_HIS_FORMER_POEMS"
+id="TO_MR_HENRY_VAUGHAN_THE_SILURIST_UPON_THESE_AND_HIS_FORMER_POEMS"></a>
+TO MR. HENRY VAUGHAN THE SILURIST: UPON THESE AND HIS FORMER POEMS.<a name="FNanchor_58_58" id="FNanchor_58_58"></a><a href="#Footnote_58_58" class="fnanchor">[58]</a>
+</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Had I ador'd the multitude, and thence<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Got an antipathy to wit and sense,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And hugg'd that fate, in hope the world would grant<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Twas good affection to be ignorant;<a name="FNanchor_59_59" id="FNanchor_59_59"></a><a href="#Footnote_59_59" class="fnanchor">[59]</a><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet the least ray of thy bright fancy seen,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I had converted, or excuseless been.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For each birth of thy Muse to after-times<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shall expiate for all this Age's crimes.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">First shines thy Amoret, twice crown'd by thee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Once by thy love, next by thy poetry;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where thou the best of unions dost dispense,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Truth cloth'd in wit, and Love in innocence;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So that the muddy lover may learn here,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No fountains can be sweet that are not clear.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There Juvenal, by thee reviv'd, declares<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How flat man's joys are, and how mean his cares;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And wisely doth upbraid<a name="FNanchor_60_60" id="FNanchor_60_60"></a><a href="#Footnote_60_60" class="fnanchor">[60]</a> the world, that they<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Should such a value for their ruin pay.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span>
+<span class="i2">But when thy sacred Muse diverts her quil<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The landscape to design of Sion's hill,<a name="FNanchor_61_61" id="FNanchor_61_61"></a><a href="#Footnote_61_61" class="fnanchor">[61]</a><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As nothing else was worthy her, or thee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So we admire almost t' idolatry.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What savage breast would not be rapt to find<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Such jewels in such cabinets enshrin'd?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou fill'd with joys&mdash;too great to see or count&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Descend'st from thence, like Moses from the Mount,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And with a candid, yet unquestion'd awe<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Restor'st the Golden Age, when Verse was Law.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Instructing us, thou so secur'st<a name="FNanchor_62_62" id="FNanchor_62_62"></a><a href="#Footnote_62_62" class="fnanchor">[62]</a> thy fame,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That nothing can disturb it but my name:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nay, I have hopes that standing so near thine<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Twill lose its dross, and by degrees refine.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Live! till the disabus&egrave;d world consent<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All truths of use, of strength or ornament,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are with such harmony by thee display'd<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As the whole world was first by number made,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And from the charming rigour thy Muse brings<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Learn, there's no pleasure but in serious things!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p style='text-align:right; margin-right:2em;'>Orinda.</p>
+
+<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_58_58" id="Footnote_58_58"></a><a href="#FNanchor_58_58"><span class="label">[58]</span></a> 1664-1667 have To <i>Mr. Henry Vaughan, Silurist, on his
+Poems</i>.</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_59_59" id="Footnote_59_59"></a><a href="#FNanchor_59_59"><span class="label">[59]</span></a> So 1664-1667. <i>Thalia Rediviva</i> has <i>the ignorant</i>.</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_60_60" id="Footnote_60_60"></a><a href="#FNanchor_60_60"><span class="label">[60]</span></a> 1664 has <i>generally upbraids</i>; 1667, <i>generously
+upbraids</i></p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_61_61" id="Footnote_61_61"></a><a href="#FNanchor_61_61"><span class="label">[61]</span></a> 1664-1667 have <i>Leon's hill</i>.</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_62_62" id="Footnote_62_62"></a><a href="#FNanchor_62_62"><span class="label">[62]</span></a> 1664 has <i>thou who securest</i>.</p></div>
+</div>
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span></p>
+
+<h3>
+<a name="UPON_THE_INGENIOUS_POEMS_OF_HIS_LEARNED_FRIEND_MR_HENRY_VAUGHAN_THE"
+id="UPON_THE_INGENIOUS_POEMS_OF_HIS_LEARNED_FRIEND_MR_HENRY_VAUGHAN_THE"></a>
+UPON THE INGENIOUS POEMS OF HIS LEARNED FRIEND, MR. HENRY VAUGHAN, THE
+SILURIST.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Fairly design'd! to charm our civil rage<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With verse, and plant bays in an iron age!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But hath steel'd Mars so ductible a soul,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That love and poesy may it control?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yes! brave Tyrt&aelig;us, as we read of old,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Grecian armies as he pleas'd could mould;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They march'd to his high numbers, and did fight<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With that instinct and rage, which he did write.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When he fell lower, they would straight retreat,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Grow soft and calm, and temper their bold heat.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Such magic is in Virtue! See here a young<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Tyrt&aelig;us too, whose sweet persuasive song<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Can lead our spirits any way, and move<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To all adventures, either war or love.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then veil the bright Etesia, that choice she,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lest Mars&mdash;Timander's friend&mdash;his rival be.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So fair a nymph, dress'd by a Muse so neat,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Might warm the North, and thaw the frozen Gete.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p style='text-align:right; margin-right:2em;'>Tho. Powell, D.D.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span></p>
+
+<h3>
+<a name="TO_THE_INGENIOUS_AUTHOR_OF_THALIA_REDIVIVA"
+id="TO_THE_INGENIOUS_AUTHOR_OF_THALIA_REDIVIVA"></a>
+TO THE INGENIOUS AUTHOR OF THALIA REDIVIVA.</h3>
+
+
+<h4><span class='smcap'>Ode</span> I.</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Where reverend bards of old have sate<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And sung the pleasant interludes of Fate,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Thou takest the hereditary shade<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Which Nature's homely art had made,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And thence thou giv'st thy Muse her swing, and she<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Advances to the galaxy;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There with the sparkling Cowley she above<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Does hand in hand in graceful measures move.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">We grovelling mortals gaze below,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">And long in vain to know<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Her wondrous paths, her wondrous flight:<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">In vain, alas! we grope,<a name="FNanchor_63_63" id="FNanchor_63_63"></a><a href="#Footnote_63_63" class="fnanchor">[63]</a><br /></span>
+<span class="i4">In vain we use our earthly telescope,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">We're blinded by an intermedial night.<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Thine eagle-Muse can only face<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">The fiery coursers in their race,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">While with unequal paces we do try<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To bear her train aloft, and keep her company.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h4>II.</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">The loud harmonious Mantuan<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Once charm'd the world; and here's the Uscan swan<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span>
+<span class="i2">In his declining years does chime,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And challenges the last remains of Time.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Ages run on, and soon give o'er,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">They have their graves as well as we;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Time swallows all that's past and more,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Yet time is swallow'd in eternity:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">This is the only profits poets see.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There thy triumphant Muse shall ride in state<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And lead in chains devouring Fate;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Claudian's bright Ph&oelig;nix she shall bring<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Thee an immortal offering;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor shall my humble tributary Muse<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her homage and attendance too refuse;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">She thrusts herself among the crowd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And joining in th' applause she strives to clap aloud<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h4>III.</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Tell me no more that Nature is severe,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Thou great philosopher!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lo! she has laid her vast exchequer here.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Tell me no more that she has sent<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">So much already, she is spent;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Here is a vast America behind<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which none but the great Silurist could find.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Nature her last edition was the best,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As big, as rich as all the rest:<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">So will we here admit<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Another world of wit.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">No rude or savage fancy here shall stay<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The travelling reader in his way,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But every coast is clear: go where he will,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Virtue's the road Thalia leads him still.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Long may she live, and wreath thy sacred head<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For this her happy resurrection from the dead.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p style='text-align:right; margin-right:2em;'>
+N. W., Jes. Coll., Oxon.</p>
+
+<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_63_63" id="Footnote_63_63"></a><a href="#FNanchor_63_63"><span class="label">[63]</span></a> The original has <i>flight In raine; alas! we grope</i>.</p></div>
+
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span></p>
+
+<h3><a name="TO_MY_WORTHY_FRIEND_MR_HENRY_VAUGHAN_THE_SILURIST"
+id="TO_MY_WORTHY_FRIEND_MR_HENRY_VAUGHAN_THE_SILURIST"></a>
+TO MY WORTHY FRIEND, MR. HENRY VAUGHAN THE SILURIST.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">See what thou wert! by what Platonic round<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Art thou in thy first youth and glories found?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or from thy Muse does this retrieve accrue?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Does she which once inspir'd thee, now renew,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bringing thee back those golden years which Time<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Smooth'd to thy lays, and polish'd with thy rhyme?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor is't to thee alone she does convey<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Such happy change, but bountiful as day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On whatsoever reader she does shine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She makes him like thee, and for ever thine.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And first thy manual op'ning gives to see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Eclipse and suff'rings burnish majesty,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where thou so artfully the draught hast made<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That we best read the lustre in the shade,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And find our sov'reign greater in that shroud:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So lightning dazzles from its night and cloud,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So the First Light Himself has for His throne<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Blackness, and darkness his pavilion.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Who can refuse thee company, or stay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By thy next charming summons forc'd away,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If that be force which we can so resent,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That only in its joys 'tis violent:<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Upward thy Eagle bears us ere aware,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till above storms and all tempestuous air<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We radiant worlds with their bright people meet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Leaving this little all beneath our feet.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But now the pleasure is too great to tell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor have we other bus'ness than to dwell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As on the hallow'd Mount th' Apostles meant<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To build and fix their glorious banishment.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet we must know and find thy skilful vein<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shall gently bear us to our homes again;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By which descent thy former flight's impli'd<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To be thy ecstacy and not thy pride.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And here how well does the wise Muse demean<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Herself, and fit her song to ev'ry scene!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Riot of courts, the bloody wreaths of war,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Cheats of the mart, and clamours of the bar,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nay, life itself thou dost so well express,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Its hollow joys, and real emptiness,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That Dorian minstrel never did excite,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or raise for dying so much appetite.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Nor does thy other softer magic move<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Us less thy fam'd Etesia to love;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where such a character thou giv'st, that shame<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor envy dare approach the vestal dame:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So at bright prime ideas none repine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They safely in th' eternal poet shine.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Gladly th' Assyrian ph&oelig;nix now resumes<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From thee this last reprisal of his plumes;<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">He seems another more miraculous thing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Brighter of crest, and stronger of his wing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Proof against Fate in spicy urns to come,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Immortal past all risk of martyrdom.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Nor be concern'd, nor fancy thou art rude<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">T' adventure from thy Cambrian solitude:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Best from those lofty cliffs thy Muse does spring<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Upwards, and boldly spreads her cherub wing.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">So when the sage of Memphis would converse<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With boding skies, and th' azure universe,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He climbs his starry pyramid, and thence<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Freely sucks clean prophetic influence,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all serene, and rapt and gay he pries<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Through the ethereal volume's mysteries,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Loth to come down, or ever to know more<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Nile's luxurious, but dull foggy shore.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p style='text-align:right; margin-right:2em;'>I. W., A.M. Oxon.</p>
+
+<hr class="major" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2 style='font-size:200%;'>
+<a name="CHOICE_POEMS_ON_SEVERAL_OCCASIONS"
+id="CHOICE_POEMS_ON_SEVERAL_OCCASIONS"></a>
+                    CHOICE POEMS ON SEVERAL OCCASIONS.
+</h2>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+
+<h3>
+<a name="TO_HIS_LEARNED_FRIEND_AND_LOYAL_FELLOW-PRISONER_THOMAS_POWEL_OF"
+id="TO_HIS_LEARNED_FRIEND_AND_LOYAL_FELLOW-PRISONER_THOMAS_POWEL_OF"></a>
+TO HIS LEARNED FRIEND AND LOYAL FELLOW-PRISONER, THOMAS POWEL OF
+CANT[REFF], DOCTOR OF DIVINITY.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">If sever'd friends by sympathy can join,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And absent kings be honour'd in their coin;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">May they do both, who are so curb'd? but we<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whom no such abstracts torture, that can see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And pay each other a full self-return,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">May laugh, though all such metaphysics burn.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">'Tis a kind soul in magnets, that atones<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Such two hard things as iron are and stones,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And in their dumb compliance we learn more<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of love, than ever books could speak before.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For though attraction hath got all the name,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As if that power but from one side came,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which both unites; yet, where there is no sense<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There is no passion, nor intelligence:<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">And so by consequence we cannot state<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A commerce, unless both we animate.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For senseless things, though ne'er so called upon,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are deaf, and feel no invitation,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But such as at the last day shall be shed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By the great Lord of life into the dead.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Tis then no heresy to end the strife<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With such rare doctrine as gives iron life.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For were it otherwise&mdash;which cannot be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And do thou judge my bold philosophy&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then it would follow that if I were dead,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy love, as now in life, would in that bed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of earth and darkness warm me, and dispense<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Effectual informing influence.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Since then 'tis clear, that friendship is nought else<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But a joint, kind propension, and excess<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In none, but such whose equal, easy hearts<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Comply and meet both in their whole and parts,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And when they cannot meet, do not forget<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To mingle souls, but secretly reflect<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And some third place their centre make, where they<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Silently mix, and make an unseen stay:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let me not say&mdash;though poets may be bold&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou art more hard than steel, than stones more cold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But as the marigold in feasts of dew<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And early sunbeams, though but thin and few,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Unfolds itself, then from the Earth's cold breast<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Heaves gently, and salutes the hopeful East:<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">So from thy quiet cell, the retir'd throne<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of thy fair thoughts, which silently bemoan<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Our sad distractions, come! and richly dress'd<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With reverend mirth and manners, check the rest<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of loose, loath'd men! Why should I longer be<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Rack'd 'twixt two evils? I see and cannot see.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span></p>
+<h3><a name="THE_KING_DISGUISED" id="THE_KING_DISGUISED"></a>
+THE KING DISGUISED.</h3>
+
+<p class='center'><i>Written about the same time that Mr. John Cleveland
+wrote his.</i></p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">A king and no king! Is he gone from us,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And stoln alive into his coffin thus?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This was to ravish death, and so prevent<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The rebels' treason and their punishment.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He would not have them damn'd, and therefore he<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Himself depos&egrave;d his own majesty.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wolves did pursue him, and to fly the ill<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He wanders&mdash;royal saint!&mdash;in sheepskin still.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Poor, obscure shelter, if that shelter be<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Obscure, which harbours so much majesty.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hence, profane eyes! the mystery's so deep,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like Esdras books, the vulgar must not see't.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Thou flying roll, written with tears and woe,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not for thy royal self, but for thy foe!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy grief is prophecy, and doth portend,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like sad Ezekiel's sighs, the rebel's end.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy robes forc'd off, like Samuel's when rent,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Do figure out another's punishment.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor grieve thou hast put off thyself awhile,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To serve as prophet to this sinful isle;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">These are our days of Purim, which oppress<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Church, and force thee to the wilderness.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But all these clouds cannot thy light confine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The sun in storms and after them, will shine.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy day of life cannot be yet complete,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Tis early, sure, thy shadow is so great.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But I am vex'd, that we at all can guess<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This change, and trust great Charles to such a dress.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When he was first obscur'd with this coarse thing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He grac'd plebeians, but profan'd the king:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like some fair church, which zeal to charcoals burn'd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or his own court now to an alehouse turn'd.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But full as well may we blame night, and chide<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His wisdom, Who doth light with darkness hide,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or deny curtains to thy royal bed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As take this sacred cov'ring from thy head.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Secrets of State are points we must not know;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This vizard is thy privy-council now,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou royal riddle, and in everything<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The true white prince, our hieroglyphic king!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ride safely in His shade, Who gives thee light,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And can with blindness thy pursuers smite.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O! may they wander all from thee as far<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As they from peace are, and thyself from war!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And wheresoe'er thou dost design to be<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">With thy&mdash;now spotted&mdash;spotless majesty,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Be sure to look no sanctuary there,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor hope for safety in a temple, where<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Buyers and sellers trade: O! strengthen not<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With too much trust the treason of a Scot!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span></p>
+<h3><a name="THE_EAGLE" id="THE_EAGLE"></a>THE EAGLE.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Tis madness sure; and I am in the fit,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To dare an eagle with my unfledg'd wit.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For what did ever Rome or Athens sing<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In all their lines, as lofty as his wing?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He that an eagle's powers would rehearse<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Should with his plumes first feather all his verse.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I know not, when into thee I would pry,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which to admire, thy wing first, or thine eye;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or whether Nature at thy birth design'd<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">More of her fire for thee, or of her wind.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When thou in the clear heights and upmost air<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dost face the sun and his dispers&egrave;d hair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ev'n from that distance thou the sea dost spy<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And sporting in its deep, wide lap, the fry.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not the least minnow there but thou canst see:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whole seas are narrow spectacles to thee.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Nor is this element of water here<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Below of all thy miracles the sphere.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If poets ought may add unto thy store,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou hast in heav'n of wonders many more.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For when just Jove to earth his thunder bends,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And from that bright, eternal fortress sends<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His louder volleys, straight this bird doth fly<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To &AElig;tna, where his magazine doth lie,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">And in his active talons brings him more<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of ammunition, and recruits his store.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor is't a low or easy lift. He soars<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Bove wind and fire; gets to the moon, and pores<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With scorn upon her duller face; for she<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Gives him but shadows and obscurity.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Here much displeas'd, that anything like night<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Should meet him in his proud and lofty flight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That such dull tinctures should advance so far,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And rival in the glories of a star,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Resolv'd he is a nobler course to try,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And measures out his voyage with his eye.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then with such fury he begins his flight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As if his wings contended with his sight.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Leaving the moon, whose humble light doth trade<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With spots, and deals most in the dark and shade,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To the day's royal planet he doth pass<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With daring eyes, and makes the sun his glass.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Here doth he plume and dress himself, the beams<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Rushing upon him like so many streams;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While with direct looks he doth entertain<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The thronging flames, and shoots them back again.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And thus from star to star he doth repair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And wantons in that pure and peaceful air.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sometimes he frights the starry swan, and now<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Orion's fearful hare, and then the crow.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then with the orb itself he moves, to see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which is more swift, th' intelligence or he.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Thus with his wings his body he hath brought<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where man can travel only in a thought.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I will not seek, rare bird, what spirit 'tis<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That mounts thee thus; I'll be content with this,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To think that Nature made thee to express<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Our soul's bold heights in a material dress.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span></p>
+<h3><a name="TO_MR_M_L_UPON_HIS_REDUCTION_OF_THE_PSALMS_INTO_METHOD" id="TO_MR_M_L_UPON_HIS_REDUCTION_OF_THE_PSALMS_INTO_METHOD"></a>
+TO MR. M. L. UPON HIS REDUCTION OF THE PSALMS INTO METHOD.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Sir,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">You have oblig'd the patriarch, and 'tis known<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He is your debtor now, though for his own.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What he wrote is a medley: we can see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Confusion trespass on his piety.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Misfortunes did not only strike at him,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They charg&egrave;d further, and oppress'd his pen;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For he wrote as his crosses came, and went<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By no safe rule, but by his punishment.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His quill mov'd by the rod; his wits and he<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Did know no method, but their misery.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">You brought his Psalms now into tune. Nay all<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His measures thus are more than musical;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Your method and his airs are justly sweet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And&mdash;what's church music right&mdash;like anthems meet.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You did so much in this, that I believe<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He gave the matter, you the form did give.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And yet I wish you were not understood,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For now 'tis a misfortune to be good!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Why then you'll say, all I would have, is this:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">None must be good, because the time's amiss.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For since wise Nature did ordain the night,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I would not have the sun to give us light.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Whereas this doth not take the use away,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But urgeth the necessity of day.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Proceed to make your pious work as free,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Stop not your seasonable charity.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Good works despis'd or censur'd by bad times<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Should be sent out to aggravate their crimes.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They should first share and then reject our store,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Abuse our good, to make their guilt the more.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Tis war strikes at our sins, but it must be<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A persecution wounds our piety.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span></p>
+<h3>
+<a name="TO_THE_PIOUS_MEMORY_OF_CHARLES_WALBEOFFE_ESQUIRE_WHO_FINISHED_HIS"
+id="TO_THE_PIOUS_MEMORY_OF_CHARLES_WALBEOFFE_ESQUIRE_WHO_FINISHED_HIS"></a>
+TO THE PIOUS MEMORY OF C[HARLES] W[ALBEOFFE] ESQUIRE, WHO FINISHED HIS
+COURSE HERE, AND MADE HIS ENTRANCE INTO IMMORTALITY UPON THE 13 OF
+SEPTEMBER, IN THE YEAR OF REDEMPTION, 1653.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Now that the public sorrow doth subside,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And those slight tears which custom springs are dried;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While all the rich and outside mourners pass<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Home from thy dust, to empty their own glass;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I&mdash;who the throng affect not, nor their state&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Steal to thy grave undress'd, to meditate<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On our sad loss, accompanied by none,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An obscure mourner that would weep alone.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">So, when the world's great luminary sets,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some scarce known star into the zenith gets,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Twinkles and curls, a weak but willing spark,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As glow-worms here do glitter in the dark.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet, since the dimmest flame that kindles there<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An humble love unto the light doth bear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And true devotion from an hermit's cell<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Will Heav'n's kind King as soon reach and as well,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As that which from rich shrines and altars flies,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Led by ascending incense to the skies:<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">'Tis no malicious rudeness, if the might<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of love makes dark things wait upon the bright,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And from my sad retirements calls me forth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The just recorder of thy death and worth.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Long didst thou live&mdash;if length be measured by<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The tedious reign of our calamity&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And counter to all storms and changes still<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Kept'st the same temper, and the selfsame will.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though trials came as duly as the day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And in such mists, that none could see his way,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet thee I found still virtuous, and saw<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The sun give clouds, and Charles give both the law.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When private interest did all hearts bend,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And wild dissents the public peace did rend,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou, neither won, nor worn, wert still thyself,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not aw'd by force, nor basely brib'd with pelf.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">What the insuperable stream of times<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Did dash thee with, those suff'rings were, not crimes.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So the bright sun eclipses bears; and we,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Because then passive, blame him not. Should he<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For enforc'd shades, and the moon's ruder veil<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Much nearer us than him, be judg'd to fail?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who traduce thee, so err. As poisons by<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Correction are made antidotes, so thy<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Just soul did turn ev'n hurtful things to good,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Us'd bad laws so they drew not tears, nor blood.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Heav'n was thy aim, and thy great, rare design<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was not to lord it here, but there to shine.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Earth nothing had, could tempt thee. All that e'er<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou pray'd'st for here was peace, and glory there.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For though thy course in Time's long progress fell<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On a sad age, when war and open'd hell<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Licens'd all arts and sects, and made it free<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To thrive by fraud, and blood, and blasphemy:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet thou thy just inheritance didst by<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No sacrilege, nor pillage multiply.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No rapine swell'd thy state, no bribes, nor fees,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Our new oppressors' best annuities.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Such clean pure hands hadst thou! and for thy heart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Man's secret region, and his noblest part;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Since I was privy to't, and had the key<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of that fair room, where thy bright spirit lay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I must affirm it did as much surpass<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Most I have known, as the clear sky doth glass.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Constant and kind, and plain, and meek, and mild<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It was, and with no new conceits defil'd.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Busy, but sacred thoughts&mdash;like bees&mdash;did still<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Within it stir, and strive unto that hill<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where redeem'd spirits, evermore alive,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">After their work is done, ascend and hive.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No outward tumults reach'd this inward place:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Twas holy ground, where peace, and love, and grace<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Kept house, where the immortal restless life,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In a most dutiful and pious strife,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like a fix'd watch, mov'd all in order still;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The will serv'd God, and ev'ry sense the will!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In this safe state Death met thee, Death, which is<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But a kind usher of the good to bliss,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Therefore to weep because thy course is run,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or droop like flow'rs, which lately lost the sun,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I cannot yield, since Faith will not permit<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A tenure got by conquest to the pit.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For the great Victor fought for us, and He<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Counts ev'ry dust that is laid up of thee.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Besides, Death now grows decrepit, and hath<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Spent the most part both of its time and wrath.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That thick, black night, which mankind fear'd, is torn<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By troops of stars, and the bright day's forlorn.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The next glad news&mdash;most glad unto the just!&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Will be the trumpet's summons from the dust.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then I'll not grieve; nay, more, I'll not allow<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My soul should think thee absent from me now.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some bid their dead "Good night!" but I will say<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Good morrow to dear Charles!" for it is day.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span></p>
+<h3><a name="IN_ZODIACUM_MARCELLI_PALINGENII" id="IN_ZODIACUM_MARCELLI_PALINGENII"></a>
+IN ZODIACUM MARCELLI PALINGENII.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">It is perform'd! and thy great name doth run<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Through ev'ry sign, an everlasting sun,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not planet-like, but fixed; and we can see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy genius stand still in his apogee.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For how canst thou an aux eternal miss,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where ev'ry house thy exaltation is?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Here's no ecliptic threatens thee with night,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Although the wiser few take in thy light.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They are not at that glorious pitch, to be<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In a conjunction with divinity.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Could we partake some oblique ray of thine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Salute thee in a sextile, or a trine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It were enough; but thou art flown so high,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The telescope is turn'd a common eye.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Had the grave Chaldee liv'd thy book to see,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He had known no astrology but thee;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nay, more&mdash;for I believe't&mdash;thou shouldst have been<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Tutor to all his planets, and to him.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thus, whosoever reads thee, his charm'd sense<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Proves captive to thy zodiac's influence.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Were it not foul to err so, I should look<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Here for the Rabbins' universal book:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And say, their fancies did but dream of thee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When first they doted on that mystery.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Each line's a _via lactea_, where we may<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">See thy fair steps, and tread that happy way<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy genius led thee in. Still I will be<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lodg'd in some sign, some face, and some degree<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of thy bright zodiac; thus I'll teach my sense<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To move by that, and thee th' intelligence.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span></p>
+<h3><a name="TO_LYSIMACHUS_THE_AUTHOR_BEING_WITH_HIM_IN_LONDON" id="TO_LYSIMACHUS_THE_AUTHOR_BEING_WITH_HIM_IN_LONDON"></a>
+TO LYSIMACHUS, THE AUTHOR BEING WITH HIM IN LONDON.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Saw not, Lysimachus, last day, when we<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Took the pure air in its simplicity,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And our own too, how the trimm'd gallants went<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Cringing, and pass'd each step some compliment?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What strange, fantastic diagrams they drew<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With legs and arms; the like we never knew<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In Euclid, Archimede, nor all of those<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose learn&egrave;d lines are neither verse nor prose?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What store of lace was there? how did the gold<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Run in rich traces, but withal made bold<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To measure the proud things, and so deride<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The fops with that, which was part of their pride?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How did they point at us, and boldly call,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As if we had been vassals to them all,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their poor men-mules, sent thither by hard fate<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To yoke ourselves for their sedans, and state?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of all ambitions, this was not the least,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose drift translated man into a beast.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What blind discourse the heroes did afford!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This lady was their friend, and such a lord.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How much of blood was in it! one could tell<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He came from Bevis and his Arundel;<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Morglay was yet with him, and he could do<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">More feats with it than his old grandsire too.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Wonders my friend at this? what is't to thee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who canst produce a nobler pedigree,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And in mere truth affirm thy soul of kin<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To some bright star, or to a cherubin?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When these in their profuse moods spend the night,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With the same sins they drive away the light.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy learn&egrave;d thrift puts her to use, while she<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Reveals her fiery volume unto thee;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And looking on the separated skies,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And their clear lamps, with careful thoughts and eyes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou break'st through Nature's upmost rooms and bars<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To heav'n, and there conversest with the stars.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Well fare such harmless, happy nights, that be<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Obscur'd with nothing but their privacy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And missing but the false world's glories do<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Miss all those vices which attend them too!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fret not to hear their ill-got, ill-giv'n praise;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy darkest nights outshine their brightest days.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span></p>
+<h3><a name="ON_SIR_THOMAS_BODLEYS_LIBRARY_THE_AUTHOR_BEING_THEN_IN_OXFORD" id="ON_SIR_THOMAS_BODLEYS_LIBRARY_THE_AUTHOR_BEING_THEN_IN_OXFORD"></a>
+ON SIR THOMAS BODLEY'S LIBRARY, THE AUTHOR BEING THEN IN OXFORD.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Boast not, proud Golgotha, that thou canst show<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The ruins of mankind, and let us know<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How frail a thing is flesh! though we see there<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But empty skulls, the Rabbins still live here.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They are not dead, but full of blood again;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I mean the sense, and ev'ry line a vein.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Triumph not o'er their dust; whoever looks<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In here, shall find their brains all in their books.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Nor is't old Palestine alone survives;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Athens lives here, more than in Plutarch's Lives.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The stones, which sometimes danc'd unto the strain<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of Orpheus, here do lodge his Muse again.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And you, the Roman spirits, learning has<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Made your lives longer than your empire was.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">C&aelig;sar had perish'd from the world of men<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Had not his sword been rescu'd by his pen.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Rare Seneca, how lasting is thy breath!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though Nero did, thou couldst not bleed to death.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How dull the expert tyrant was, to look<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For that in thee which liv&egrave;d in thy book!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Afflictions turn our blood to ink, and we<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Commence, when writing, our eternity.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lucilius here I can behold, and see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His counsels and his life proceed from thee.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But what care I to whom thy Letters be?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I change the name, and thou dost write to me;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And in this age, as sad almost as thine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy stately Consolations are mine.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Poor earth! what though thy viler dust enrolls<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The frail enclosures of these mighty souls?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their graves are all upon record; not one<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But is as bright and open as the sun.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And though some part of them obscurely fell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And perish'd in an unknown, private cell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet in their books they found a glorious way<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To live unto the Resurrection-day!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Most noble Bodley! we are bound to thee<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For no small part of our eternity.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy treasure was not spent on horse and hound,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor that new mode which doth old states confound.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy legacies another way did go:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor were they left to those would spend them so.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy safe, discreet expense on us did flow;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Walsam is in the midst of Oxford now.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Th' hast made us all thine heirs; whatever we<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hereafter write, 'tis thy posterity.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This is thy monument! here thou shalt stand<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till the times fail in their last grain of sand.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And wheresoe'er thy silent relics keep,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">This tomb will never let thine honour sleep,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Still we shall think upon thee; all our fame<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Meets here to speak one letter of thy name.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou canst not die! here thou art more than safe,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where every book is thy large epitaph.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span></p>
+<h3><a name="THE_IMPORTUNATE_FORTUNE_WRITTEN_TO_DR_POWEL_OF_CANTREFF" id="THE_IMPORTUNATE_FORTUNE_WRITTEN_TO_DR_POWEL_OF_CANTREFF"></a>
+THE IMPORTUNATE FORTUNE, WRITTEN TO DR. POWEL, OF CANTRE[FF].</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">For shame desist, why shouldst thou seek my fall?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It cannot make thee more monarchical.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Leave off; thy empire is already built;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To ruin me were to enlarge thy guilt,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not thy prerogative. I am not he<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Must be the measure to thy victory.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Fates hatch more for thee; 'twere a disgrace<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If in thy annals I should make a clause.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The future ages will disclose such men<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shall be the glory, and the end of them.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor do I flatter. So long as there be<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Descents in Nature, or posterity,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There must be fortunes; whether they be good,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As swimming in thy tide and plenteous flood,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or stuck fast in the shallow ebb, when we<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Miss to deserve thy gorgeous charity.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thus, Fortune, the great world thy period is;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nature and you are parallels in this.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But thou wilt urge me still. Away, be gone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I am resolv'd, I will not be undone.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I scorn thy trash, and thee: nay, more, I do<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Despise myself, because thy subject too.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Name me heir to thy malice, and I'll be;<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy hate's the best inheritance for me.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I care not for your wondrous hat and purse,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Make me a Fortunatus with thy curse.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How careful of myself then should I be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Were I neglected by the world and thee?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Why dost thou tempt me with thy dirty ore,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And with thy riches make my soul so poor?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My fancy's pris'ner to thy gold and thee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy favours rob me of my liberty.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'll to my speculations. Is't best<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To be confin'd to some dark, narrow chest<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And idolize thy stamps, when I may be<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lord of all Nature, and not slave to thee?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The world's my palace. I'll contemplate there,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And make my progress into ev'ry sphere.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The chambers of the air are mine; those three<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Well-furnish'd stories my possession be.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I hold them all <i>in capite</i>, and stand<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Propp'd by my fancy there. I scorn your land,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It lies so far below me. Here I see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How all the sacred stars do circle me.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou to the great giv'st rich food, and I do<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Want no content; I feed on manna too.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They have their tapers; I gaze without fear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On flying lamps and flaming comets here.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their wanton flesh in silks and purple shrouds,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And fancy wraps me in a robe of clouds.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There some delicious beauty they may woo,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I have Nature for my mistress too.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span>
+<span class="i2">But these are mean; the archetype I can see,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And humbly touch the hem of majesty.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The power of my soul is such, I can<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Expire, and so analyze all that's man.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">First my dull clay I give unto the Earth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Our common mother, which gives all their birth.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My growing faculties I send as soon,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whence first I took them, to the humid moon.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All subtleties and every cunning art<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To witty Mercury I do impart.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Those fond affections which made me a slave<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To handsome faces, Venus, thou shalt have.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And saucy pride&mdash;if there was aught in me&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sol, I return it to thy royalty.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My daring rashness and presumptions be<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To Mars himself an equal legacy.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My ill-plac'd avarice&mdash;sure 'tis but small&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Jove, to thy flames I do bequeath it all.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And my false magic, which I did believe,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And mystic lies, to Saturn I do give.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My dark imaginations rest you there,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This is your grave and superstitious sphere.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Get up, my disentangled soul, thy fire<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is now refin'd, and nothing left to tire<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or clog thy wings. Now my auspicious flight<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hath brought me to the empyrean light.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I am a sep'rate essence, and can see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The emanations of the Deity,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And how they pass the seraphims, and run<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Through ev'ry throne and domination.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So rushing through the guard the sacred streams<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Flow to the neighbour stars, and in their beams<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">&mdash;A glorious cataract!&mdash;descend to earth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And give impressions unto ev'ry birth.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With angels now and spirits I do dwell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And here it is my nature to do well.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thus, though my body you confin&egrave;d see,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My boundless thoughts have their ubiquity.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And shall I then forsake the stars and signs,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To dote upon thy dark and curs&egrave;d mines?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Unhappy, sad exchange! what, must I buy<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Guiana with the loss of all the sky?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Intelligences shall I leave, and be<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Familiar only with mortality?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Must I know nought, but thy exchequer? shall<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My purse and fancy be symmetrical?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are there no objects left but one? must we<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In gaining that, lose our variety?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Fortune, this is the reason I refuse<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy wealth; it puts my books all out of use.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Tis poverty that makes me wise; my mind<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is big with speculation, when I find<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My purse as Randolph's was, and I confess<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There is no blessing to an emptiness!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The species of all things to me resort<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And dwell then in my breast, as in their port.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then leave to court me with thy hated store;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou giv'st me that, to rob my soul of more.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span></p>
+<h3>
+<a name="TO_I_MORGAN_OF_WHITEHALL_ESQ_UPON_HIS_SUDDEN_JOURNEY_AND_SUCCEEDING"
+id="TO_I_MORGAN_OF_WHITEHALL_ESQ_UPON_HIS_SUDDEN_JOURNEY_AND_SUCCEEDING"></a>
+TO I. MORGAN OF WHITEHALL, ESQ., UPON HIS SUDDEN JOURNEY AND SUCCEEDING
+MARRIAGE.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">So from our cold, rude world, which all things tires,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To his warm Indies the bright sun retires.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where, in those provinces of gold and spice,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Perfumes his progress, pleasures fill his eyes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which, so refresh'd, in their return convey<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fire into rubies, into crystals, day;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And prove, that light in kinder climates can<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Work more on senseless stones, than here on man.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But you, like one ordain'd to shine, take in<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Both light and heat, can love and wisdom spin<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Into one thread, and with that firmly tie<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The same bright blessings on posterity:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which so entail'd, like jewels of the crown,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shall, with your name, descend still to your own.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">When I am dead, and malice or neglect<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The worst they can upon my dust reflect;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">&mdash;For poets yet have left no names, but such<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As men have envied or despis'd too much&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You above both&mdash;and what state more excels,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Since a just fame like health, nor wants, nor swells?&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To after ages shall remain entire,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And shine still spotless, like your planet's fire.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">No single lustre neither; the access<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of your fair love will yours adorn and bless;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till, from that bright conjunction, men may view<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A constellation circling her and you.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">So two sweet rose-buds from their virgin-beds<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">First peep and blush, then kiss and couple heads,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till yearly blessings so increase their store,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Those two can number two-and-twenty more,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the fair bank&mdash;by Heav'n's free bounty crown'd&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With choice of sweets and beauties doth abound,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till Time, which families, like flowers, far spreads,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Gives them for garlands to the best of heads.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then late posterity&mdash;if chance, or some<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Weak echo, almost quite expir'd and dumb,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shall tell them who the poet was, and how<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He liv'd and lov'd thee too, which thou dost know&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Straight to my grave will flowers and spices bring,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With lights and hymns, and for an offering<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There vow this truth, that love&mdash;which in old times<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was censur'd blind, and will contract worse crimes<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If hearts mend not&mdash;did for thy sake in me<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Find both his eyes, and all foretell and see.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span></p>
+<h3><a name="FIDA_OR_THE_COUNTRY_BEAUTY_TO_LYSIMACHUS" id="FIDA_OR_THE_COUNTRY_BEAUTY_TO_LYSIMACHUS"></a>
+FIDA; OR, THE COUNTRY BEAUTY. TO LYSIMACHUS.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Now I have seen her; and by Cupid<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The young Medusa made me stupid!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A face, that hath no lovers slain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wants forces, and is near disdain.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For every fop will freely peep<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At majesty that is asleep.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But she&mdash;fair tyrant!&mdash;hates to be<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Gaz'd on with such impunity.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose prudent rigour bravely bears<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And scorns the trick of whining tears,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or sighs, those false alarms of grief,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which kill not, but afford relief.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor is it thy hard fate to be<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Alone in this calamity,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Since I who came but to be gone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Am plagu'd for merely looking on.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Mark from her forehead to her foot<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What charming sweets are there to do't.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A head adorn'd with all those glories<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That wit hath shadow'd in quaint stories,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or pencil with rich colours drew<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In imitation of the true.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span>
+<span class="i2">Her hair, laid out in curious sets<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And twists, doth show like silken nets,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where&mdash;since he play'd at hit or miss&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The god of Love her pris'ner is,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And fluttering with his skittish wings<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Puts all her locks in curls and rings.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Like twinkling stars her eyes invite<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All gazers to so sweet a light,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But then two arch&egrave;d clouds of brown<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Stand o'er, and guard them with a frown.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Beneath these rays of her bright eyes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Beauty's rich bed of blushes lies.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Blushes which lightning-like come on,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet stay not to be gaz'd upon;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But leave the lilies of her skin<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As fair as ever, and run in,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like swift salutes&mdash;which dull paint scorn&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Twixt a white noon and crimson morn.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">What coral can her lips resemble?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For hers are warm, swell, melt, and tremble:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And if you dare contend for red,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This is alive, the other dead.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Her equal teeth&mdash;above, below&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All of a size and smoothness grow.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where under close restraint and awe<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">&mdash;Which is the maiden tyrant law&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like a cag'd, sullen linnet, dwells<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her tongue, the key to potent spells.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Her skin, like heav'n when calm and bright,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Shows a rich azure under white,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With touch more soft than heart supposes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And breath as sweet as new-blown roses.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Betwixt this headland and the main,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which is a rich and flow'ry plain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lies her fair neck, so fine and slender,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That gently how you please 'twill bend her.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">This leads you to her heart, which ta'en,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Pants under sheets of whitest lawn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And at the first seems much distress'd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But, nobly treated, lies at rest.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Here, like two balls of new fall'n snow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her breasts, Love's native pillows, grow;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And out of each a rose-bud peeps,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which infant Beauty sucking sleeps.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Say now, my Stoic, that mak'st sour faces<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At all the beauties and the graces,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That criest, unclean! though known thyself<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To ev'ry coarse and dirty shelf:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Couldst thou but see a piece like this,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A piece so full of sweets and bliss,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In shape so rare, in soul so rich,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wouldst thou not swear she is a witch?<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span></p>
+<h3><a name="FIDA_FORSAKEN" id="FIDA_FORSAKEN"></a>FIDA FORSAKEN.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Fool that I was! to believe blood,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While swoll'n with greatness, then most good;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the false thing, forgetful man,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To trust more than our true god, Pan.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Such swellings to a dropsy tend,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And meanest things such great ones bend.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then live deceived! and, Fida, by<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That life destroy fidelity.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For living wrongs will make some wise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While Death chokes loudest injuries:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And screens the faulty, making blinds<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To hide the most unworthy minds.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And yet do what thou can'st to hide,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A bad tree's fruit will be describ'd.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For that foul guilt which first took place<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In his dark heart, now damns his face;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And makes those eyes, where life should dwell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Look like the pits of Death and Hell.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Blood, whose rich purple shows and seals<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their faith in Moors, in him reveals<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A blackness at the heart, and is<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Turn'd ink to write his faithlessness.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Only his lips with blood look red,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As if asham'd of what they fed.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then, since he wears in a dark skin<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The shadows of his hell within,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Expose him no more to the light,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But thine own epitaph thus write<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Here burst, and dead and unregarded<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lies Fida's heart! O well rewarded!"<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span></p>
+<h3><a name="TO_THE_EDITOR_OF_THE_MATCHLESS_ORINDA" id="TO_THE_EDITOR_OF_THE_MATCHLESS_ORINDA"></a>
+TO THE EDITOR OF THE MATCHLESS ORINDA.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Long since great wits have left the stage<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Unto the drollers of the age,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And noble numbers with good sense<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are, like good works, grown an offence.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While much of verse&mdash;worse than old story&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Speaks but Jack-Pudding or John-Dory.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Such trash-admirers made us poor,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And pies turn'd poets out of door;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For the nice spirit of rich verse<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which scorns absurd and low commerce,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Although a flame from heav'n, if shed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On rooks or daws warms no such head.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or else the poet, like bad priest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is seldom good, but when oppress'd;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And wit as well as piety<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Doth thrive best in adversity<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For since the thunder left our air<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their laurels look not half so fair.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">However 'tis, 'twere worse than rude,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not to profess our gratitude<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And debts to thee, who at so low<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An ebb dost make us thus to flow;<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">And when we did a famine fear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hast bless'd us with a fruitful year.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So while the world his absence mourns,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The glorious sun at last returns,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And with his kind and vital looks<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Warms the cold earth and frozen brooks,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Puts drowsy Nature into play,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And rids impediments away,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till flow'rs and fruits and spices through<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her pregnant lap get up and grow.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But if among those sweet things, we<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A miracle like that could see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which Nature brought but once to pass,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A Muse, such as Orinda was,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ph&oelig;bus himself won by these charms<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Would give her up into thy arms;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And recondemn'd to kiss his tree,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yield the young goddess unto thee.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span></p>
+<h3><a name="UPON_SUDDEN_NEWS_OF_THE_MUCH_LAMENTED_DEATH_OF_JUDGE_TREVERS" id="UPON_SUDDEN_NEWS_OF_THE_MUCH_LAMENTED_DEATH_OF_JUDGE_TREVERS"></a>
+UPON SUDDEN NEWS OF THE MUCH LAMENTED DEATH OF JUDGE TREVERS.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Learning and Law, your day is done,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And your work too; you may be gone<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Trever, that lov'd you, hence is fled:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Right, which long lay sick, is dead.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Trever! whose rare and envied part<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was both a wise and winning heart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose sweet civilities could move<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Tartars and Goths to noblest love.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Bold vice and blindness now dare act,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And&mdash;like the grey groat&mdash;pass, though crack'd;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While those sage lips lie dumb and cold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose words are well-weigh'd and tried gold.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O, how much to discreet desires<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Differs pure light from foolish fires!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But nasty dregs outlast the wine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And after sunset glow-worms shine.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span></p>
+<h3><a name="TO_ETESIA_FOR_TIMANDER_THE_FIRST_SIGHT" id="TO_ETESIA_FOR_TIMANDER_THE_FIRST_SIGHT"></a>
+TO ETESIA (FOR TIMANDER); THE FIRST SIGHT.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">What smiling star in that fair night<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which gave you birth gave me this sight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And with a kind aspect tho' keen<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Made me the subject, you the queen?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That sparkling planet is got now<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Into your eyes, and shines below,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where nearer force and more acute<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It doth dispense, without dispute;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For I who yesterday did know<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Love's fire no more than doth cool snow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With one bright look am since undone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet must adore and seek my sun.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Before I walk'd free as the wind<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And if but stay'd&mdash;like it&mdash;unkind;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I could like daring eagles gaze<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And not be blinded by a face;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For what I saw till I saw thee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was only not deformity.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Such shapes appear&mdash;compar'd with thine&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In arras, or a tavern-sign,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">And do but mind me to explore<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A fairer piece, that is in store.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So some hang ivy to their wine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To signify there is a vine.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Those princely flow'rs&mdash;by no storms vex'd&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which smile one day, and droop the next,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The gallant tulip and the rose,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Emblems which some use to disclose<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bodied ideas&mdash;their weak grace<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is mere imposture to thy face.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For Nature in all things, but thee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Did practise only sophistry;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or else she made them to express<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How she could vary in her dress:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But thou wert form'd, that we might see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Perfection, not variety.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Have you observ'd how the day-star<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sparkles and smiles and shines from far;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then to the gazer doth convey<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A silent but a piercing ray?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So wounds my love, but that her eyes<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are in effects the better skies.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A brisk bright agent from them streams<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Arm'd with no arrows, but their beams,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And with such stillness smites our hearts,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No noise betrays him, nor his darts.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He, working on my easy soul,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Did soon persuade, and then control;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And now he flies&mdash;and I conspire&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Through all my blood with wings of fire,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And when I would&mdash;which will be never&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With cold despair allay the fever,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The spiteful thing Etesia names,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And that new-fuels all my flames.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span></p>
+<h3><a name="THE_CHARACTER_TO_ETESIA" id="THE_CHARACTER_TO_ETESIA"></a>
+THE CHARACTER, TO ETESIA.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Go catch the ph&oelig;nix, and then bring<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A quill drawn for me from his wing.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Give me a maiden beauty's blood,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A pure, rich crimson, without mud,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In whose sweet blushes that may live,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which a dull verse can never give.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Now for an untouch'd, spotless white,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For blackest things on paper write,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Etesia, at thine own expense<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Give me the robes of innocence.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Could we but see a spring to run<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Pure milk, as sometimes springs have done,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And in the snow-white streams it sheds,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Carnations wash their bloody heads,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While ev'ry eddy that came down<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Did&mdash;as thou dost&mdash;both smile and frown.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Such objects, and so fresh would be<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But dull resemblances of thee.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Thou art the dark world's morning-star,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Seen only, and seen but from far;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where, like astronomers, we gaze<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Upon the glories of thy face,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But no acquaintance more can have,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though all our lives we watch and crave.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou art a world thyself alone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yea, three great worlds refin'd to one;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which shows all those, and in thine eyes<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The shining East and Paradise.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Thy soul&mdash;a spark of the first fire&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is like the sun, the world's desire;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And with a nobler influence<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Works upon all, that claim to sense;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But in summers hath no fever,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And in frosts is cheerful ever.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As flow'rs besides their curious dress<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Rich odours have, and sweetnesses,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which tacitly infuse desire,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And ev'n oblige us to admire:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Such, and so full of innocence<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are all the charms, thou dost dispense;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And like fair Nature without arts<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At once they seize, and please our hearts.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O, thou art such, that I could be<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A lover to idolatry!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I could, and should from heav'n stray,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But that thy life shows mine the way,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And leave a while the Deity<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To serve His image here in thee.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span></p>
+<h3><a name="TO_ETESIA_LOOKING_FROM_HER_CASEMENT_AT_THE_FULL_MOON" id="TO_ETESIA_LOOKING_FROM_HER_CASEMENT_AT_THE_FULL_MOON"></a>
+TO ETESIA LOOKING FROM HER CASEMENT AT THE FULL MOON.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">See you that beauteous queen, which no age tames?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her train is azure, set with golden flames:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My brighter fair, fix on the East your eyes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And view that bed of clouds, whence she doth rise.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Above all others in that one short hour<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which most concern'd me,<a name="FNanchor_64_64" id="FNanchor_64_64"></a><a href="#Footnote_64_64" class="fnanchor">[64]</a> she had greatest pow'r.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This made my fortunes humorous as wind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But fix'd affections to my constant mind.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She fed me with the tears of stars, and thence<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I suck'd in sorrows with their influence.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To some in smiles, and store of light she broke,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To me in sad eclipses still she spoke.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She bent me with the motion of her sphere,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And made me feel what first I did but fear.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But when I came to age, and had o'ergrown<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her rules, and saw my freedom was my own,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I did reply unto the laws of Fate,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And made my reason my great advocate:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I labour'd to inherit my just right;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But then&mdash;O, hear Etesia!&mdash;lest I might<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Redeem myself, my unkind starry mother<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Took my poor heart, and gave it to another.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_64_64" id="Footnote_64_64"></a><a href="#FNanchor_64_64"><span class="label">[64]</span></a> The original has <i>concerned in</i>.</p></div>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span></p>
+<h3><a name="TO_ETESIA_PARTED_FROM_HIM_AND_LOOKING_BACK" id="TO_ETESIA_PARTED_FROM_HIM_AND_LOOKING_BACK"></a>
+TO ETESIA PARTED FROM HIM, AND LOOKING BACK.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O, subtle Love! thy peace is war,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It wounds and kills without a scar,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It works unknown to any sense,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like the decrees of Providence,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And with strange silence shoots me through,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The fire of Love doth fell like snow.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Hath she no quiver, but my heart?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Must all her arrows hit that part?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Beauties like heav'n their gifts should deal<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not to destroy us, but to heal.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Strange art of Love! that can make sound,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And yet exasperates the wound:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That look she lent to ease my heart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hath pierc'd it, and improv'd the smart.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span></p>
+
+<h3><a name="IN_ETESIAM_LACHRYMANTEM" id="IN_ETESIAM_LACHRYMANTEM"></a>
+IN ETESIAM LACHRYMANTEM.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O Dulcis Iuctus, risuque potentior omni!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Quem decorant lachrimis sidera tanta suis.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Quam tacit&aelig; spirant aur&aelig;! vultusque nitentes<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Contristant veneres, collachrimantque su&aelig;!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ornat gutta genas, oculisque simillima gemma:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Et tepido vivas irrigat imbre rosas.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dicite Chald&aelig;i! qu&aelig; me fortuna fatigat,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">
+<ins title='Missing letter'>?</ins>um formosa dies et sine nube perit<a name="FNanchor_65_65" id="FNanchor_65_65"></a><a href="#Footnote_65_65" class="fnanchor">[65]</a>?<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_65_65" id="Footnote_65_65"></a><a href="#FNanchor_65_65"><span class="label">[65]</span></a> The original has <i>peruit</i>.</p></div>
+
+</div>
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span></p>
+<h3><a name="TO_ETESIA_GOING_BEYOND_SEA" id="TO_ETESIA_GOING_BEYOND_SEA"></a>
+TO ETESIA GOING BEYOND SEA.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Go, if you must! but stay&mdash;and know<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And mind before you go, my vow.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To ev'ry thing, but heav'n and you,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With all my heart I bid adieu!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Now to those happy shades I'll go<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where first I saw my beauteous foe!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'll seek each silent path where we<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Did walk; and where you sat with me<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'll sit again, and never rest<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till I can find some flow'r you press'd.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That near my dying heart I'll keep,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And when it wants dew I will weep:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sadly I will repeat past joys<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And words, which you did sometimes voice<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'll listen to the woods, and hear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The echo answer for you there.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But famish'd with long absence I,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like infants left, at last shall cry,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And tears&mdash;as they do milk&mdash;will sup<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Until you come, and take me up.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span></p>
+<h3><a name="ETESIA_ABSENT" id="ETESIA_ABSENT"></a>ETESIA ABSENT.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Love, the world's life! what a sad death<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy absence is! to lose our breath<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At once and die, is but to live<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Enlarg'd, without the scant reprieve<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of pulse and air; whose dull returns<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And narrow circles the soul mourns.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But to be dead alive, and still<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To wish, but never have our will,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To be possess'd, and yet to miss,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To wed a true but absent bliss,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are ling'ring tortures, and their smart<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dissects and racks and grinds the heart!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As soul and body in that state<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which unto us, seems separate,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Cannot be said to live, until<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Reunion; which days fulfil<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And slow-pac'd seasons; so in vain<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Through hours and minutes&mdash;Time's long train&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I look for thee, and from thy sight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As from my soul, for life and light.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For till thine eyes shine so on me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Mine are fast-clos'd and will not see.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="TRANSLATIONS" id="TRANSLATIONS"></a>
+
+                               TRANSLATIONS.
+</h2>
+
+<h3>                 SOME ODES OF THE EXCELLENT AND KNOWING
+           [ANICIUS MANLIUS] SEVERINUS [BOETHIUS], ENGLISHED.
+</h3>
+
+<h4>[DE CONSOLATIONE] LIB. III. METRUM XII.</h4>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Happy is he, that with fix'd eyes<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The fountain of all goodness spies!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Happy is he that can break through<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Those bonds which tie him here below!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The Thracian poet long ago,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Kind Orpheus, full of tears and woe,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Did for his lov'd Eurydice<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In such sad numbers mourn, that he<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Made the trees run in to his moan,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And streams stand still to hear him groan.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The does came fearless in one throng<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With lions to his mournful song,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And charmed by the harmonious sound,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The hare stay'd by the quiet hound.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But when Love height'n'd by despair<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And deep reflections on his fair<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Had swell'd his heart, and made it rise<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And run in tears out at his eyes,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">And those sweet airs, which did appease<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wild beasts, could give their lord no ease;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then, vex'd that so much grief and love<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Mov'd not at all the gods above,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With desperate thoughts and bold intent,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Towards the shades below he went;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For thither his fair love was fled,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And he must have her from the dead.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There in such lines, as did well suit<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With sad airs and a lover's lute,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And in the richest language dress'd<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That could be thought on or express'd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Did he complain; whatever grief<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or art or love&mdash;which is the chief,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all ennobles&mdash;could lay out,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In well-tun'd woes he dealt about.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And humbly bowing to the prince<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of ghosts begg'd some intelligence<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of his Eurydice, and where<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His beauteous saint resided there.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then to his lute's instructed groans<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He sigh'd out new melodious moans;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And in a melting, charming strain<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Begg'd his dear love to life again.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The music flowing through the shade<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And darkness did with ease invade<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The silent and attentive ghosts;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Cerberus, which guards those coasts<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With his loud barkings, overcome<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">By the sweet notes, was now struck dumb.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Furies, us'd to rave and howl<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And prosecute each guilty soul,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Had lost their rage, and in a deep<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Transport, did most profusely weep.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ixion's wheel stopp'd, and the curs'd<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Tantalus, almost kill'd with thirst,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though the streams now did make no haste,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But wait'd for him, none would taste.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That vulture, which fed still upon<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Tityus his liver, now was gone<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To feed on air, and would not stay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though almost famish'd, with her prey.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Won with these wonders, their fierce prince<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At last cried out, "We yield! and since<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy merits claim no less, take hence<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy consort for thy recompense:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But Orpheus, to this law we bind<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Our grant: you must not look behind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor of your fair love have one sight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till out of our dominions quite."<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Alas! what laws can lovers awe?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Love is itself the greatest law!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or who can such hard bondage brook<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To be in love, and not to look?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Poor Orpheus almost in the light<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lost his dear love for one short sight;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And by those eyes, which Love did guide,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What he most lov'd unkindly died!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span>
+<span class="i2">This tale of Orpheus and his love<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was meant for you, who ever move<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Upwards, and tend into that light,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which is not seen by mortal sight.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For if, while you strive to ascend,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You droop, and towards Earth once bend<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Your seduc'd eyes, down you will fall<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ev'n while you look, and forfeit all.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+<h4>LIB. III. METRUM II.</h4>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">What fix'd affections, and lov'd laws<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">&mdash;Which are the hid, magnetic cause&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wise Nature governs with, and by<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What fast, inviolable tie<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The whole creation to her ends<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For ever provident she bends:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All this I purpose to rehearse<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In the sweet airs of solemn verse.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Although the Libyan lions should<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Be bound in chains of purest gold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And duly fed were taught to know<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their keeper's voice, and fear his blow:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet, if they chance to taste of blood,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their rage which slept, stirr'd by that food<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In furious roaring will awake,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And fiercely for their freedom make.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No chains nor bars their fury brooks,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But with enrag'd and bloody looks<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They will break through, and dull'd with fear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their keeper all to pieces tear.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The bird, which on the wood's tall boughs<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sings sweetly, if you cage or house,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And out of kindest care should think<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To give her honey with her drink,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">And get her store of pleasant meat,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ev'n such as she delights to eat:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet, if from her close prison she<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The shady groves doth chance to see,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Straightway she loathes her pleasant food,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And with sad looks longs for the wood.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The wood, the wood alone she loves!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And towards it she looks and moves:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And in sweet notes&mdash;though distant from&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sings to her first and happy home!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That plant, which of itself doth grow<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Upwards, if forc'd, will downwards bow;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But give it freedom, and it will<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Get up, and grow erectly still.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The sun, which by his prone descent<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Seems westward in the evening bent,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Doth nightly by an unseen way<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Haste to the East, and bring up day.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Thus all things long for their first state,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And gladly to't return, though late.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor is there here to anything<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A course allow'd, but in a ring:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which, where it first began, must end,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And to that point directly tend.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+<h4>LIB. IV. METRUM VI.</h4>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Who would unclouded see the laws<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of the supreme, eternal Cause,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let him with careful thoughts and eyes<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Observe the high and spacious skies.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There in one league of love the stars<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Keep their old peace, and show our wars.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The sun, though flaming still and hot,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The cold, pale moon annoyeth not.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Arcturus with his sons&mdash;though they<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">See other stars go a far way,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And out of sight&mdash;yet still are found<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Near the North Pole, their noted bound.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bright Hesper&mdash;at set times&mdash;delights<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To usher in the dusky nights:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And in the East again attends<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To warn us, when the day ascends.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So alternate Love supplies<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Eternal courses still, and vies<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Mutual kindness; that no jars<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor discord can disturb the stars.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">The same sweet concord here below<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Makes the fierce elements to flow<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And circle without quarrel still,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though temper'd diversely; thus will<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">The hot assist the cold; the dry<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is a friend to humidity:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And by the law of kindness they<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The like relief to them repay.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The fire, which active is and bright,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Tends upward, and from thence gives light.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The earth allows it all that space<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And makes choice of the lower place;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For things of weight haste to the centre,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A fall to them is no adventure.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">From these kind turns and circulation<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Seasons proceed, and generation.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This makes the Spring to yield us flow'rs,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And melts the clouds to gentle show'rs.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Summer thus matures all seeds<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And ripens both the corn and weeds.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This brings on Autumn, which recruits<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Our old, spent store, with new fresh fruits.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the cold Winter's blust'ring season<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hath snow and storms for the same reason.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This temper and wise mixture breed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And bring forth ev'ry living seed.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And when their strength and substance spend<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">&mdash;For while they live, they drive and tend<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Still to a change&mdash;it takes them hence<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And shifts their dress! and to our sense<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their course is over, as their birth:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And hid from us they turn to earth.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">But all this while the Prince of life<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sits without loss, or change, or strife:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Holding the reins, by which all move<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">&mdash;And those His wisdom, power, love<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And justice are&mdash;and still what He<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The first life bids, that needs must be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And live on for a time; that done<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He calls it back, merely to shun<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The mischief, which His creature might<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Run into by a further flight.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For if this dear and tender sense<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of His preventing providence,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Did not restrain and call things back,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Both heav'n and earth would go to rack,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And from their great Preserver part;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As blood let out forsakes the heart<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And perisheth, but what returns<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With fresh and brighter spirits burns.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">This is the cause why ev'ry living<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Creature affects an endless being.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A grain of this bright love each thing<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Had giv'n at first by their great King;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And still they creep&mdash;drawn on by this&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And look back towards their first bliss.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For, otherwise, it is most sure,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nothing that liveth could endure:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Unless its love turn'd retrograde<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sought that First Life, which all things made.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+<h4>LIB. IV. METRUM III.</h4>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">If old tradition hath not fail'd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ulysses, when from Troy he sail'd<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was by a tempest forc'd to land<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where beauteous Circe did command.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Circe, the daughter of the sun,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which had with charms and herbs undone<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Many poor strangers, and could then<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Turn into beasts the bravest men.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Such magic in her potions lay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That whosoever passed that way<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And drank, his shape was quickly lost.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some into swine she turn'd, but most<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To lions arm'd with teeth and claws;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Others like wolves with open jaws<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Did howl; but some&mdash;more savage&mdash;took<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The tiger's dreadful shape and look.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But wise Ulysses, by the aid<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of Hermes, had to him convey'd<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A flow'r, whose virtue did suppress<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The force of charms, and their success:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While his mates drank so deep, that they<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Were turn'd to swine, which fed all day<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">On mast, and human food had left,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of shape and voice at once bereft;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Only the mind&mdash;above all charms&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Unchang'd did mourn those monstrous harms.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">O, worthless herbs, and weaker arts,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To change their limbs, but not their hearts!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Man's life and vigour keep within,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lodg'd in the centre, not the skin.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Those piercing charms and poisons, which<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His inward parts taint and bewitch,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">More fatal are, than such, which can<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Outwardly only spoil the man.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Those change his shape and make it foul,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But these deform and kill his soul.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+<h4>LIB. III. METRUM VI.</h4>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">All sorts of men, that live on Earth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Have one beginning and one birth.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For all things there is one Father,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who lays out all, and all doth gather.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He the warm sun with rays adorns,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And fills with brightness the moon's horns.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The azur'd heav'ns with stars He burnish'd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the round world with creatures furnish'd.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But men&mdash;made to inherit all&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His own sons He was pleas'd to call,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And that they might be so indeed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He gave them souls of divine seed.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A noble offspring surely then<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Without distinction are all men.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">O, why so vainly do some boast<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their birth and blood and a great host<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of ancestors, whose coats and crests<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are some rav'nous birds or beasts!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If extraction they look for,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And God, the great Progenitor,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No man, though of the meanest state,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is base, or can degenerate,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Unless, to vice and lewdness bent,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He leaves and taints his true descent.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span></p>
+<h3><a name="THE_OLD_MAN_OF_VERONA_OUT_OF_CLAUDIAN_EPIGRAMMA_II" id="THE_OLD_MAN_OF_VERONA_OUT_OF_CLAUDIAN_EPIGRAMMA_II"></a>
+THE OLD MAN OF VERONA OUT OF CLAUDIAN, [EPIGRAMMA II.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2"><i>Felix, qui propriis avum transegit in arvis,</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>Una domus puerum, &amp;c.</i><br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Most happy man! who in his own sweet fields<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Spent all his time; to whom one cottage yields<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In age and youth a lodging; who, grown old,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Walks with his staff on the same soil and mould<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where he did creep an infant, and can tell<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Many fair years spent in one quiet cell!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No toils of fate made him from home far known,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor foreign waters drank, driv'n from his own.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No loss by sea, no wild land's wasteful war<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Vex'd him, not the brib'd coil of gowns at bar.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Exempt from cares, in cities never seen,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The fresh field-air he loves, and rural green.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The year's set turns by fruits, not consuls, knows;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Autumn by apples, May by blossom'd boughs.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Within one hedge his sun doth set and rise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The world's wide day his short demesnes comprise;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where he observes some known, concrescent twig<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Now grown an oak, and old, like him, and big.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Verona he doth for the Indies take,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And as the Red Sea counts Benacus' Lake.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet are his limbs and strength untir'd, and he,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A lusty grandsire, three descents doth see.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Travel and sail who will, search sea or shore;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This man hath liv'd, and that hath wander'd more.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span></p>
+<h3><a name="THE_SPHERE_OF_ARCHIMEDES_OUT_OF_CLAUDIAN_EPIGRAMMA_XVIII" id="THE_SPHERE_OF_ARCHIMEDES_OUT_OF_CLAUDIAN_EPIGRAMMA_XVIII"></a>
+THE SPHERE OF ARCHIMEDES OUT OF CLAUDIAN, [EPIGRAMMA XVIII.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2"><i>Jupiter in parvo cum cerneret &aelig;thera vitro</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i4"><i>Risit, et ad superos, &amp;c.</i><br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When Jove a heav'n of small glass did behold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He smil'd, and to the gods these words he told.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Comes then the power of man's art to this?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In a frail orb my work new acted is,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The poles' decrees, the fate of things, God's laws,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Down by his art old Archimedes draws.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Spirits inclos'd the sev'ral stars attend,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And orderly the living work they bend.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A feign&egrave;d Zodiac measures out the year,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ev'ry new month a false moon doth appear.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And now bold industry is proud, it can<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wheel round its world, and rule the stars by man.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Why at Salmoneus' thunder do I stand?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nature is rivall'd by a single hand."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span></p>
+<h3><a name="THE_PHOENIX_OUT_OF_CLAUDIAN_IDYLL_I" id="THE_PHOENIX_OUT_OF_CLAUDIAN_IDYLL_I"></a>
+THE PH&OElig;NIX OUT OF CLAUDIAN, [IDYLL I.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2"><i>Oceani summo circumfluus &aelig;quore lucus</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>Trans Indos, Eurumque viret, &amp;c.</i><br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">A grove there grows, round with the sea confin'd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Beyond the Indies and the Eastern wind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which, as the sun breaks forth in his first beam,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Salutes his steeds, and hears him whip his team;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When with his dewy coach the Eastern bay<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Crackles, whence blusheth the approaching Day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And blasted with his burnish'd wheels the Night<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In a pale dress doth vanish from the light.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">This the bless'd Ph&oelig;nix' empire is, here he,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Alone exempted from mortality,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Enjoys a land, where no diseases reign,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And ne'er afflicted like our world with pain.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A bird most equal to the gods, which vies<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For length of life and durance with the skies,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And with renew'd limbs tires ev'ry age<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His appetite he never doth assuage<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With common food. Nor doth he use to drink<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When thirsty on some river's muddy brink.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A purer, vital heat shot from the sun<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Doth nourish him, and airy sweets that come<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">From Tethys lap he tasteth at his need;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On such abstracted diet doth he feed.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A secret light there streams from both his eyes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A fiery hue about his cheeks doth rise.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His crest grows up into a glorious star<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Giv'n t' adorn his head, and shines so far,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That piercing through the bosom of the night<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It rends the darkness with a gladsome light.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His thighs like Tyrian scarlet, and his wings<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">&mdash;More swift than winds are&mdash;have sky-colour'd rings<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Flow'ry and rich: and round about enroll'd<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their utmost borders glister all with gold.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He's not conceiv'd, nor springs he from the Earth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But is himself the parent, and the birth.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">None him begets; his fruitful death reprieves<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Old age, and by his funerals he lives.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For when the tedious Summer's gone about<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A thousand times: so many Winters out,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So many Springs: and May doth still restore<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Those leaves, which Autumn had blown off before;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then press'd with years his vigour doth decline,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Foil'd with the number; as a stately pine<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Tir'd out with storms bends from the top and height<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of Caucasus, and falls with its own weight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose part is torn with daily blasts, with rain<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Part is consum'd, and part with age again;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So now his eyes grown dusky, fail to see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Far off, and drops of colder rheums there be<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Fall'n slow and dreggy from them; such in sight<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The cloudy moon is, having spent her light.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And now his wings, which us&egrave;d to contend<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With tempests, scarce from the low earth ascend.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He knows his time is out! and doth provide<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">New principles of life; herbs he brings dried<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From the hot hills, and with rich spices frames<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A pile, shall burn, and hatch him with its flames.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On this the weakling sits; salutes the sun<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With pleasant noise, and prays and begs for some<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of his own fire, that quickly may restore<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The youth and vigour, which he had before.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whom, soon as Ph&oelig;bus spies, stopping his reins,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He makes a stand and thus allays his pains.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O thou that buriest old age in thy grave,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And art by seeming funerals to have<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A new return of life, whose custom 'tis<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To rise by ruin, and by death to miss<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ev'n death itself, a new beginning take,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And that thy wither'd body now forsake!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Better thyself by this thy change! This said<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He shakes his locks, and from his golden head<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shoots one bright beam, which smites with vital fire<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The willing bird; to burn is his desire,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That he may live again: he's proud in death,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And goes in haste to gain a better breath.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The spicy heap fir'd with celestial rays<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Doth burn the aged Ph&oelig;nix, when straight stays<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">The chariot of th' amaz&egrave;d moon; the pole<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Resists the wheeling swift orbs, and the whole<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fabric of Nature at a stand remains,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till the old bird a new young being gains.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All stop and charge the faithful flames, that they<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Suffer not Nature's glory to decay.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">By this time, life which in the ashes lurks<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hath fram'd the heart, and taught new blood new works;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The whole heap stirs, and ev'ry part assumes<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Due vigour; th' embers too are turn'd to plumes;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The parent in the issue now revives,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But young and brisk; the bounds of both these lives,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With very little space between the same,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Were parted only by the middle flame.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To Nilus straight he goes to consecrate<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His parent's ghost; his mind is to translate<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His dust to Egypt. Now he hastes away<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Into a distant land, and doth convey<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The ashes in a turf. Birds do attend<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His journey without number, and defend<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His pious flight, like to a guard; the sky<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is clouded with the army, as they fly.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor is there one of all those thousands dares<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Affront his leader: they with solemn cares<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Attend the progress of their youthful king;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not the rude hawk, nor th' eagle that doth bring<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Arms up to Jove, fight now, lest they displease;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The miracle enacts a common peace.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">So doth the Parthian lead from Tigris' side<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His barbarous troops, full of a lavish pride<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In pearls and habit; he adorns his head<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With royal tires: his steed with gold is led;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His robes, for which the scarlet fish is sought,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With rare Assyrian needle-work are wrought;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And proudly reigning o'er his rascal bands,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He raves and triumphs in his large commands.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A city of Egypt, famous in all lands<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For rites, adores the sun; his temple stands<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There on a hundred pillars by account,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Digg'd from the quarries of the Theban mount.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Here, as the custom did require&mdash;they say&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His happy parent's dust down he doth lay;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then to the image of his lord he bends<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And to the flames his burden straight commends.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Unto the altars thus he destinates<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His own remains; the light doth gild the gates;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Perfumes divine the censers up do send:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While th' Indian odour doth itself extend<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To the Pelusian fens, and filleth all<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The men it meets with the sweet storm. A gale,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To which compar'd nectar itself is vile,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fills the sev'n channels of the misty Nile.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">O happy bird! sole heir to thy own dust!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Death, to whose force all other creatures must<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Submit, saves thee. Thy ashes make thee rise;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Tis not thy nature, but thy age that dies.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou hast seen all! and to the times that run<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou art as great a witness as the sun.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou saw'st the deluge, when the sea outvied<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The land, and drown'd the mountains with the tide.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What year the straggling Ph&aelig;ton did fire<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The world, thou know'st. And no plagues can conspire<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Against thy life; alone thou dost arise<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Above mortality; the destinies<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Spin not thy days out with their fatal clue;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They have no law, to which thy life is due.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span></p>
+<h2>
+<a name="PIOUS_THOUGHTS_AND_EJACULATIONS" id="PIOUS_THOUGHTS_AND_EJACULATIONS"></a>
+PIOUS THOUGHTS AND EJACULATIONS.
+</h2>
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<h3><a name="TO_HIS_BOOKS" id="TO_HIS_BOOKS"></a>TO HIS BOOKS.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Bright books! the perspectives to our weak sights,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The clear projections of discerning lights,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Burning and shining thoughts, man's posthume day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The track of fled souls, and their Milky Way,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The dead alive and busy, the still voice<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of enlarg'd spirits, kind Heav'n's white decoys!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who lives with you, lives like those knowing flow'rs,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which in commerce with light spend all their hours:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which shut to clouds, and shadows nicely shun,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But with glad haste unveil to kiss the sun.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Beneath you, all is dark, and a dead night,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which whoso lives in, wants both health and sight.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">By sucking you, the wise&mdash;like bees&mdash;do grow<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Healing and rich, though this they do most slow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Because most choicely; for as great a store<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Have we of books, as bees of herbs, or more:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the great task, to try, then know, the good.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To discern weeds, and judge of wholesome food,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Is a rare, scant performance: for man dies<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Oft ere 'tis done, while the bee feeds and flies.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But you were all choice flow'rs, all set and drest<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By old sage florists, who well knew the best:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I amidst you all am turned a weed!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not wanting knowledge, but for want of heed.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then thank thyself, wild fool, that wouldst not be<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Content to know&mdash;what was too much for thee!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span></p>
+<h3><a name="LOOKING_BACK" id="LOOKING_BACK"></a>LOOKING BACK.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Fair shining mountains of my pilgrimage<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And flowery vales, whose flow'rs were stars,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The days and nights of my first happy age;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">An age without distaste and wars!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When I by thoughts ascend your sunny heads,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And mind those sacred midnight lights<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By which I walk'd, when curtain'd rooms and beds<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Confin'd or seal'd up others' sights:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">O then, how bright,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And quick a light<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Doth brush my heart and scatter night;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Chasing that shade,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Which my sins made,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While I so spring, as if I could not fade!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How brave a prospect is a bright back-side!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Where flow'rs and palms refresh the eye!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And days well spent like the glad East abide,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Whose morning-glories cannot die!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span></p>
+<h3><a name="THE_SHOWER" id="THE_SHOWER"></a>THE SHOWER.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Waters above! eternal springs!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The dew that silvers the Dove's wings!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O welcome, welcome to the sad!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Give dry dust drink; drink that makes glad!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Many fair ev'nings, many flow'rs<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sweeten'd with rich and gentle showers,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Have I enjoy'd, and down have run<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Many a fine and shining sun;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But never, till this happy hour,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was blest with such an evening-shower!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span></p>
+<h3><a name="DISCIPLINE" id="DISCIPLINE"></a>DISCIPLINE.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Fair Prince of Light! Light's living Well<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who hast the keys of death and Hell!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If the mole<a name="FNanchor_66_66" id="FNanchor_66_66"></a><a href="#Footnote_66_66" class="fnanchor">[66]</a> man despise Thy day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Put chains of darkness in his way.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Teach him how deep, how various are<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The counsels of Thy love and care.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When acts of grace and a long peace,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Breed but rebellion, and displease,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then give him his own way and will,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where lawless he may run, until<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His own choice hurts him, and the sting<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of his foul sins full sorrows bring.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If Heaven and angels, hopes and mirth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Please not the mole so much as earth:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Give him his mine to dig, or dwell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And one sad scheme of hideous Hell.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_66_66" id="Footnote_66_66"></a><a href="#FNanchor_66_66"><span class="label">[66]</span></a> The original edition has <i>mule</i>.</p></div>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span></p>
+<h3><a name="THE_ECLIPSE" id="THE_ECLIPSE"></a>THE ECLIPSE.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Whither, O whither didst thou fly<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When I did grieve Thine holy eye?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When Thou didst mourn to see me lost,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all Thy care and counsels cross'd.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O do not grieve, where'er Thou art!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy grief is an undoing smart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which doth not only pain, but break<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My heart, and makes me blush to speak.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy anger I could kiss, and will;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But O Thy grief, Thy grief, doth kill.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span></p>
+<h3><a name="AFFLICTION" id="AFFLICTION"></a>AFFLICTION.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O come, and welcome! come, refine!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For Moors, if wash'd by Thee, will shine.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Man blossoms at Thy touch; and he,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When Thou draw'st blood is Thy rose-tree.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Crosses make straight his crook&egrave;d ways,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And clouds but cool his dog-star days;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Diseases too, when by Thee blest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are both restoratives and rest.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Flow'rs that in sunshines riot still,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Die scorch'd and sapless; though storms kill,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The fall is fair, e'en to desire,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where in their sweetness all expire.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O come, pour on! what calms can be<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So fair as storms, that appease Thee?<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span></p>
+<h3><a name="RETIREMENT" id="RETIREMENT"></a>RETIREMENT.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Fresh fields and woods! the Earth's fair face!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">God's footstool! and man's dwelling-place!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I ask not why the first believer<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Did love to be a country liver?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who, to secure pious content,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Did pitch by groves and wells his tent;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where he might view the boundless sky,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all those glorious lights on high,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With flying meteors, mists, and show'rs,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Subjected hills, trees, meads, and flow'rs,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And ev'ry minute bless the King<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And wise Creator of each thing.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">I ask not why he did remove<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To happy Mamre's holy grove,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Leaving the cities of the plain<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To Lot and his successless train?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All various lusts in cities still<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are found; they are the thrones of ill,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The dismal sinks, where blood is spill'd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Cages with much uncleanness fill'd:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But rural shades are the sweet sense<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of piety and innocence;<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">They are the meek's calm region, where<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Angels descend and rule the sphere;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where Heaven lies leiguer, and the Dove<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Duly as dew comes from above.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If Eden be on Earth at all,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Tis that which we the country call.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span></p>
+<h3><a name="THE_REVIVAL" id="THE_REVIVAL"></a>THE REVIVAL.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Unfold! unfold! Take in His light,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who makes thy cares more short than night.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The joys which with His day-star rise<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He deals to all but drowsy eyes;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And, what the men of this world miss,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some drops and dews of future bliss.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Hark! how His winds have chang'd their note!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And with warm whispers call thee out;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The frosts are past, the storms are gone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And backward life at last comes on.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The lofty groves in express joys<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Reply unto the turtle's voice;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And here in dust and dirt, O here<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The lilies of His love appear!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span></p>
+<h3><a name="THE_DAY_SPRING" id="THE_DAY_SPRING"></a>THE DAY SPRING.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Early, while yet the dark was gay<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And gilt with stars, more trim than day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Heav'n's Lily, and the Earth's chaste Rose,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The green immortal Branch arose;</span>
+<div style='float:right;margin-right:7em;width:7em;'>
+    <div style='float:left;font-size:300%;font-weight:lighter;padding-right:6px;'>
+        <p style='margin:0;line-height:1em;text-indent:0;text-align:left;'>}</p>
+	</div>
+   <p style='margin:0.5em 0 0 0;line-height:1em;text-indent:0;text-align:left;'>S. Mark,</p>
+   <p style='margin:0;line-height:1em;text-indent:0;'>c. 1, v. 35-</p>
+</div>
+
+<span class="i0">And in a solitary place<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bow'd to His Father His blest face.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">If this calm season pleased my Prince,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose fulness no need could evince,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Why should not I, poor silly sheep,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His hours, as well as practice, keep?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not that His hand is tied to these,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From whom Time holds his transient lease<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But mornings new creations are,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When men, all night sav'd by His care,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are still reviv'd; and well He may<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Expect them grateful with the day.<br /></span>
+
+<div style='float:right;margin-right:7em;width:7em;'>
+    <div style='float:left;font-size:300%;font-weight:lighter;padding-right:6px;'>
+        <p style='margin:0;line-height:1em;text-indent:0'>}</p>
+	</div>
+   <p style='margin:0.5em 0 0 0;line-height:1em;text-indent:0;text-align:left;'>Job, c. 38,</p>
+   <p style='margin:0;line-height:1em;text-indent:0;text-align:left;'>v. 7</p>
+</div>
+
+<span class="i0">So for that first draught of His hand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which finish'd heav'n, and sea, and land,</span>
+<span class="i0">The sons of God their thanks did bring,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all the morning stars did sing.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Besides, as His part heretofore<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The firstlings were of all that bore<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">So now each day from all He saves<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their soul's first thoughts and fruits He craves.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This makes Him daily shed and show'r<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His graces at this early hour;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which both His care and kindness show,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Cheering the good, quickening the slow.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As holy friends mourn at delay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And think each minute an hour's stay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So His Divine and loving Dove<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With longing throes<a name="FNanchor_67_67" id="FNanchor_67_67"></a><a href="#Footnote_67_67" class="fnanchor">[67]</a> doth heave and move,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And soar about us while we sleep;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sometimes quite through that lock doth peep,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And shine, but always without fail,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Before the slow sun can unveil,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In new compassions breaks, like light,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And morning-looks, which scatter night.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And wilt Thou let Thy creature be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When Thou hast watch'd, asleep to Thee?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Why to unwelcome loath'd surprises<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dost leave him, having left his vices?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Since these, if suffer'd, may again<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lead back the living to the slain.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O, change this scourge; or, if as yet<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">None less will my transgressions fit,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dissolve, dissolve! Death cannot do<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What I would not submit unto.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_67_67" id="Footnote_67_67"></a><a href="#FNanchor_67_67"><span class="label">[67]</span></a> The original has <i>throws</i>.</p></div>
+</div>
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span></p>
+<h3><a name="THE_RECOVERY" id="THE_RECOVERY"></a>THE RECOVERY.</h3>
+
+
+<h4>I.</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Fair vessel of our daily light, whose proud<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And previous glories gild that blushing cloud;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose lively fires in swift projections glance<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From hill to hill, and by refracted chance<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Burnish some neighbour-rock, or tree, and then<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fly off in coy and wing&egrave;d flames again:<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">If thou this day<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Hold on thy way,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Know, I have got a greater light than thine;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A light, whose shade and back-parts make thee shine.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Then get thee down! then get thee down!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I have a Sun now of my own.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h4>II.</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Those nicer livers, who without thy rays<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Stir not abroad, those may thy lustre praise;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And wanting light&mdash;light, which no wants doth know&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To thee&mdash;weak shiner!&mdash;like blind Persians bow.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But where that Sun, which tramples on thy head,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From His own bright eternal eye doth shed<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span>
+<span class="i8">One living ray,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">There thy dead day<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is needless, and man to a light made free,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which shows that thou canst neither show nor see.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Then get thee down! then get thee down!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I have a Sun now of my own.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span></p>
+<h3><a name="THE_NATIVITY" id="THE_NATIVITY"></a>THE NATIVITY.</h3>
+
+<p class='center'>Written in the year 1656.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Peace? and to all the world? Sure One,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And He the Prince of Peace, hath none!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He travels to be born, and then<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is born to travel more again.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Poor Galilee! thou canst not be<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The place for His Nativity.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His restless mother's call'd away,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And not deliver'd till she pay.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">A tax? 'tis so still! we can see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Church thrive in her misery,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And, like her Head at Beth'lem, rise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When she, oppress'd with troubles, lies.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Rise?&mdash;should all fall, we cannot be<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In more extremities than He.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Great Type of passions! Come what will,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy grief exceeds all copies still.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou cam'st from Heav'n to Earth, that we<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Might go from Earth to Heav'n with Thee:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And though Thou found'st no welcome here,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou didst provide us mansions there.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">A stable was Thy Court, and when<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Men turn'd to beasts, beasts would be men:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They were Thy courtiers; others none;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And their poor manger was Thy throne.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No swaddling silks Thy limbs did fold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though Thou couldst turn Thy rays to gold.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No rockers waited on Thy birth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No cradles stirr'd, nor songs of mirth;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But her chaste lap and sacred breast,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which lodg'd Thee first, did give Thee rest.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">But stay: what light is that doth stream<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And drop here in a gilded beam?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It is Thy star runs page, and brings<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy tributary Eastern kings.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lord! grant some light to us, that we<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">May with them find the way to Thee!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Behold what mists eclipse the day!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How dark it is! Shed down one ray,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To guide us out of this dark night,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And say once more, "Let there be light!"<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span></p>
+<h3><a name="THE_TRUE_CHRISTMAS" id="THE_TRUE_CHRISTMAS"></a>
+THE TRUE CHRISTMAS.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">So, stick up ivy and the bays,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And then restore the heathen ways.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Green will remind you of the spring,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though this great day denies the thing;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And mortifies the earth, and all<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But your wild revels, and loose hall.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Could you wear flow'rs, and roses strow<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Blushing upon your breasts' warm snow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That very dress your lightness will<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Rebuke, and wither at the ill.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The brightness of this day we owe<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not unto music, masque, nor show,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor gallant furniture, nor plate,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But to the manger's mean estate.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His life while here, as well as birth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was but a check to pomp and mirth;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all man's greatness you may see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Condemned by His humility.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Then leave your open house and noise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To welcome Him with holy joys,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the poor shepherds' watchfulness,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whom light and hymns from Heav'n did bless.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">What you abound with, cast abroad<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To those that want, and ease your load.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who empties thus, will bring more in;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But riot is both loss and sin.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dress finely what comes not in sight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And then you keep your Christmas right.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span></p>
+<h3><a name="THE_REQUEST" id="THE_REQUEST"></a>THE REQUEST.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O thou who didst deny to me<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This world's ador'd felicity,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And ev'ry big imperious lust,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which fools admire in sinful dust,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With those fine subtle twists, that tie<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their bundles of foul gallantry&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Keep still my weak eyes from the shine<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of those gay things which are not Thine!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And shut my ears against the noise<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of wicked, though applauded, joys!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For Thou in any land hast store<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of shades and coverts for Thy poor;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where from the busy dust and heat,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As well as storms, they may retreat.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A rock or bush are downy beds,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When Thou art there, crowning their heads<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With secret blessings, or a tire<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Made of the Comforter's live fire.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And when Thy goodness in the dress<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of anger will not seem to bless,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet dost Thou give them that rich rain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which, as it drops, clears all again.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span>
+<span class="i2">O what kind visits daily pass<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Twixt Thy great self and such poor grass:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With what sweet looks doth Thy love shine<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On those low violets of Thine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While the tall tulip is accurst,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And crowns imperial die with thirst!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O give me still those secret meals,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Those rare repasts which Thy love deals!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Give me that joy, which none can grieve,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And which in all griefs doth relieve!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This is the portion Thy child begs;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not that of rust, and rags, and dregs.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span></p>
+<h3><a name="JORDANIS" id="JORDANIS"></a>JORDANIS.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Quid celebras auratam undam, et combusta pyropis<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Flumina, vel medio qu&aelig; serit &aelig;thra salo?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">&AElig;ternum refluis si pernoctaret in undis<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Ph&oelig;bus, et incertam sidera suda Tethyn<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Si colerent, tant&aelig; gemm&aelig;! nil c&aelig;rula librem:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Sorderet rubro in littore dives Eos.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Pactoli mea lympha macras ditabit arenas,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Atque universum gutta minuta Tagum.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O caram caput! O cincinnos unda beatos<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Libata! O Domini balnea sancta mei!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Quod fortunatum voluit spectare canalem,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Hoc erat in laudes area parva tuas.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Jordanis in medio perfusus flumine lavit,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Divinoque tuas ore beavit aquas.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ah! Solyma infelix rivis obsessa prophanis!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Amisit genium porta Bethesda suum.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hic Orientis aqu&aelig; currunt, et apostata Parphar,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Atque Abana immundo turbidus amne fluit,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ethnica te totam cum f&oelig;davere fluenta,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Mansit Christicol&acirc; Jordanis unus aqua.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span></p>
+<h3><a name="SERVILII_FATUM_SIVE_VINDICTA_DIVINA" id="SERVILII_FATUM_SIVE_VINDICTA_DIVINA"></a>
+SERVILII FATUM, SIVE VINDICTA DIVINA.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Et sic in cithara, sic in dulcedine vit&aelig;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Et facti et luctus regnat amarities.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Quam subito in fastum extensos atque esseda<a name="FNanchor_68_68" id="FNanchor_68_68"></a><a href="#Footnote_68_68" class="fnanchor">[68]</a> vultus<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Ultrici oppressit vilis arena sinu!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Si viol&aelig;, spiransque crocus: si lilium
+<span title='aeinon'>&#7936;&#8051;&#953;&#957;&#959;&#957;</span><br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Non nisi justorum nascitur e cinere:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Spinarum, tribulique atque infelicis aven&aelig;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Quantus in hoc tumulo et qualis acervus erit?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dii superi! damnosa piis sub sidera longum<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Mansuris stabilem conciliate fidem!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sic olim in c&oelig;lum post nimbos clarius ibunt,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Supremo occidui tot velut astra die.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Quippe ruunt hor&aelig;, qualisque in corpore vixit,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Talis it in tenebras bis moriturus homo.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_68_68" id="Footnote_68_68"></a><a href="#FNanchor_68_68"><span class="label">[68]</span></a> The original edition misprints <i>essera</i>.</p></div>
+</div>
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span></p>
+<h3><a name="DE_SALMONE" id="DE_SALMONE"></a>DE SALMONE</h3>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<i>Ad virum optimum, et sibi familiarius notum: D. Thomam Poellum
+Cantrevensem: S. S. Theologi&aelig; Doctorem.</i>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Accipe pr&aelig;rapido salmonem in gurgite captum,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Ex imo in summas cum penetrasset aquas,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Mentit&aelig; culicis quem forma elusit inanis:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Picta coloratis plumea musca notis.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dum captat, capitur; vorat inscius, ipse vorandus;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Fitque cibi raptor grata rapina mali.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Alma quies! miser&aelig; merces ditissima vit&aelig;,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Quam tuto in tacitis hic latuisset aquis!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Qui dum spumosi fremitus et murmura rivi<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Qu&aelig;ritat, hamato sit cita pr&aelig;da cibo,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Quam grave magnarum specimen dant ludicra rerum?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Gurges est mundus: salmo, homo: pluma, dolus.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span></p>
+<h3><a name="THE_WORLD" id="THE_WORLD"></a>THE WORLD.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Can any tell me what it is? Can you<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That wind your thoughts into a clue<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To guide out others, while yourselves stay in,<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">And hug the sin?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I, who so long have in it liv'd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">That, if I might,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In truth I would not be repriev'd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Have neither sight<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Nor sense that knows<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">These ebbs and flows:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But since of all all may be said,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And likeliness doth but upbraid<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And mock the truth, which still is lost<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In fine conceits, like streams in a sharp frost;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I will not strive, nor the rule break,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Which doth give losers leave to speak.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then false and foul world, and unknown<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Ev'n to thy own,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Here I renounce thee, and resign<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Whatever thou canst say is thine.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">Thou art not Truth! for he that tries<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Shall find thee all deceit and lies,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou art not Friendship! for in thee<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Tis but the bait of policy;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which like a viper lodg'd in flow'rs,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Its venom through that sweetness pours;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And when not so, then always 'tis<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A fading paint, the short-liv'd bliss<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of air and humour; out and in,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like colours in a dolphin's skin;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But must not live beyond one day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or convenience; then away.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou art not Riches! for that trash,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which one age hoards, the next doth wash<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And so severely sweep away,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That few remember where it lay.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So rapid streams the wealthy land<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">About them have at their command;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And shifting channels here restore,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There break down, what they bank'd before.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou art not Honour! for those gay<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Feathers will wear and drop away;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And princes to some upstart line<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Gives new ones, that are full as fine.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou art not Pleasure! for thy rose<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Upon a thorn doth still repose;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which, if not cropp'd, will quickly shed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But soon as cropp'd, grows dull and dead.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Thou art the sand, which fills one glass,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And then doth to another pass;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And could I put thee to a stay,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou art but dust! Then go thy way,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And leave me clean and bright, though poor;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who stops thee doth but daub his floor;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And, swallow-like, when he hath done,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To unknown dwellings must be gone!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Welcome, pure thoughts, and peaceful hours,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Enrich'd with sunshine and with show'rs;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Welcome fair hopes, and holy cares,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The not to be repented shares<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of time and business; the sure road<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Unto my last and lov'd abode!<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">O supreme Bliss!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Circle, Centre, and Abyss<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of blessings, never let me miss<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor leave that path which leads to Thee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who art alone all things to me!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I hear, I see, all the long day<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The noise and pomp of the broad way.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I note their coarse and proud approaches,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their silks, perfumes, and glittering coaches.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But in the narrow way to Thee<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I observe only poverty,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And despis'd things; and all along<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The ragged, mean, and humble throng<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are still on foot; and as they go<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They sigh, and say, their Lord went so.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Give me my staff then, as it stood<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When green and growing in the wood;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">&mdash;Those stones, which for the altar serv'd,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Might not be smooth'd, nor finely carv'd&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With this poor stick I'll pass the ford,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As Jacob did; and Thy dear word,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As Thou hast dress'd it, not as wit<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And deprav'd tastes have poison'd it,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shall in the passage be my meat,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And none else will Thy servant eat.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thus, thus, and in no other sort,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Will I set forth, though laugh'd at for't;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And leaving the wise world their way,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Go through, though judg'd to go astray.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span></p>
+<h3><a name="THE_BEE" id="THE_BEE"></a>THE BEE.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">From fruitful beds and flow'ry borders,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Parcell'd to wasteful ranks and orders,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where State grasps more than plain Truth needs,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And wholesome herbs are starv'd by weeds,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To the wild woods I will be gone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the coarse meals of great Saint John.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">When truth and piety are miss'd<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Both in the rulers and the priest;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When pity is not cold, but dead,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the rich eat the poor like bread;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While factious heads with open coil<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And force, first make, then share, the spoil;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To Horeb then Elias goes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And in the desert grows the rose.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Hail crystal fountains and fresh shades,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where no proud look invades,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No busy worldling hunts away<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The sad retirer all the day!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hail, happy, harmless solitude!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Our sanctuary from the rude<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And scornful world; the calm recess<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of faith, and hope, and holiness!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Here something still like Eden looks;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Honey in woods, juleps in brooks,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And flow'rs, whose rich, unrifled sweets<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With a chaste kiss the cool dew greets,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When the toils of the day are done,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the tir'd world sets with the sun.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Here flying winds and flowing wells<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are the wise, watchful hermit's bells;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their busy murmurs all the night<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To praise or prayer do invite,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And with an awful sound arrest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And piously employ his breast.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">When in the East the dawn doth blush,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Here cool, fresh spirits the air brush;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Herbs straight get up, flow'rs peep and spread,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Trees whisper praise, and bow the head:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Birds, from the shades of night releas'd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Look round about, then quit the nest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And with united gladness sing<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The glory of the morning's King.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The hermit hears, and with meek voice<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Offers his own up, and their joys:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then prays that all the world may be<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bless'd with as sweet an unity.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">If sudden storms the day invade,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They flock about him to the shade:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where wisely they expect the end,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Giving the tempest time to spend;<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">And hard by shelters on some bough<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hilarion's servant, the sage crow.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">O purer years of light and grace!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The diff'rence is great as the space<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Twixt you and us, who blindly run<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">After false fires, and leave the sun.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is not fair Nature of herself<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Much richer than dull paint or pelf?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And are not streams at the spring-head<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">More sweet than in carv'd stone or lead?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But fancy and some artist's tools<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Frame a religion for fools.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">The truth, which once was plainly taught,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With thorns and briars now is fraught.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some part is with bold fables spotted,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some by strange comments wildly blotted;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Discord&mdash;old Corruption's crest&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With blood and blame hath stain'd the rest.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So snow, which in its first descents<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A whiteness, like pure Heav'n, presents,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When touch'd by man is quickly soil'd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And after, trodden down and spoil'd.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">O lead me, where I may be free<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In truth and spirit to serve Thee!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where undisturb'd I may converse<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With Thy great Self; and there rehearse<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy gifts with thanks; and from Thy store,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who art all blessings, beg much more.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Give me the wisdom of the bee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And her unwearied industry!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That from the wild gourds of these days,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I may extract health, and Thy praise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who canst turn darkness into light,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And in my weakness show Thy might.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Suffer me not in any want<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To seek refreshment from a plant<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou didst not set; since all must be<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Pluck'd up, whose growth is not from Thee.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Tis not the garden, and the bow'rs,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor sense and forms, that give to flow'rs<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their wholesomeness, but Thy good will,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which truth and pureness purchase still.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Then since corrupt man hath driv'n hence<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy kind and saving influence,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And balm is no more to be had<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In all the coasts of Gilead;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Go with me to the shade and cell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where Thy best servants once did dwell.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There let me know Thy will, and see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Exil'd Religion own'd by Thee;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For Thou canst turn dark grots to halls,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And make hills blossom like the vales;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Decking their untill'd heads with flow'rs,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And fresh delights for all sad hours;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till from them, like a laden bee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I may fly home, and hive with Thee<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span></p>
+<h3><a name="TO_CHRISTIAN_RELIGION" id="TO_CHRISTIAN_RELIGION"></a>
+TO CHRISTIAN RELIGION.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Farewell, thou true and tried reflection<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of the still poor, and meek election:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Farewell, soul's joy, the quick'ning health<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of spirits, and their secret wealth!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Farewell, my morning-star, the bright<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And dawning looks of the True Light!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O blessed shiner, tell me whither<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou wilt be gone, when night comes hither!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A se&euml;r that observ'd thee in<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy course, and watch'd the growth of sin,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hath giv'n his judgment, and foretold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That westward hence thy course will hold;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And when the day with us is done,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There fix, and shine a glorious sun.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O hated shades and darkness! when<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You have got here the sway again,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And like unwholesome fogs withstood<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The light, and blasted all that's good,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who shall the happy shepherds be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To watch the next nativity<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of truth and brightness, and make way<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For the returning, rising day?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O what year will bring back our bliss?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or who shall live, when God doth this?<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span>
+<span class="i2">Thou Rock of Ages! and the Rest<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of all, that for Thee are oppress'd!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Send down the Spirit of Thy truth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That Spirit, which the tender youth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And first growths of Thy Spouse did spread<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Through all the world, from one small head!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then if to blood we must resist,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let Thy mild Dove, and our High-Priest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Help us, when man proves false or frowns,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To bear the Cross, and save our crowns.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O honour those that honour Thee!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Make babes to still the enemy!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And teach an infant of few days<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To perfect by his death Thy praise!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let none defile what Thou didst wed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor tear the garland from her head!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But chaste and cheerful let her die,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And precious in the Bridegroom's eye<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So to Thy glory and her praise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">These last shall be her brightest days.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Revel[ation] chap. last, vers. 17.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">"<i>The Spirit and the Bride say, Come.</i>"<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span></p>
+<h3><a name="DAPHNIS" id="DAPHNIS"></a>DAPHNIS.</h3>
+
+<p class='center'><i>An Elegiac Eclogue. The Interlocutors, Damon, Menalcas.</i></p>
+
+
+<h4><i>Damon.</i></h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">What clouds, Menalcas, do oppress thy brow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Flow'rs in a sunshine never look so low?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is Nisa still cold flint? or have thy lambs<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Met with the fox by straying from their dams?<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<h4><i>Menalcas.</i></h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Ah, Damon, no! my lambs are safe; and she<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is kind, and much more white than they can be.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But what doth life when most serene afford<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Without a worm which gnaws her fairest gourd?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Our days of gladness are but short reliefs,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Giv'n to reserve us for enduring griefs:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So smiling calms close tempests breed, which break<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like spoilers out, and kill our flocks when weak.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I heard last May&mdash;and May is still high Spring&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The pleasant Philomel her vespers sing.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The green wood glitter'd with the golden sun.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all the west like silver shin'd; not one<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Black cloud; no rags, nor spots did stain<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The welkin's beauty; nothing frown'd like rain.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But ere night came, that scene of fine sights turn'd<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To fierce dark show'rs; the air with lightnings burn'd;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The wood's sweet syren, rudely thus oppress'd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Gave to the storm her weak and weary breast.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I saw her next day on her last cold bed:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Daphnis so, just so is Daphnis, dead!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<h4><i>Damon.</i></h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">So violets, so doth the primrose, fall,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At once the Spring's pride, and its funeral.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Such easy sweets get off still in their prime,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And stay not here to wear the soil of time;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While coarser flow'rs, which none would miss, if past,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To scorching Summers and cold Autumns last.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<h4><i>Menalcas.</i></h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Souls need not time. The early forward things<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are always fledg'd, and gladly use their wings.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or else great parts, when injur'd, quit the crowd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To shine above still, not behind, the cloud.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And is't not just to leave those to the night<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That madly hate and persecute the light?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who, doubly dark, all negroes do exceed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And inwardly are true black Moors indeed?<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[280]</a></span></div></div>
+
+<h4><i>Damon.</i></h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">The punishment still manifests the sin,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As outward signs show the disease within.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While worth oppress'd mounts to a nobler height,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And palm-like bravely overtops the weight.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">So where swift Isca from our lofty hills<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With loud farewells descends, and foaming fills<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A wider channel, like some great port-vein<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With large rich streams to fill the humble plain:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I saw an oak, whose stately height and shade,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Projected far, a goodly shelter made;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And from the top with thick diffus&egrave;d boughs<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In distant rounds grew like a wood-nymph's house.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Here many garlands won at roundel-lays<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Old shepherds hung up in those happy days<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With knots and girdles, the dear spoils and dress<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of such bright maids as did true lovers bless.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And many times had old Amphion made<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His beauteous flock acquainted with this shade:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His flock, whose fleeces were as smooth and white<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As those the welkin shows in moonshine night.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Here, when the careless world did sleep, have I<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In dark records and numbers nobly high,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The visions of our black, but brightest bard<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From old Amphion's mouth full often heard;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With all those plagues poor shepherds since have known,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And riddles more, which future time must own:<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">While on his pipe young Hylas play'd, and made<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Music as solemn as the song and shade.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But the curs'd owner from the trembling top<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To the firm brink did all those branches lop;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And in one hour what many years had bred,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The pride and beauty of the plain, lay dead.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The undone swains in sad songs mourn'd their loss,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While storms and cold winds did improve the cross;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But nature, which&mdash;like virtue&mdash;scorns to yield,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Brought new recruits and succours to the field;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For by next spring the check'd sap wak'd from sleep,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And upwards still to feel the sun did creep;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till at those wounds, the hated hewer made,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There sprang a thicker and a fresher shade.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<h4><i>Menalcas.</i></h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">So thrives afflicted Truth, and so the light<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When put out gains a value from the night.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How glad are we, when but one twinkling star<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Peeps betwixt clouds more black than is our tar:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Providence was kind, that order'd this<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To the brave suff'rer should be solid bliss:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor is it so till this short life be done,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But goes hence with him, and is still his sun.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<h4><i>Damon.</i></h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Come, shepherds, then, and with your greenest bays<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Refresh his dust, who lov'd your learn&egrave;d lays.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Bring here the florid glories of the spring,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And, as you strew them, pious anthems sing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which to your children and the years to come<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">May speak of Daphnis, and be never dumb.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While prostrate I drop on his quiet urn<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My tears, not gifts; and like the poor that mourn<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With green but humble turfs, write o'er his hearse<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For false, foul prose-men this fair truth in verse.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Here Daphnis sleeps, and while the great watch goes<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of loud and restless Time, takes his repose.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fame is but noise; all Learning but a thought;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which one admires, another sets at nought,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nature mocks both, and Wit still keeps ado:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But Death brings knowledge and assurance too."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<h4><i>Menalcas.</i></h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Cast in your garlands! strew on all the flow'rs,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which May with smiles or April feeds with show'rs,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let this day's rites as steadfast as the sun<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Keep pace with Time and through all ages run;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The public character and famous test<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of our long sorrows and his lasting rest.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And when we make procession on the plains,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or yearly keep the holiday of swains,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let Daphnis still be the recorded name,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And solemn honour of our feasts and fame.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">For though the Isis and the prouder Thames<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Can show his relics lodg'd hard by their streams:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And must for ever to the honour'd name<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of noble Murrey chiefly owe that fame:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet here his stars first saw him, and when Fate<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Beckon'd him hence, it knew no other date.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor will these vocal woods and valleys fail,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor Isca's louder streams, this to bewail;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But while swains hope, and seasons change, will glide<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With moving murmurs because Daphnis died.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<h4><i>Damon.</i></h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">A fatal sadness, such as still foregoes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then runs along with public plagues and woes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lies heavy on us; and the very light,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Turn'd mourner too, hath the dull looks of night.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Our vales, like those of death, a darkness show<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">More sad than cypress or the gloomy yew;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And on our hills, where health with height complied,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thick drowsy mists hang round, and there reside.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not one short parcel of the tedious year<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In its old dress and beauty doth appear.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Flow'rs hate the spring, and with a sullen bend<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thrust down their heads, which to the root still tend.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And though the sun, like a cold lover, peeps<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A little at them, still the day's-eye sleeps.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[284]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">But when the Crab and Lion with acute<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And active fires their sluggish heat recruit,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Our grass straight russets, and each scorching day<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Drinks up our brooks as fast as dew in May;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till the sad herdsman with his cattle faints,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And empty channels ring with loud complaints.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<h4><i>Menalcas.</i></h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Heaven's just displeasure, and our unjust ways,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Change Nature's course; bring plagues, dearth, and decays.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This turns our lands to dust, the skies to brass,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Makes old kind blessings into curses pass:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And when we learn unknown and foreign crimes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Brings in the vengeance due unto those climes.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The dregs and puddle of all ages now,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like rivers near their fall, on us do flow.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ah, happy Daphnis! who while yet the streams<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ran clear and warm, though but with setting beams,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Got through, and saw by that declining light,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His toil's and journey's end before the night.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<h4><i>Damon.</i></h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">A night, where darkness lays her chains and bars,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And feral fires appear instead of stars.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But he, along with the last looks of day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Went hence, and setting&mdash;sunlike&mdash;pass'd away.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[285]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">What future storms our present sins do hatch<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some in the dark discern, and others watch;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though foresight makes no hurricane prove mild,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fury that's long fermenting is most wild.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But see, while thus our sorrows we discourse,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ph&oelig;bus hath finish'd his diurnal course;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The shades prevail: each bush seems bigger grown;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Darkness&mdash;like State&mdash;makes small things swell and frown:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The hills and woods with pipes and sonnets round,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And bleating sheep our swains drive home, resound.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<h4><i>Menalcas.</i></h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">What voice from yonder lawn tends hither? Hark!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Tis Thyrsis calls! I hear Lycanthe bark!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His flocks left out so late, and weary grown,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are to the thickets gone, and there laid down.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<h4><i>Damon.</i></h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Menalcas, haste to look them out! poor sheep,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When day is done, go willingly to sleep:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And could bad man his time spend as they do,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He might go sleep, or die, as willing too.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<h4><i>Menalcas.</i></h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Farewell! kind Damon! now the shepherd's star<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With beauteous looks smiles on us, though from far.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[286]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">All creatures that were favourites of day<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are with the sun retir'd and gone away.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While feral birds send forth unpleasant notes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And night&mdash;the nurse of thoughts&mdash;sad thoughts promotes:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But joy will yet come with the morning light,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though sadly now we bid good night!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<h4><i>Damon.</i></h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Good night!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr class="major" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[287]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="FRAGMENTS_AND_TRANSLATIONS" id="FRAGMENTS_AND_TRANSLATIONS"></a>
+                        FRAGMENTS AND TRANSLATIONS.
+</h2>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[288]</a></span></p>
+
+<hr class="major" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[289]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+From <i>Eucharistica Oxoniensia in Caroli Regis
+nostri e Scotia Reditum Gratulatoria</i> (1641).
+</div>
+
+
+<h3><a name="TO_CHARLES_THE_FIRST" id="TO_CHARLES_THE_FIRST"></a>
+[TO CHARLES THE FIRST.]</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">As kings do rule like th' heavens, who dispense<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To parts remote and near their influence;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So doth our Charles move also; while he posts<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From south to north, and back to southern coasts;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like to the starry orb, which in its round<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Moves to those very points; but while 'tis bound<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For north, there is&mdash;some guess&mdash;a trembling fit<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And shivering in the part that's opposite.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What were our fears and pantings, what dire fame<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Heard we of Irish tumults, sword, and flame!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which now we think but blessings, as being sent<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Only as matter, whereupon 'twas meant,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The British thus united might express,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The strength of join&egrave;d Powers to suppress,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or conquer foes. This is Great Britain's bliss;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The island in itself a just world is.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Here no commotion shall we find or fear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But of the Court's removal, no sad tear<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[290]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Or cloudy brow, but when you leave us. Then<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Discord is loyalty profess&egrave;d, when<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nations do strive, which shall the happier be<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">T' enjoy your bounteous rays of majesty<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which yet you throw in undivided dart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For things divine allow no share or part.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The same kind virtue doth at once disclose<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The beauty of their thistle and our rose.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thus you do mingle souls and firmly knit<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What were but join'd before; you Scotsmen fit<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Closely with us, and reuniter prove;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You fetch'd the crown before, and now their love.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p style='text-align:right; margin-right:2em;'>H. Vaughan, Ies. Col.</p>
+
+<hr class="major" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[291]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+From <i>Of the Benefit we may get by our Enemies</i>: translated from
+Plutarch (1651).
+</div>
+
+<h3><a name="HOMER_ILIAD" id="HOMER_ILIAD"></a>
+1. [HOMER. ILIAD, I. 255-6.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Sure Priam will to mirth incline,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all that are of Priam's line.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3><a name="AESCHYLUS_SEPTEM_CONTRA_THEBES_600-1" id="AESCHYLUS_SEPTEM_CONTRA_THEBES_600-1"></a>
+2. [AESCHYLUS. SEPTEM CONTRA THEBES, 600-1.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Feeding on fruits which in the heavens do grow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whence all divine and holy counsels flow.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3><a name="EURIPIDES_ORESTES_251-2" id="EURIPIDES_ORESTES_251-2"></a>
+3. [EURIPIDES. ORESTES, 251-2.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Excel then if thou canst, be not withstood,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But strive and overcome the evil with good.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3><a name="EURIPIDES_FRAGM_MLXXI" id="EURIPIDES_FRAGM_MLXXI"></a>
+4. [EURIPIDES. FRAGM. MLXXI.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">You minister to others' wounds a cure,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But leave your own all rotten and impure.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[292]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+<h3><a name="EURIPIDES_CRESPHONTES_FRAGM_CCCCLV" id="EURIPIDES_CRESPHONTES_FRAGM_CCCCLV"></a>
+5. [EURIPIDES. CRESPHONTES, FRAGM. CCCCLV.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Chance, taking from me things of highest price,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At a dear rate hath taught me to be wise.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3><a name="INCERTIE" id="INCERTIE"></a>
+6. [INCERTI.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">[He] Knaves' tongues and calumnies no more doth prize<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Than the vain buzzing of so many flies.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3><a name="PINDAR_FRAGM_C" id="PINDAR_FRAGM_C"></a>
+7. [PINDAR. FRAGM. C.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">His deep, dark heart&mdash;bent to supplant&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is iron, or else adamant.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<h3><a name="SOLON" id="SOLON"></a>8. [SOLON. FRAGM. XV.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">What though they boast their riches unto us?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Those cannot say that they are virtuous.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr class="major" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[293]</a></span></p>
+<div class="blockquot">
+From <i>Of the Diseases of the Mind and the Body</i>: translated from
+Plutarch (1651).</div>
+
+<h3><a name="HOMER_ILIAD_XVII_446-7" id="HOMER_ILIAD_XVII_446-7"></a>
+1. [HOMER. ILIAD, XVII. 446-7.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">That man for misery excell'd<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All creatures which the wide world held.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3><a name="EURIPIDES_BACCHAE_1170-4" id="EURIPIDES_BACCHAE_1170-4"></a>
+2. [EURIPIDES. BACCHAE, 1170-4.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">A tender kid&mdash;see, where 'tis put&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I on the hills did slay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Now dress'd and into quarters cut,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A pleasant, dainty prey.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+
+<div class="blockquot">From <i>Of the Diseases of the Mind and the Body</i>: translated from Maximus
+Tyrius (1651).</div>
+
+
+<h3><a name="ARIPHRON" id="ARIPHRON"></a>1. [ARIPHRON.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O health, the chief of gifts divine!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I would I might with thee and thine<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Live all those days appointed mine!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[294]</a></span></div>
+<div class="blockquot">
+From <i>The Mount of Olives</i> (1652).
+</div>
+
+
+<h3><a name="DEATH" id="DEATH"></a>1. [DEATH.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Draw near, fond man, and dress thee by this glass,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Mark how thy bravery and big looks must pass<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Into corruption, rottenness and dust;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The frail supporters which betray'd thy trust.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O weigh in time thy last and loathsome state!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To purchase heav'n for tears is no hard rate.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Our glory, greatness, wisdom, all we have,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If mis-employ'd, but add hell to the grave:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Only a fair redemption of evil times<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Finds life in death, and buries all our crimes.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3><a name="HADRIANS_ADDRESS_TO_HIS_SOUL" id="HADRIANS_ADDRESS_TO_HIS_SOUL"></a>
+2. [HADRIAN'S ADDRESS TO HIS SOUL.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">My soul, my pleasant soul, and witty,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The guest and consort of my body.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Into what place now all alone<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Naked and sad wilt thou be gone?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No mirth, no wit, as heretofore,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor jests wilt thou afford me more.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[295]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+<h3><a name="PAULINUS_CARM_APP_I_35-40" id="PAULINUS_CARM_APP_I_35-40"></a>
+3. [PAULINUS. CARM. APP. I. 35-40.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">What is't to me that spacious rivers run<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whole ages, and their streams are never done?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Those still remain: but all my fathers died,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I myself but for few days abide.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3><a name="ANEURIN_ENGLYNION_Y_MISOEDD_III_1-4" id="ANEURIN_ENGLYNION_Y_MISOEDD_III_1-4"></a>
+4. [ANEURIN. ENGLYNION Y MISOEDD, III. 1-4.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">In March birds couple, a new birth<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of herbs and flow'rs breaks through the earth;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But in the grave none stirs his head,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Long is the impris'ment of the dead.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3><a name="INCERTID" id="INCERTID"></a>5. [INCERTI.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">So our decays God comforts by<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The stars' concurrent state on high.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3><a name="JUVENAL_SATIRE_XIII_86-8" id="JUVENAL_SATIRE_XIII_86-8"></a>
+6. [JUVENAL. SATIRE XIII. 86-8.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There are that do believe all things succeed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By chance or fortune: and that nought's decreed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By a divine, wise Will; but blindly call<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Old Time and Nature rulers over all.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[296]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+<h3><a name="INCERTIC" id="INCERTIC"></a>7. [INCERTI.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">From the first hour the heavens were made<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Unto the last, when all shall fade,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Count&mdash;if thou canst&mdash;the drops of dew,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The stars of heav'n and streams that flow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The falling snow, the dropping show'rs,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And in the month of May, the flow'rs,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their scents and colours, and what store<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of grapes and apples Autumn bore,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How many grains the Summer bears,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What leaves the wind in Winter tears;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Count all the creatures in the world,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The motes which in the air are hurl'd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The hairs of beasts and mankind, and<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The shore's innumerable sand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The blades of grass, and to these last<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Add all the years which now are past,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With those whose course is yet to come,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all their minutes in one sum.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When all is done, the damned's state<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Outruns them still, and knows no date.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3><a name="VIRGIL_GEORGICS_IV_12-138" id="VIRGIL_GEORGICS_IV_12-138"></a>
+8. [VIRGIL. GEORGICS, IV. 12-138.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I saw beneath Tarentum's stately towers<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An old Cilician spend his peaceful hours.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[297]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Some few bad acres in a waste, wild field,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which neither grass, nor corn, nor vines would yield,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He did possess. There&mdash;amongst thorns and weeds&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Cheap herbs and coleworts, with the common seeds<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of chesboule or tame poppies, he did sow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And vervain with white lilies caused to grow.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Content he was, as are successful kings,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And late at night come home&mdash;for long work brings<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The night still home&mdash;with unbought messes laid<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On his low table he his hunger stay'd.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Roses he gather'd in the youthful Spring,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And apples in the Autumn home did bring:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And when the sad, cold Winter burst with frost<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The stones, and the still streams in ice were lost,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He would soft leaves of bear's-foot crop, and chide<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The slow west winds and ling'ring Summer-tide!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3><a name="VIRGIL_AENEID_III_515" id="VIRGIL_AENEID_III_515"></a>
+9. [VIRGIL. AENEID, III. 515.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And rising at midnight the stars espied,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All posting westward in a silent glide.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3><a name="VIRGIL_GEORGICS_II_58" id="VIRGIL_GEORGICS_II_58"></a>
+10. [VIRGIL. GEORGICS, II. 58.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The trees we set grow slowly, and their shade<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Stays for our sons, while we&mdash;the planters&mdash;fade.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr class="major" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[298]</a></span></p>
+<div class="blockquot">
+From <i>Man in Glory</i>: translated from Anselm (1652).
+</div>
+
+
+<h3><a name="ANSELM" id="ANSELM"></a>1. [ANSELM.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Here holy Anselm lives in ev'ry page,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And sits archbishop still, to vex the age.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Had he foreseen&mdash;and who knows but he did?&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This fatal wrack, which deep in time lay hid,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Tis but just to believe, that little hand<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which clouded him, but now benights our land,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Had never&mdash;like Elias&mdash;driv'n him hence,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A sad retirer for a slight offence.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For were he now, like the returning year,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Restor'd, to view these desolations here,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He would do penance for his old complaint,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And&mdash;weeping&mdash;say, that Rufus was a saint.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[299]</a></span></p>
+<div class="blockquot">
+From the Epistle-Dedicatory to <i>Flores Solitudinis</i> (1654).
+</div>
+
+
+<h3><a name="BISSELLIUS" id="BISSELLIUS"></a>1. [BISSELLIUS.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The whole wench&mdash;how complete soe'er&mdash;was but<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A specious bait; a soft, sly, tempting slut;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A pleasing witch; a living death; a fair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thriving disease; a fresh, infectious air;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A precious plague; a fury sweetly drawn;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wild fire laid up and finely dress'd in lawn.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3><a name="AUGURELLIUS" id="AUGURELLIUS"></a>2. [AUGURELLIUS.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Peter, when thou this pleasant world dost see,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Believe, thou seest mere dreams and vanity,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not real things, but false, and through the air<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Each-where an empty, slipp'ry scene, though fair.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The chirping birds, the fresh woods' shady boughs,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The leaves' shrill whispers, when the west wind blows,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The swift, fierce greyhounds coursing on the plains,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The flying hare, distress'd 'twixt fear and pains,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The bloomy maid decking with flow'rs her head,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The gladsome, easy youth by light love led;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And whatsoe'er here with admiring eyes<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou seem'st to see, 'tis but a frail disguise<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Worn by eternal things, a passive dress<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Put on by beings that are passiveless.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[300]</a></span></p>
+<div class="blockquot">
+From a Discourse <i>Of Temperance and Patience</i>: translated from
+Nierembergius (1654).</div>
+
+<h3><a name="INCERTIB" id="INCERTIB"></a>1. [INCERTI.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The naked man too gets the field,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And often makes the arm&egrave;d foe to yield.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3><a name="LUCRETIUS_IV_1012-1020" id="LUCRETIUS_IV_1012-1020"></a>
+2. [LUCRETIUS, IV. 1012-1020.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">[Some] struggle and groan as if by panthers torn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or lions' teeth, which makes them loudly mourn;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some others seem unto themselves to die;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some climb steep solitudes and mountains high,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From whence they seem to fall inanely down,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Panting with fear, till wak'd, and scarce their own<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They feel about them if in bed they lie,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Deceiv'd with dreams, and Night's imagery.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">In vain with earnest strugglings they contend<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To ease themselves: for when they stir and bend<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their greatest force to do it, even then most<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of all they faint, and in their hopes are cross'd.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor tongue, nor hand, nor foot will serve their turn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But without speech and strength within, they mourn.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[301]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+<h3><a name="INCERTIA" id="INCERTIA"></a>3. [INCERTI.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Thou the nepenthe easing grief<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Art, and the mind's healing relief.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3><a name="INCERTI9" id="INCERTI9"></a>4. [INCERTI.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Base man! and couldst thou think Cato alone<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wants courage to be dry? and but him, none?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Look'd I so soft? breath'd I such base desires,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not proof against this Lybic sun's weak fires?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That shame and plague on thee more justly lie!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To drink alone, when all our troops are dry.<br /></span>
+<hr style="width: 45%;" /><br />
+<span class="i0">For with brave rage he flung it on the sand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the spilt draught suffic'd each thirsty band<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3><a name="INCERTI8" id="INCERTI8"></a>5. [INCERTI.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">[Death keeps off]<br /></span>
+<span class="i14">And will not bear the cry<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of distress'd man, nor shut his weeping eye<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3><a name="MAXIMUS1" id="MAXIMUS1"></a>6. [MAXIMUS.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">It lives when kill'd, and brancheth when 'tis lopp'd.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[302]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+<h3><a name="MAXIMUS2" id="MAXIMUS2"></a>7. [MAXIMUS.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Like some fair oak, that when her boughs<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are cut by rude hands, thicker grows;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And from those wounds the iron made<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Resumes a rich and fresher shade.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3><a name="GREGORY_NAZIANZEN" id="GREGORY_NAZIANZEN"></a>
+8. [GREGORY NAZIANZEN.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Patience digesteth misery.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3><a name="MARIUS_VICTOR" id="MARIUS_VICTOR"></a>9. [MARIUS VICTOR.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&mdash;&mdash;They fain would&mdash;if they might&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Descend to hide themselves in Hell. So light<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of foot is Vengeance; and so near to sin,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That soon as done, the actors do begin<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To fear and suffer by themselves: Death moves<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Before their eyes; sad dens and dusky groves<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They haunt, and hope&mdash;vain hope which Fear doth guide!&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That those dark shades their inward guilt can hide.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3><a name="INCERTIG" id="INCERTIG"></a>10. [INCERTI.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But night and day doth his own life molest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And bears his judge and witness in his breast.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[303]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+<h3><a name="THEODOTUS" id="THEODOTUS"></a>11. [THEODOTUS.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Virtue's fair cares some people measure<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For poisonous works that hinder pleasure.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<h3><a name="INCERTIH" id="INCERTIH"></a>12. [INCERTI.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Man should with virtue arm'd and hearten'd be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And innocently watch his enemy:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For fearless freedom, which none can control,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is gotten by a pure and upright soul.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3><a name="INCERTIJ" id="INCERTIJ"></a>13. [INCERTI.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Whose guilty soul, with terrors fraught, doth frame<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">New torments still, and still doth blow that flame<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which still burns him, nor sees what end can be<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of his dire plagues, and fruitful penalty;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But fears them living, and fears more to die;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which makes his life a constant tragedy.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3><a name="INCERTIK" id="INCERTIK"></a>14. [INCERTI.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And for life's sake to lose the crown of life.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3><a name="INCERTIL" id="INCERTIL"></a>15. [INCERTI.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Nature even for herself doth lay a snare,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And handsome faces their own traitors are.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[304]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+<h3><a name="MENANDER" id="MENANDER"></a>16. [MENANDER.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i12">True life in this is shown,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To live for all men's good, not for our own.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3><a name="INCERTI" id="INCERTI"></a>17. [INCERTI.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">As Egypt's drought by Nilus is redress'd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So thy wise tongue doth comfort the oppress'd.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3><a name="INCERTIQ" id="INCERTIQ"></a>18. [INCERTI.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">[Like] to speedy posts, bear hence the lamp of life.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3><a name="DIONYSIUS_LYRINENSIS" id="DIONYSIUS_LYRINENSIS"></a>
+19. [DIONYSIUS LYRINENSIS.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">All worldly things, even while they grow, decay;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As smoke doth, by ascending, waste away.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3><a name="INCERTIM" id="INCERTIM"></a>20. [INCERTI.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">To live a stranger unto life.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[305]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+
+<div class="blockquot">From a <i>Discourse of Life and Death</i>: translated from Nierembergius
+(1654).</div>
+
+
+<h3><a name="INCERTI7" id="INCERTI7"></a>1. [INCERTI.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Whose hissings fright all Nature's monstrous ills;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His eye darts death, more swift than poison kills.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All monsters by instinct to him give place,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They fly for life, for death lives in his face;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And he alone by Nature's hid commands<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Reigns paramount, and prince of all the sands.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<h3><a name="INCERTI6" id="INCERTI6"></a>2. [INCERTI.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The plenteous evils of frail life fill the old:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their wasted limbs the loose skin in dry folds<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Doth hang about: their joints are numb'd, and through<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their veins, not blood, but rheums and waters flow.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their trembling bodies with a staff they stay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor do they breathe, but sadly sigh all day.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thoughts tire their hearts, to them their very mind<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is a disease; their eyes no sleep can find.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3><a name="MIMNERMUS" id="MIMNERMUS"></a>3. [MIMNERMUS.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Against the virtuous man we all make head,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And hate him while he lives, but praise him dead.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[306]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+<h3><a name="INCERTI5" id="INCERTI5"></a>4. [INCERTI.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Long life, oppress'd with many woes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Meets more, the further still it goes.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3><a name="JUVENAL_SATIRE_X_278-286" id="JUVENAL_SATIRE_X_278-286"></a>
+5. [JUVENAL. SATIRE X. 278-286.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">What greater good had deck'd great Pompey's crown<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Than death, if in his honours fully blown,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And mature glories he had died? those piles<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of huge success, loud fame, and lofty styles<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Built in his active youth, long lazy life<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Saw quite demolish'd by ambitious strife.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He lived to wear the weak and melting snow<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of luckless age, where garlands seldom grow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But by repining Fate torn from the head<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which wore them once, are on another shed.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3><a name="MENANDER_FRAGM_CXXVIII" id="MENANDER_FRAGM_CXXVIII"></a>
+6. [MENANDER. FRAGM. CXXVIII.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Whom God doth take care for, and love,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He dies young here, to live above.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3><a name="INCERTI4" id="INCERTI4"></a>7. [INCERTI.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Sickness and death, you are but sluggish things,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And cannot reach a heart that hath got wings.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[307]</a></span></div></div>
+
+<hr class="major" />
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+From <i>Primitive Holiness, set forth in the Life of Blessed Paulinus</i>
+(1654).</div>
+
+
+<h3><a name="AUSONIUS_EPIST_XXIV_115-16" id="AUSONIUS_EPIST_XXIV_115-16"></a>
+1. [AUSONIUS. EPIST. XXIV. 115-16.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Let me not weep to see thy ravish'd house<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All sad and silent, without lord or spouse,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all those vast dominions once thine own<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Torn 'twixt a hundred slaves to me unknown.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3><a name="AUSONIUS_EPIST_XXIII_30-1_XXV_5-9_14_17" id="AUSONIUS_EPIST_XXIII_30-1_XXV_5-9_14_17"></a>
+2. [AUSONIUS. EPIST. XXIII. 30-1; XXV. 5-9, 14, 17.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i5">How could that paper sent,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That luckless paper, merit thy contempt?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ev'n foe to foe&mdash;though furiously&mdash;replies,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the defied his enemy defies.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Amidst the swords and wounds, there's a salute,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Rocks answer man, and though hard are not mute.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nature made nothing dumb, nothing unkind:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The trees and leaves speak trembling to the wind.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If thou dost fear discoveries, and the blot<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of my love, Tanaquil shall know it not.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[308]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+<h3><a name="PAULINUS_CARM_XI_1-5_X_189-92" id="PAULINUS_CARM_XI_1-5_X_189-92"></a>
+3. [PAULINUS. CARM. XI. 1-5; X. 189-92.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Obdurate still and tongue-tied, you accuse<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">&mdash;Though yours is ever vocal&mdash;my dull muse;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You blame my lazy, lurking life, and add<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I scorn your love, a calumny most sad;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then tell me, that I fear my wife, and dart<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Harsh, cutting words against my dearest heart.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Leave, learn&egrave;d father, leave this bitter course,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My studies are not turn'd unto the worse;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I am not mad, nor idle, nor deny<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Your great deserts, and my debt, nor have I<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A wife like Tanaquil, as wildly you<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Object, but a Lucretia, chaste and true.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3><a name="PAULINUS_CARM_XXXI_581-2_585-90_601-2_607-12" id="PAULINUS_CARM_XXXI_581-2_585-90_601-2_607-12"></a>
+4. [PAULINUS. CARM. XXXI. 581-2, 585-90, 601-2, 607-12.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">This pledge of your joint love, to heaven now fled,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With honey-combs and milk of life is fed.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or with the Bethlem babes&mdash;whom Herod's rage<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Kill'd in their tender, happy, holy age&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Doth walk the groves of Paradise, and make<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Garlands, which those young martyrs from him take.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With these his eyes on the mild Lamb are fix'd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A virgin-child with virgin-infants mix'd.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Such is my Celsus too, who soon as given,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was taken back&mdash;on the eighth day&mdash;to heaven<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[309]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">To whom at Alcala I sadly gave<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Amongst the martyrs' tombs a little grave.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He now with yours&mdash;gone both the blessed way&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Amongst the trees of life doth smile and play;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And this one drop of our mix'd blood may be<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A light for my Therasia, and for me.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3><a name="AUSONIUS_EPIST_XXV_50_56-7_60-2" id="AUSONIUS_EPIST_XXV_50_56-7_60-2"></a>
+5. [AUSONIUS. EPIST. XXV. 50, 56-7, 60-2.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Sweet Paulinus, and is thy nature turn'd?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Have I so long in vain thy absence mourn'd?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wilt thou, my glory, and great Rome's delight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Senate's prop, their oracle, and light,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In Bilbilis and Calagurris dwell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Changing thy ivory-chair for a dark cell?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wilt bury there thy purple, and contemn<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All the great honours of thy noble stem?<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3><a name="PAULINUS_CARM_X_110-331" id="PAULINUS_CARM_X_110-331"></a>
+6. [PAULINUS. CARM. X. 110-331.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Shall I believe you can make me return,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who pour your fruitless prayers when you mourn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not to your Maker? Who can hear you cry,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But to the fabled nymphs of Castaly?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You never shall by such false gods bring me<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Either to Rome, or to your company.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As for those former things you once did know,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And which you still call mine, I freely now<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Confess, I am not he, whom you knew then;<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[310]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">I have died since, and have been born again.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor dare I think my sage instructor can<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Believe it error, for redeem&egrave;d man<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To serve his great Redeemer. I grieve not<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But glory so to err. Let the wise knot<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of worldlings call me fool; I slight their noise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And hear my God approving of my choice.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Man is but glass, a building of no trust,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A moving shade, and, without Christ, mere dust.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His choice in life concerns the chooser much:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For when he dies, his good or ill&mdash;just such<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As here it was&mdash;goes with him hence, and stays<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Still by him, his strict judge in the last days.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">These serious thoughts take up my soul, and I,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While yet 'tis daylight, fix my busy eye<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Upon His sacred rules, life's precious sum<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who in the twilight of the world shall come<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To judge the lofty looks, and show mankind<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The diff'rence 'twixt the ill and well inclin'd.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This second coming of the world's great King<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Makes my heart tremble, and doth timely bring<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A saving care into my watchful soul,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lest in that day all vitiated and foul<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I should be found&mdash;that day, Time's utmost line,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When all shall perish but what is divine;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When the great trumpet's mighty blast shall shake<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The earth's foundations, till the hard rocks quake<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And melt like piles of snow; when lightnings move<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like hail, and the white thrones are set above:<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[311]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">That day, when sent in glory by the Father,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Prince of Life His blest elect shall gather;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Millions of angels round about Him flying,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While all the kindreds of the Earth are crying;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And He enthron'd upon the clouds shall give<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His last just sentence, who must die, who live.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">This is the fear, this is the saving care<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That makes me leave false honours, and that share<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which fell to me of this frail world, lest by<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A frequent use of present pleasures I<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Should quite forget the future, and let in<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Foul atheism, or some presumptuous sin.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Now by their loss I have secur'd my life,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And bought my peace ev'n with the cause of strife.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I live to Him Who gave me life and breath,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And without fear expect the hour of death.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If you like this, bid joy to my rich state,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If not, leave me to Christ at any rate.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3><a name="PAULINUS" id="PAULINUS"></a>
+7. [PAULINUS.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">And is the bargain thought too dear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To give for heaven our frail subsistence here?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To change our mortal with immortal homes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And purchase the bright stars with darksome stones?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Behold! my God&mdash;a rate great as His breath!&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On the sad cross bought me with bitter death,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Did put on flesh, and suffer'd for our good,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For ours&mdash;vile slaves!&mdash;the loss of His dear blood.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[312]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+<h3><a name="EPITAPH_ON_MARCELLINA" id="EPITAPH_ON_MARCELLINA"></a>
+8. [EPITAPH ON MARCELLINA.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Life, Marcellina, leaving thy fair frame,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou didst contemn those tombs of costly fame,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Built by thy Roman ancestors, and liest<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At Milan, where great Ambrose sleeps in Christ.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hope, the dead's life, and faith, which never faints,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Made thee rest here, that thou mayst rise with saints.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3><a name="PAULINUS_VERSUS_APUD_EPIST_XXXII_3" id="PAULINUS_VERSUS_APUD_EPIST_XXXII_3"></a>
+9. [PAULINUS. VERSUS APUD EPIST. XXXII. 3.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">You that to wash your flesh and souls draw near,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ponder these two examples set you here:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Great Martin shows the holy life, and white,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Paulinus to repentance doth invite;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Martin's pure, harmless life, took heaven by force,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Paulinus took it by tears and remorse;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Martin leads through victorious palms and flow'rs,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Paulinus leads you through the pools and show'rs;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You that are sinners, on Paulinus look,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You that are saints, great Martin is your book;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The first example bright and holy is,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The last, though sad and weeping, leads to bliss<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[313]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+<h3><a name="PAULINUS_VERSUS_APUD_EPIST_XXXII_5" id="PAULINUS_VERSUS_APUD_EPIST_XXXII_5"></a>
+10. [PAULINUS. VERSUS APUD EPIST. XXXII. 5.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Here the great well-spring of wash'd souls with beams<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of living light quickens the lively streams;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Dove descends, and stirs them with her wings,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So weds these waters to the upper springs.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They straight conceive; a new birth doth proceed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From the bright streams by an immortal seed.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O the rare love of God! sinners wash'd here<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Come forth pure saints, all justified and clear.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So blest in death and life, man dies to sins,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And lives to God: sin dies, and life begins<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To be reviv'd: old Adam falls away<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the new lives, born for eternal sway.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3><a name="PAULINUS_VERSUS_APUD_EPIST_XXXII_12" id="PAULINUS_VERSUS_APUD_EPIST_XXXII_12"></a>
+11. [PAULINUS. VERSUS APUD EPIST. XXXII. 12.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Through pleasant green fields enter you the way<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To bliss; and well through shades and blossoms may<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The walks lead here, from whence directly lies<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The good man's path to sacred Paradise.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[314]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+<h3><a name="PAULINUS_VERSUS_APUD_EPIST_XXXII_14" id="PAULINUS_VERSUS_APUD_EPIST_XXXII_14"></a>
+12. [PAULINUS. VERSUS APUD EPIST. XXXII. 14.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The painful cross with flowers and palms is crown'd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which prove, it springs; though all in blood 'tis drown'd;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The doves above it show with one consent,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Heaven opens only to the innocent.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3><a name="PAULINUS_CARM_XXVII_387-92" id="PAULINUS_CARM_XXVII_387-92"></a>
+13. [PAULINUS. CARM. XXVII. 387-92.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">You see what splendour through the spacious aisle,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As if the Church were glorified, doth smile.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The ivory-wrought beams seem to the sight<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Engraven, while the carv'd roof looks curl'd and bright.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On brass hoops to the upmost vaults we tie<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The hovering lamps, which nod and tremble by<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The yielding cords; fresh oil doth still repair<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The waving flames, vex'd with the fleeting air.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3><a name="PAULINUS_VERSUS_APUD_EPIST_XXXII_17" id="PAULINUS_VERSUS_APUD_EPIST_XXXII_17"></a>
+14. [PAULINUS. VERSUS APUD EPIST. XXXII. 17.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The pains of Saints and Saints' rewards are twins,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The sad cross, and the crown which the cross wins.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Here Christ, the Prince both of the cross and crown,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Amongst fresh groves and lilies fully blown<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[315]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Stands, a white Lamb bearing the purple cross:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">White shows His pureness, red His blood's dear loss.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To ease His sorrows the chaste turtle sings,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And fans Him, sweating blood, with her bright wings;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While from a shining cloud the Father eyes<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His Son's sad conflict with His enemies,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And on His blessed head lets gently down<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Eternal glory made into a crown.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">About Him stand two flocks of diff'ring notes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">One of white sheep, and one of speckled goats;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The first possess His right hand, and the last<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Stand on His left; the spotted goats are cast<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All into thick, deep shades, while from His right<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The white sheep pass into a whiter light.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3><a name="PAULINUS2" id="PAULINUS2"></a>15. [PAULINUS.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Those sacred days by tedious Time delay'd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While the slow years' bright line about is laid,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I patiently expect, though much distrest<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By busy longing and a love-sick breast.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I wish they may outshine all other days;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or, when they come, so recompense delays<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As to outlast the summer hours' bright length;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or that fam'd day, when stopp'd by divine strength<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The sun did tire the world with his long light,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Doubling men's labours, and adjourning night.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[316]</a></span>
+<span class="i2">As the bright sky with stars, the field with flow'rs,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The years with diff'ring seasons, months and hours,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">God hath distinguish&egrave;d and mark'd, so He<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With sacred feasts did ease and beautify<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The working days: because that mixture may<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Make men&mdash;loth to be holy ev'ry day&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">After long labours, with a freer will,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Adore their Maker, and keep mindful still<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of holiness, by keeping holy days:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For otherwise they would dislike the ways<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of piety as too severe. To cast<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Old customs quite off, and from sin to fast<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is a great work. To run which way we will,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On plains is easy, not so up a hill.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Hence 'tis our good God&mdash;Who would all men bring<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Under the covert of His saving wing&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Appointed at set times His solemn feasts,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That by mean services men might at least<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Take hold of Christ as by the hem, and steal<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Help from His lowest skirts, their souls to heal.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For the first step to heaven is to live well<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All our life long, and each day to excel<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In holiness; but since that tares are found<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In the best corn, and thistles will confound<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And prick my heart with vain cares, I will strive<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To weed them out on feast-days, and so thrive<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By handfuls, 'till I may full life obtain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And not be swallow'd of eternal pain.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[317]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+<h3><a name="PAULINUS_CARM_APP_I" id="PAULINUS_CARM_APP_I"></a>
+16. [PAULINUS (?). CARM. APP. I.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Come, my true consort in my joys and care!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let this uncertain and still wasting share<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of our frail life be giv'n to God. You see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How the swift days drive hence incessantly,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the frail, drooping world&mdash;though still thought gay<a name="FNanchor_69_69" id="FNanchor_69_69"></a><a href="#Footnote_69_69" class="fnanchor">[69]</a>&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In secret, slow consumption wears away.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All that we have pass from us, and once past<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Return no more; like clouds, they seem to last,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And so delude loose, greedy minds. But where<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are now those trim deceits? to what dark sphere<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are all those false fires sunk, which once so shin'd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They captivated souls, and rul'd mankind?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He that with fifty ploughs his lands did sow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Will scarce be trusted for two oxen now;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His rich, loud coach, known to each crowded street,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is sold, and he quite tir'd walks on his feet.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Merchants that&mdash;like the sun&mdash;their voyage made<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From East to West, and by wholesale did trade,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are now turn'd sculler-men, or sadly sweat<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In a poor fisher's boat, with line and net.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Kingdoms and cities to a period tend;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Earth nothing hath, but what must have an end;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Mankind by plagues, distempers, dearth and war,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Tortures and prisons, die both near and far;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fury and hate rage in each living breast,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[318]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Princes with princes, States with States contest;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An universal discord mads each land,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Peace is quite lost, the last times are at hand.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But were these days from the Last Day secure,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So that the world might for more years endure,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet we&mdash;like hirelings&mdash;should our term expect,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And on our day of death each day reflect.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For what&mdash;Therasia&mdash;doth it us avail<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That spacious streams shall flow and never fail,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That aged forests hie to tire the winds,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And flow'rs each Spring return and keep their kinds!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Those still remain: but all our fathers died,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And we ourselves but for few days abide.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">This short time then was not giv'n us in vain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To whom Time dies, in which we dying gain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But that in time eternal life should be<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Our care, and endless rest our industry.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And yet this task, which the rebellious deem<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Too harsh, who God's mild laws for chains esteem,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Suits with the meek and harmless heart so right<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That 'tis all ease, all comfort and delight.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"To love our God with all our strength and will;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To covet nothing; to devise no ill<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Against our neighbours; to procure or do<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nothing to others, which we would not to<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Our very selves; not to revenge our wrong;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To be content with little, not to long<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For wealth and greatness; to despise or jeer<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No man, and if we be despised, to bear;<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[319]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">To feed the hungry; to hold fast our crown;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To take from others naught; to give our own,"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">&mdash;These are His precepts: and&mdash;alas!&mdash;in these<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What is so hard, but faith can do with ease?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He that the holy prophets doth believe,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And on God's words relies, words that still live<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And cannot die; that in his heart hath writ<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His Saviour's death and triumph, and doth yet<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With constant care, admitting no neglect,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His second, dreadful coming still expect:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To such a liver earthy things are dead,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With Heav'n alone, and hopes of Heav'n, he's fed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He is no vassal unto worldly trash,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor that black knowledge which pretends to wash,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But doth defile: a knowledge, by which men<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With studied care lose Paradise again.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Commands and titles, the vain world's device,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With gold&mdash;the forward seed of sin and vice&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He never minds: his aim is far more high,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And stoops to nothing lower than the sky.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor grief, nor pleasures breed him any pain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He nothing fears to lose, would nothing gain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whatever hath not God, he doth detest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He lives to Christ, is dead to all the rest.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This Holy One sent hither from above<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A virgin brought forth, shadow'd by the Dove;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His skin with stripes, with wicked hands His face<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And with foul spittle soil'd and beaten was;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A crown of thorns His blessed head did wound.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[320]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Nails pierc'd His hands and feet, and He fast bound<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Stuck to the painful Cross, where hang'd till dead,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With a cold spear His heart's dear blood was shed.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All this for man, for bad, ungrateful man,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The true God suffer'd! not that suff'rings can<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Add to His glory aught, Who can receive<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Access from nothing, Whom none can bereave<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of His all-fulness: but the blest design<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of His sad death was to save me from mine:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He dying bore my sins, and the third day<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His early rising rais'd me from the clay.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To such great mercies what shall I prefer,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or who from loving God shall me deter?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Burn me alive, with curious, skilful pain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Cut up and search each warm and breathing vein;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When all is done, death brings a quick release,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the poor mangled body sleeps in peace.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hale me to prisons, shut me up in brass,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My still free soul from thence to God shall pass.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Banish or bind me, I can be nowhere<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A stranger, nor alone; my God is there.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I fear not famine; how can he be said<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To starve who feeds upon the Living Bread?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And yet this courage springs not from my store,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Christ gave it me, Who can give much, much more<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I of myself can nothing dare or do,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He bids me fight, and makes me conquer too.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If&mdash;like great Abr'ham&mdash;I should have command<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To leave my father's house and native land,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[321]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">I would with joy to unknown regions run,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bearing the banner of His blessed Son.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On worldly goods I will have no design,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But use my own, as if mine were not mine;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wealth I'll not wonder at, nor greatness seek,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But choose&mdash;though laugh'd at&mdash;to be poor and meek.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In woe and wealth I'll keep the same staid mind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Grief shall not break me, nor joys make me blind:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My dearest Jesus I'll still praise, and He<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shall with songs of deliv'rance compass me.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Then come, my faithful consort! join with me<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In this good fight, and my true helper be;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Cheer me when sad, advise me when I stray,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let us be each the other's guide and stay;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Be your lord's guardian: give joint aid and due,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Help him when fall'n, rise, when he helpeth you,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That so we may not only one flesh be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But in one spirit and one will agree.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p>
+<a name="Footnote_69_69" id="Footnote_69_69"></a>
+<a href="#FNanchor_69_69"><span class="label">[69]</span></a>
+The original has <i>gry</i>.</p></div>
+
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[322]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+From <i>Hermetical Physic</i>: translated from Henry Nollius (1655).
+</div>
+
+<h3><a name="HORACE_EPIST_I_1_14-5" id="HORACE_EPIST_I_1_14-5"></a>
+1. [HORACE. EPIST. I. 1, 14-5.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Where'er my fancy calls, there I go still,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not sworn a slave to any master's will.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3><a name="INCERTI3" id="INCERTI3"></a>2. [INCERTI.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There's need, betwixt his clothes, his bed and board,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of all that Earth and Sea and Air afford.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3><a name="INCERTI2" id="INCERTI2"></a>3. [INCERTI.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">With restless cares they waste the night and day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To compass great estates, and get the sway.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3><a name="JUVENAL_SATIRE_XV_160-164" id="JUVENAL_SATIRE_XV_160-164"></a>
+4. [JUVENAL. SATIRE XV. 160-164.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i12">Whenever did, I pray,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">One lion take another's life away?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or in what forest did a wild boar by<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The tusks of his own fellow wounded die?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Tigers with tigers never have debate;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And bears among themselves abstain from hate<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[323]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+<h3><a name="JUVENAL_SATIRE_XV_169-171" id="JUVENAL_SATIRE_XV_169-171"></a>
+5. [JUVENAL. SATIRE XV. 169-171.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">[Some] esteem it no point of revenge to kill,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Unless they may drink up the blood they spill:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who do believe that hands, and hearts, and heads,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are but a kind of meat, etc.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3><a name="INCERTI1" id="INCERTI1"></a>6. [INCERTI.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The strongest body and the best<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Cannot subsist without due rest.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+From Thomas Powell's <i>Cerbyd Fechydwiaeth</i> (1657).
+</div>
+
+<h3><a name="THE_LORDS_PRAYER" id="THE_LORDS_PRAYER"></a>
+1. [THE LORD'S PRAYER.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Y Pader, pan trier, Duw-tri a'i dododd<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">O'i dadol ddaioni,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yn faen-gwaddan i bob gweddi,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Ac athrawieth a wnaeth i ni.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p style='text-align:right; margin-right:2em;'>Ol[or] Vaughan.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[324]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+From Thomas Powell's <i>Humane Industry</i> (1661).
+</div>
+
+<h3><a name="CAMPION_EPIGR_I_151" id="CAMPION_EPIGR_I_151"></a>
+1. [CAMPION. EPIGR. I. 151.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Time's-Teller wrought into a little round,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which count'st the days and nights with watchful sound;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How&mdash;when once fix'd&mdash;with busy wheels dost thou<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The twice twelve useful hours drive on and show;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And where I go, go'st with me without strife,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The monitor and ease of fleeting life.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3><a name="GROTIUS_LIB_EPIGR_II" id="GROTIUS_LIB_EPIGR_II"></a>
+2. [GROTIUS. LIB. EPIGR. II.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The untired strength of never-ceasing motion,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A restless rest, a toilless operation,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Heaven then had given it, when wise Nature did<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To frail and solid things one place forbid;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And parting both, made the moon's orb their bound,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Damning to various change this lower ground.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But now what Nature hath those laws transgress'd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Giving to Earth a work that ne'er will rest?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though 'tis most strange, yet&mdash;great King&mdash;'tis not new:<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[325]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">This work was seen and found before, in you.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In you, whose mind&mdash;though still calm&mdash;never sleeps,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But through your realms one constant motion keeps:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As your mind&mdash;then&mdash;was Heaven's type first, so this<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But the taught anti-type of your mind is.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3><a name="JUVENAL_SATIRE_III" id="JUVENAL_SATIRE_III"></a>
+3. [JUVENAL. SATIRE III.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">How oft have we beheld wild beasts appear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From broken gulfs of earth, upon some part<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of sand that did not sink! How often there<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And thence, did golden boughs o'er-saffron'd start!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor only saw we monsters of the wood,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But I have seen sea-calves whom bears withstood;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And such a kind of beast as might be named<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A horse, but in most foul proportion framed.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3><a name="MARTIAL_EPIGR_I_105" id="MARTIAL_EPIGR_I_105"></a>
+4. [MARTIAL. EPIGR. I. 105.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">That the fierce pard doth at a beck<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yield to the yoke his spotted neck,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the untoward tiger bear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The whip with a submissive fear;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That stags do foam with golden bits.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the rough Libyc bear submits<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Unto the ring; that a wild boar<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like that which Calydon of yore<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[326]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Brought forth, doth mildly put his head<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In purple muzzles to be led;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That the vast, strong-limb'd buffles draw<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The British chariots with taught awe,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the elephant with courtship falls<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To any dance the negro calls:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Would not you think such sports as those<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Were shows which the gods did expose?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But these are nothing, when we see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That hares by lions hunted be, etc.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[327]</a></span></p>
+
+<hr class="major" />
+
+<h2><a name="NOTES_TO_VOL_II" id="NOTES_TO_VOL_II"></a>
+                             NOTES TO VOL. II.
+</h2>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[328]</a></span></p>
+
+<hr class="major" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[329]</a></span></p>
+
+<h3>POEMS WITH THE TENTH SATIRE OF JUVENAL ENGLISHED.</h3>
+
+<p>Most of the poems in this volume of 1646 appear to belong to
+Vaughan's sojourn as a law-student in London: that, however,
+on the Priory Grove must have been written after he had
+retired to Wales on the outbreak of the Civil War.</p>
+
+
+<h4>P. <a href="#Page_5">5</a>. To my Ingenious Friend, R. W.</h4>
+
+<p>It is probable that this is the R. W. of the Elegy in <i>Olor
+Iscanus</i> (p. 79). On the attempts to identify him, see the note
+to that poem. The <i>Poems</i> of 1646 must have been published
+while his fate was still unknown.</p>
+
+<p><i>Pints i' th' Moon or Star.</i> These are names of rooms,
+rather than of inns. <i>Cf.</i> Shakespeare, 1 <i>Henry IV.</i>, ii. 4, 30,
+"Anon, anon, sir! Score a pint of bastard in the Half-moon."</p>
+
+
+<h4>P. <a href="#Page_6">6</a>. <i>Randolph.</i></h4>
+
+<p>The works of Randolph here referred to
+are his comedy <i>The Jealous Lovers</i>, his pastoral <i>Amyntas;
+or, The Impossible Dowry</i>, and the following verses <i>On the
+Death of a Nightingale</i>:&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Go, solitary wood, and henceforth be<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Acquainted with no other harmony<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[330]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Than the pie's chattering, or the shrieking note<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of boding owls, and fatal raven's throat.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy sweetest chanter's dead, that warbled forth<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lays that might tempests calm, and still the north,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And call down angels from their glorious sphere,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To hear her songs, and learn new anthems there.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That soul is fled, and to Elysium gone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou a poor desert left; go then and run.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Beg there to want a grove, and if she please<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To sing again beneath thy shadowy trees,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The souls of happy lovers crowned with blisses<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shall flock about thee, and keep time with kisses."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h4>P. <a href="#Page_8">8</a>. Les Amours.</h4>
+
+<p>Lines 22-24 are misprinted in the original; they there run:&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"O'er all the tomb a sudden spring:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If crimson flowers, whose drooping heads<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shall curtain o'er their mournful heads:"<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h4>P. <a href="#Page_10">10</a>. To Amoret.</h4>
+
+<p>The Amoret of these <i>Poems</i> may or may not be the Etesia
+of <i>Thalia Rediviva</i>; and she may or may not have been the
+poet's first wife. <i>Cf.</i> <i>Introduction</i> (vol. i, p. xxxiii).</p>
+
+<p><i>To her white bosom.</i> <i>Cf.</i> <i>Hamlet</i>, ii. 2, 113, where Hamlet
+addresses a letter to Ophelia, "in her excellent white bosom,
+these."</p>
+
+
+<h4>P. <a href="#Page_12">12</a>. Song.</h4>
+
+<p>The MS. variant readings to this and to two of the following
+poems are written in pencil on a copy of the <i>Poems</i> in the
+British Museum, having the press-mark 12304, a 24. There is
+no indication of their author, or of the source from which they
+are taken.</p>
+
+
+<h4>P. <a href="#Page_13">13</a>. To Amoret.</h4>
+
+<p><i>The vast ring.</i> <i>Cf.</i> <i>Silex Scintillans</i>
+(vol. i., pp. 150, 284).<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[331]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<h4>P. <a href="#Page_18">18</a>. <i>A Rhapsodis.</i></h4>
+
+<p><i>The Globe Tavern.</i> This appears to have been near, or even
+a part of, the famous theatre. There exists a forged letter of
+George Peele's, in which it is mentioned as a resort of Shakespeare's,
+but there is no authentic allusion to it by name earlier
+than an entry in the registers of St. Saviour's, Southwark, for
+1637. An "alehouse" is, however, alluded to in a ballad on
+the burning of the old Globe in 1613. (Rendle and Norman,
+<i>Inns of Old Southwark</i>, p. 326.)</p>
+
+<p><i>Tower-Wharf to Cymbeline and Lud</i>; that is, from the
+extreme east to the extreme west of the City. Statues of the
+mythical kings of Britain were set up in 1260 in niches on
+Ludgate. They were renewed when the gate was rebuilt in
+1586. It stood near the Church of St. Martin's, Ludgate.</p>
+
+<p><i>That made his horse a senator</i>; <i>i.e.</i> Caligula.
+<i>Cf.</i> Suetonius Vit. Caligulae, 55:
+"<i>Incitato equo, cuius causa pridie
+circenses, ne inquietaretur, viciniae silentium per milites
+indicere solebat, praeter equile marmoreum et praesepe eburneum
+praeterque purpurea tegumenta ac monilia e gemmis,
+domum etiam et familiam et suppellectilem dedit, quo lautius
+nomine eius invitati acciperentur; consulatum quoque
+traditur destinasse.</i>"</p>
+
+<p><i>he that ... crossed Rubicon</i>, <i>i.e.</i> Julius C&aelig;sar.</p>
+
+
+<h4>P. <a href="#Page_21">21</a>. To Amoret.</h4>
+
+<p>The third stanza is closely modelled on Donne; <i>cf.</i> Introduction
+(vol. i., p. xxi). The curious reader may detect many
+other traces of Donne's manner of writing in these <i>Poems</i> of
+1646.</p>
+
+
+<h4>P. <a href="#Page_23">23</a>. To Amoret Weeping.</h4>
+
+<p><i>Eat orphans ... patent it.</i> The ambition of a courtier
+under the Stuarts was to get the guardianship of a royal
+ward, or the grant of a monopoly in some article of necessity.
+Dr. Grosart quotes from Tustin's <i>Observations; or, Conscience
+Emblem</i> (1646): "By me, John Tustin, who hath
+been plundered and spoiled by the patentees for white and grey
+soap, eighteen several times, to his utter undoing."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[332]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<h4>P. <a href="#Page_26">26</a>. Upon the Priory Grove, his usual Retirement.</h4>
+
+<p>Mr. Beeching, in the <i>Introduction</i> (vol. i., p. xxiii), states
+following Dr. Grosart, that the Priory Grove was "the home of
+a famous poetess of the day, Katherine Phillips, better known
+as 'the Matchless Orinda.'" Vaughan was certainly a friend
+of Mrs. Phillips (<i>cf.</i> pp. 100, 164, 211, with notes), whose
+husband, Colonel James Phillips, lived at the Priory, Cardigan;
+but she was not married until 1647.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Morgan points out that there is still a wood on the outskirts
+of Brecon which is known as the Priory Grove. It is
+near the church and remains of a Benedictine Priory on the
+Honddu.</p>
+
+
+<h4>P. <a href="#Page_28">28</a>. Juvenal's Tenth Satire Translated.</h4>
+
+<p>This translation has a separate title-page;
+<i>cf.</i> the <i>Bibliography</i> (vol. ii., p. lvii).<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[333]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<h3>OLOR ISCANUS.</h3>
+
+
+<p>This volume, published in 1651, contains, besides the poems
+here reprinted, some prose translations from Plutarch and
+other writers. The separate title-pages of these are given in
+the <i>Bibliography</i> (vol. ii., p. lviii): the incidental scraps of
+verse in them appear on pp. 291-293 of the present volume.
+The edition of 1651 has, besides the printed title-page, an
+engraved title-page by the well-known engraver, who may or
+may not have been a kinsman of the poet, Robert Vaughan.
+It represents a swan on a river shaded by trees. The <i>Olor
+Iscanus</i> was reissued with a fresh title-page in 1679.</p>
+
+
+<h4>P. <a href="#Page_52">52</a>. Ad Posteros.</h4>
+
+<p>On the account of Vaughan's life here given, see the <i>Biographical
+note</i> (vol. ii., p. xxx).</p>
+
+<p><i>Herbertus.</i> Matthew Herbert, Rector of Llangattock.
+Cf. the poem to him on p. 158, with its note.</p>
+
+<p><i>Castae fidaeque ... parentis</i>, <i>i.e.</i>, perhaps, his mother
+the Church.</p>
+
+<p><i>Nec manus atra fuit.</i> Dr. Grosart omitted the <i>fuit</i>,
+together with the final <i>s</i> of the preceding line. In this he is
+na&iuml;vely followed by Mr. J. R. Tutin, in his selection of
+Vaughan's <i>Secular Poems</i>.</p>
+
+
+<h4>P. <a href="#Page_53">53</a>. To the ... Lord Kildare Digby.</h4>
+
+<p>Lord Kildare Digby was the eldest son of Robert, first Baron
+Digby, in the peerage of Ireland. He succeeded to the title in
+1642. He was about 21 at the time of this dedication, and
+died in 1661 (Dr. Grosart)<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[334]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<p>The date of the dedication is 17th of December, 1647. A
+volume was therefore probably prepared for publication at that
+date, and afterwards, as we learn from the publisher's preface,
+"condemned to obscurity," and given surreptitiously to the
+world. At the same time, as Miss Morgan points out to me,
+some of the poems in <i>Olor Iscanus</i> must be of later date than
+1647. The death of Charles I. is apparently alluded to in the
+lines <i>Ad Posteros</i>, and certainly in the "since Charles his
+reign" of the <i>Invitation to Brecknock</i> (p. 74). This event
+took place on January 30th, 1648/9. The <i>Epitaph upon the
+Lady Elizabeth</i> (p. 102), again, cannot be earlier than her death
+on September 8th, 1650.</p>
+
+
+<h4>P. <a href="#Page_54">54</a>. The Publisher to the Reader.</h4>
+
+<p><i>Augustus vindex.</i> The lives of Vergil attributed to Donatus
+and others relate that the poet, in his will, directed that his
+unfinished <i>Aeneid</i> should be burnt. Augustus, however, interfered
+and ordered its publication.</p>
+
+
+<h4>P. <a href="#Page_57">57</a>. Commendatory Verses.</h4>
+
+<p>These are signed by <i>T. Powell, Oxoniensis</i>; <i>I. Rowlandson,
+Oxoniensis</i>; and <i>Eugenius Philalethes, Oxoniensis</i>. Thomas
+Powell, one of the Powells of Cantreff, in Breconshire, was
+born in 1608. He matriculated from Jesus College on January
+25th, 1627/8, took his B.A. in 1629 and his M.A. in 1632, and
+became a Fellow of the College. He was Rector of Cantreff
+and Vicar of Brecknock, but was ejected by the Commissioners
+for the Propagation of the Gospel and went abroad. At the
+Restoration he returned to Cantreff and was made D.D.
+and Canon of St. David's. But for his death, on the 31st
+December, 1660, he would probably have become Bishop of
+Bristol. He was the author of several books of no great importance.
+He appears to have been a close friend of
+Vaughan, who addresses various poems to him, and contributed
+others to his books. See <i>Olor Iscanus</i>, pp. 97, 159;
+<i>Thalia Rediviva</i>, pp. 178, 200, 267; <i>Fragments and
+Translations</i>, pp. 323-326. Powell, in return, wrote<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[335]</a></span>
+commendatory poems to both the <i>Olor Iscanus</i> and the <i>Thalia
+Rediviva</i>.</p>
+
+<p><i>I. Rowlandson.</i> This may have been John Rowlandson, of
+Queen's College, Oxford, who matriculated the 17th October,
+1634, aged 17, took his B.A. in 1636, and his M.A. in 1639.
+Either he or his father, James Rowlandson, also of Queen's
+College, was sequestered by the Westminster Assembly to the
+vicarage of Battle, Sussex, in 1644. He left it shortly after
+and "returned to his benefice from whence he was before
+thence driven by the forces raised against the parliament."
+(<i>See</i> Addl. MS. 15,669, f. 17). There was also another James
+Rowlandson, son of James Rowlandson, D.D., Canon of
+Windsor, who matriculated from Queen's College on the 9th
+November, 1632, aged 17, and took his B.A. in 1637.&mdash;G. G.</p>
+
+<p><i>Eugenius Philalethes.</i> The author's brother, Thomas
+Vaughan. See the <i>Biographical Note</i> (vol. ii., p. xxxiii).</p>
+
+<p>P. 39. <i>that lamentable nation</i>, <i>i.e.</i> the Scotch.</p>
+
+
+<h4>P. <a href="#Page_61">61</a>. Olor Iscanus.</h4>
+
+<p><i>Ausonius.</i> The famous schoolmaster, rhetorician and courtier
+of the early fourth century, was born at Bordeaux. One of his
+most famous poems is the <i>Mosella</i> (Idyll X), a description of
+the river and its fish.</p>
+
+<p><i>Castara</i>, Lucy, daughter of William Herbert, Lord Powys,
+and wife of the Worcestershire poet, William Habington, who
+celebrated her in his poems under that name. The <i>Castara</i>
+was published in 1634.</p>
+
+<p><i>Sabrina</i>, the tutelar nymph of the Severn. <i>Cf.</i> the invocation
+of her in Milton's "Comus."</p>
+
+<p><i>May the evet and the toad.</i> This passage is imitated from
+W. Browne's <i>Britannia's Pastorals</i>, Bk. I., Song 2, II., 277 <i>sqq.</i>:</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"May never evet nor the toad<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Within thy banks make their abode!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Taking thy journey from the sea,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">May'st thou ne'er happen in thy way<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[336]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">On nitre or on brimstone mine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To spoil thy taste! this spring of thine<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let it of nothing taste but earth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And salt conceived, in their birth<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Be ever fresh! Let no man dare<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To spoil thy fish, make lock or ware;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But on thy margent still let dwell<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Those flowers which have the sweetest smell.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And let the dust upon thy strand<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Become like Tagus' golden sand.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let as much good betide to thee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As thou hast favour show'd to me."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p style='text-align:right; margin-right:2em;'>G. G.</p>
+
+<p><i>flames that are ... canicular. Cf. A Dialogue between
+Sir Henry Wotton and Mr. Donne</i> (Poems of John Donne,
+<i>Muse's Library</i>, Vol. I., p. 79):</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"I'll never dig in quarry of a heart<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">To have no part,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor roast in fiery eyes, which always are<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Canicular."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h4>P. <a href="#Page_65">65</a>. The Charnel-house.</h4>
+
+<p><i>Kelder</i>, a caldron; cf. J. Cleveland, <i>The King's Disguise</i>:</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"The sun wears midnight; day is beetle-brow'd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And lightning is in kelder of a cloud."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p><i>A second fiat's care.</i> The allusion is to <i>Genesis</i> i. 3: "And God
+said, Let there be light (in the Vulgate, <i>Fiat lux</i>), and there was
+light"; <i>cf.</i> Donne, <i>The Storm</i> (<i>Muses' Library</i>, II. 4):</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Since all forms uniform deformity<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Doth cover; so that we, except God say<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Another <i>Fiat</i>, shall have no more day."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h4>P. <a href="#Page_70">70</a>. To his Friend &mdash;&mdash;.</h4>
+
+<p>Miss Morgan thinks that the "friend" of this poem, whose
+name is shown by the first line to have been James, may
+perhaps be identified with the James Howell of the <i>Epistolae
+Ho-Elianae</i>.
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[337]</a></span>
+Howell had Vaughans amongst his cousins and
+correspondents, but these appear to have been of the Golden
+Grove family.</p>
+
+
+<h4>P. <a href="#Page_73">73</a>. To his retired Friend&mdash;an Invitation to Brecknock.</h4>
+
+<p><i>her foul, polluted walls.</i> Miss Morgan quotes a statement
+from Grose's <i>Antiquities</i> to the effect that the walls of Brecknock
+were pulled down by the inhabitants during the Civil
+War in order to avoid having to support a garrison or stand a
+siege.</p>
+
+<p><i>the Greek</i>, <i>i.e.</i> Hercules when in love with Omphale.</p>
+
+<p><i>Domitian-like</i>: <i>Cf.</i> Suetonius, <i>Vita Domitiani</i>, 3:
+"<i>Inter initia principatus cotidie secretum sibi horarum sumere
+solebat, nec quicquam amplius quam muscas captare ac stilo
+praeacuto configere.</i>"</p>
+
+<p><i>Since Charles his reign.</i> This poem must date from after
+the execution of Charles I., on January 30, 1648/9. It would
+appear therefore that Vaughan was living in Brecknock and
+not at Newton about the time that the <i>Olor Iscanus</i> was
+published.</p>
+
+
+<h4>P. <a href="#Page_77">77</a>. Monsieur Gombauld.</h4>
+
+<p>The writer referred to is John Ogier de Gombauld (1567-1666).
+His prose tale of <i>Endymion</i> was translated by Richard
+Hurst in 1637. <i>Ismena</i> and <i>Diophania</i> who was metamorphosed
+into a myrtle, are characters in the story. <i>Periardes</i>
+is a hill in Armenia whence the Euphrates takes its course.</p>
+
+
+<h4>P. <a href="#Page_79">79</a>. An Elegy on the Death of Mr. R. W., slain
+in the late unfortunate differences at Routon
+Heath, near Chester.</h4>
+
+<p>The battle of Routon, or Rowton, Heath took place on
+September 24, 1645. The Royalist forces, under Charles I. and
+Sir Marmaduke Langdale, advancing to raise the siege of
+Chester, were met and routed by the Parliamentarians under
+Poyntz. The contemporary pamphlets give a long list of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[338]</a></span>
+prisoners taken at Routon Heath, but name hardly any of
+those slain. It is therefore difficult to say who R. W.,
+evidently a dear friend of Vaughan's, may have been. He
+appears to have been missing for a year before he was finally
+given up. From lines 25-27 we learn that he was a young
+man of only twenty. The most likely suggestion for his identification
+seems to me that of Mr. C. H. Firth, who points out
+to me that the name of one Roger Wood occurs in the list of
+Catholics who fell in the King's service as having been slain at
+Chester. Miss Southall (<i>Songs of Siluria</i>, 1890, p. 124)
+suggests that he may have been either Richard Williams,
+a nephew of Sir Henry Williams, of Gwernyfed, who died
+unmarried, or else a son of Richard Winter, of Llangoed.
+He might also, I think, have been one of Vaughan's wife's
+family, the Wises, and possibly also a Walbeoffe. A reference
+to the Walbeoffe pedigree in the note to p. 189 will show that
+there was a Robert Walbeoffe, brother of C. W. Miss Morgan
+thinks that he is a generation too old, and that the unnamed
+son of C. W., who, according to his tombstone, did not survive
+him, may have been a Robert, and the R. W. in question.
+On the question whether Vaughan was himself present at
+Routon Heath, <i>see</i> the <i>Biographical Note</i> (vol. ii., p. xxviii).</p>
+
+
+<h4>P. <a href="#Page_83">83</a>. Upon a Cloak lent him by Mr. J. Ridsley.</h4>
+
+<p>I do not know who Mr. Ridsley was. On the references to
+Vaughan's "juggling fate of soldiery" in this poem, <i>see</i> the
+<i>Biographical Note</i> (vol. ii., p. xxviii).</p>
+
+<p><i>craggy Biston, and the fatal Dee.</i> Chester stands, of
+course, on the Dee, which is "fatal" as the scene of disasters
+to the Royalist cause. Dr. Grosart explains Biston as "Bishton
+(or Bishopstone) in Monmouthshire," and adds, "'Craggie
+Biston' refers, no doubt, to certain caves there. The Poet's
+school-boy rambles from Llangattock doubtless included
+Bishton." I think that Biston is clearly Beeston Castle, one
+of the outlying defences of Chester, which played a considerable
+part in the siege. It surrendered on November 5, 1645,
+and the small garrison was permitted to march to Denbigh<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[339]</a></span>
+(J. R. Phillips, <i>The Civil War in Wales and the Marshes</i>,
+vol. i., p. 343).</p>
+
+<p><i>Micro-cosmography</i>, the world represented on a small scale in
+man. Vaughan means that he had as many lines on him as a map.</p>
+
+<p><i>Speed's Old Britons.</i> John Speed (1555-1629) published his
+<i>History of Great Britain</i> in 1614.</p>
+
+<p><i>King Harry's Chapel at Westminster</i>, with its tombs, was
+already one of the sights of London.</p>
+
+<p><i>Brownist.</i> The Brownists were the religious followers of
+Robert Browne (c. 1550-c. 1633); they were afterwards known
+as Independents or Congregationalists.</p>
+
+
+<h4>P. <a href="#Page_86">86</a>. Upon Mr. Fletcher's Plays.</h4>
+
+<p>The first folio edition of Beaumont and Fletcher's <i>Comedies
+and Tragedies</i> was published in 1647. Vaughan's lines are
+not, however, amongst the commendatory verses there given.</p>
+
+<p><i>Field's or Swansted's overthrow.</i> Nathaniel Field and
+Eliard Swanston, who appears to be meant by Swansted, were
+well-known actors. They were both members of the King's
+Company about 1633.</p>
+
+
+<h4>P. <a href="#Page_90">90</a>. Upon the Poems and Plays of the ever-memorable
+Mr. William Cartwright.</h4>
+
+<p>This was printed, together with verses by Tho. Vaughan
+and many other writers, in William Cartwright's <i>Comedies,
+Tragi-comedies, with other Poems</i>, 1651.</p>
+
+
+<h4>P. <a href="#Page_94">94</a>. An Elegy on the Death of Mr. R. Hall, slain
+at Pontefract, 1648.</h4>
+
+<p>Miss Southall thinks that the subject of this elegy may have
+been a son of Richard Hall, of High Meadow, in the Forest of
+Dean, co. Gloucester. These Halls were connected with the
+Winters, a Breconshire family. Mr. C. H. Firth ingeniously
+suggests to me that for R. Hall we should read R. Hall[ifax],
+and points out that a Robert Hallyfax was one of the garrison
+at the first siege of Pontefract in 1645. He may have been at
+the second siege also. (R. Holmes, <i>Sieges of Pontefract</i>, p. 20.)
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[340]</a></span>
+</p>
+
+<h4>P. <a href="#Page_97">97</a>. To my learned Friend, Mr. T. Powell, upon
+his Translation of Malvezzi's "Christian Politician."</h4>
+
+<p>The book referred to is <i>The Pourtract of the Politicke
+Christian-Favourite</i>. By Marquesse Virgilio Malvezzi, 1647.
+This is a translation of <i>Il Ritratto del Privato Politico Christiano</i>,
+published at Bologna in 1635. It does not contain
+Vaughan's verses, and no translator's name is given. The
+preface of another translation from Malvezzi, the <i>Stoa
+Triumphans</i> (1651), is, however, signed "T. P."</p>
+
+
+<h4>P. <a href="#Page_99">99</a>. To my worthy Friend, Master T. Lewes.</h4>
+
+<p>Some of the lines in this poem are borrowed from Horace's
+verses, <i>Ad Thaliarcham</i> (Book I., Ode 9):</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Vides, ut alta stet nive candida<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Soracte, nec iam sustineant onus<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Sylvae laborantes, geluque<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Flumina constiterint acuto?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0" style="letter-spacing:2em;">········<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Quid sit futurum eras, fuge quaerere;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Quam sors dierum cunque debit; lucro<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Appone."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p style='text-align:right; margin-right:2em;'>G. G.</p>
+
+<p>Dr. Grosart thinks that T. Lewes was "probably of Maes-mawr,
+opposite Newton, on the south side of the Usk." Miss
+Southall identifies him with Thomas Lewis, incumbent in 1635
+of Llanfigan, near Llansantffread. He was expelled from his
+living, but returned to it at the Restoration.</p>
+
+
+<h4>P. <a href="#Page_100">100</a>. To the most excellently accomplished Mrs. K. Philips.</h4>
+
+<p>Katherine Philips, by birth Katherine Fowler, became the
+wife in 1647 of Colonel James Philips, of the Priory, Cardigan.
+She was a wit and poetess, and well-known to a large
+circle of friends as "the matchless Orinda." Each member of
+her coterie had a similar fantastic pseudonym, and it is possible
+that this may account for the Etesia and Timander, the Fida<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[341]</a></span>
+and Lysimachus, of Vaughan's poems. The poems of Orinda
+were surreptitiously published in 1664, and in an authorised
+version in 1667. They include her poem on Vaughan, afterwards
+prefixed to <i>Thalia Rediviva</i> (cf. p. 169), but are not
+accompanied by the present verses nor by those to her editor
+in <i>Thalia Rediviva</i> (p. 211).</p>
+
+<p><i>A Persian votary</i>&mdash;<i>i.e.</i>, a Parsee, or fire-worshipper.</p>
+
+
+<h4>P. <a href="#Page_102">102</a>. An Epitaph upon the Lady Elizabeth, Second
+Daughter to his late Majesty.</h4>
+
+<p>Elizabeth, second daughter of Charles I., was born in 1635.
+She suffered from ill-health and grief after her father's execution,
+and died at Carisbrooke on September 8, 1650. This
+poem, therefore, like others in the volume, must be of later
+date than the dedication.</p>
+
+
+<h4>P. <a href="#Page_104">104</a>. To Sir William Davenant, upon his Gondibert.</h4>
+
+<p>Davenant's <i>Gondibert</i> was first published in 1651. It does
+not contain Vaughan's verses.</p>
+
+<p><i>thy aged sire.</i> Is this an allusion to the story that Davenant
+was in reality the son of William Shakespeare?</p>
+
+<p><i>Birtha</i>, the heroine of <i>Gondibert</i>.</p>
+
+
+<h4>P. <a href="#Page_119">119</a>. Cupido [Cruci Affixus].</h4>
+
+<p>Another translation of Ausonius' poems was published by
+Thomas Stanley in 1649. There is nothing in the original
+corresponding to the last four lines of Vaughan's translation.</p>
+
+<p>Ll. 89-94. The Latin is:</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">"Se quisque absolvere gestit,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Transferat ut proprias aliena in crimina culpas."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>Vaughan's simile is borrowed from Donne's <i>Fourth Elegy</i>
+(<i>Muses' Library</i>, I., 107):</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">"as a thief at bar is questioned there,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By all the men that have been robb'd that year."<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[342]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+<h4>P. <a href="#Page_125">125</a>. Translations from Boethius.</h4>
+
+<p>These translations are from the <i>De Consolatione Philosophiae</i>,
+a medley of prose and verse. Vaughan has translated
+all the verse in the first two books except the Metrum 3 of
+Book I. and Metrum 6 of Book II. The headings of Metra 7
+and 8 of Book II. are given in error in <i>Olor Iscanus</i> as
+Metra 6 and 7. Some further translations from Books III. and
+IV. will be found in <i>Thalia Rediviva</i>, pp. 224-235.</p>
+
+
+<h4>P. <a href="#Page_144">144</a>. Translations from Casimirus.</h4>
+
+<p>These translations are from the Polish poet Mathias Casimirus
+Sarbievius, or Sarbiewski (1595-1640). His Latin <i>Lyrics</i>
+and <i>Epodes</i>, modelled on Horace, were published in 1625-1631.
+Sarbiewski was a Jesuit, and a complete edition of his poems
+was published by the Jesuits in 1892.</p>
+
+
+<h4>P. <a href="#Page_158">158</a>. Venerabili viro, praeceptori suo olim et
+semper colendissimo Magistro Mathaeo Herbert.</h4>
+
+<p>Matthew Herbert was Rector of Llangattock, and apparently
+acted as tutor to the young Vaughans. He is mentioned in
+the lines <i>Ad Posteros</i> (p. 51). Thomas Vaughan also has
+two sets of Latin verses to him (Grosart, II., 349), and dedicated
+to him his <i>Man-Mouse taken in a Trap</i> (1650). On July 19,
+1655, he petitioned for the discharge of the sequestration on his
+rectory, which had been sequestered for the delinquency of the
+Earl of Worcester (<i>Cal. Proc. Ctee. for Compositions</i>, p. 1713).
+He died in 1660.</p>
+
+
+<h4>P. <a href="#Page_159">159</a>. Praestantissimo viro Thomae Po&euml;llo in
+suum de Elementis Optic&aelig; Libellum.</h4>
+
+<p>The <i>Elementa Opticae</i> appeared in 1649. It has no name
+on the title-page, but the preface is signed "T. P.," and
+dated 1649. It contains the present prefatory verses, together
+with some others, also in Latin, by Eugenius Philalethes
+(Thomas Vaughan).<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[343]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<h3>THALIA REDIVIVA.</h3>
+
+
+<p>This volume, published in 1578, at a late date in Henry
+Vaughan's life, twenty-three years after the second part of
+<i>Silex Scintillans</i>, must have been written, at least in part,
+much earlier. The poem on <i>The King Disguised</i>, for instance,
+goes back to 1646. At the end of the volume, with a
+separate title-page (<i>cf.</i> <i>Bibliography</i>), come the Verse Remains
+of the poet's brother, Thomas Vaughan. This is the rarest of
+Vaughan's collections of poems. The copy once in Mr. Corser's
+collection, and now in the British Museum, was believed to be
+unique. It was used both by Lyte and Dr. Grosart. But
+Miss Morgan has come across two other copies, one in Mr.
+Locker-Lampson's library at Rowfant, the other in that of Mr.
+Joseph, at Brecon.</p>
+
+
+<h4>P. <a href="#Page_163">163</a>. The Epistle-Dedicatory.</h4>
+
+<p>Henry Somerset, third Marquis of Worcester, was created
+Duke of Beaufort in 1682. He was a distant kinsman of
+Vaughan's, whose great-great-grandfather, William Vaughan
+of Tretower, married Frances Somerset, granddaughter of
+Henry, Earl of Worcester. He was a firm adherent of the
+Stuarts, and refused to take the oath of allegiance to
+William III. (Dr. Grosart).</p>
+
+
+<h4>P. <a href="#Page_164">164</a>. Commendatory Verses.</h4>
+
+<p>These are signed by <i>Orinda</i>; <i>Tho. Powell, D.D.</i>; <i>N. W.,
+Ies. Coll., Oxon.</i>; <i>I. W., A.M. Oxon.</i></p>
+
+<p>On Orinda, <i>cf.</i> the note to p. 100, and on Dr. Powell, that to P. 57.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[344]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Mr. Firth suggests that N. W., of Jesus, probably a young
+man, who imitates Cowley's <i>Pindarics</i>, and does not claim any
+personal acquaintance with Vaughan, may be N[athaniel]
+W[illiams], son of Thomas Williams, of Swansea, who matriculated
+in 1672, or N[icholas] W[adham], of Rhydodyn,
+Carmarthen, who matriculated in 1669.</p>
+
+<p>I. W., also an Oxford man, is probably the writer of the
+prefaces to the Marquis of Worcester and to the Reader, which
+are signed respectively J. W. and I. W. Mr. Firth suggests
+that he may be J[ohn] W[illiams], son of Sir Henry Williams
+of Gwernevet, Brecon, who matriculated at Brasenose in 1642.
+I have thought that he might be Vaughan's cousin, the second
+John Walbeoffe (<i>cf.</i> p. 189, <i>note</i>), who is mentioned in Thomas
+Vaughan's diary (<i>cf.</i> <i>Biographical Note</i>, vol. ii., p. xxxviii),
+but there is no proof that Walbeoffe was an Oxford man.
+Perhaps he is the friend James to whom a poem in <i>Olor
+Iscanus</i> is addressed (p. 70).</p>
+
+
+<h4>P. <a href="#Page_178">178</a>. To his Learned Friend and loyal Fellow-prisoner,
+Thomas Powel of Cant[reff], Doctor of Divinity.</h4>
+
+<p>On Dr. Powell, <i>cf.</i> note to p. 57. Vaughan's reason for
+calling him a "fellow-prisoner" is discussed in the <i>Biographical
+Note</i> (vol. ii., p. xxxii).</p>
+
+
+<h4>P. <a href="#Page_181">181</a>. The King Disguised.</h4>
+
+<p>John Cleveland's poem, <i>The King's Disguise</i>, here referred
+to, was first published as a pamphlet on January 21, 1646. It
+appears in Cleveland's <i>Works</i> (1687). The disguising was on
+the occasion of Charles the First's flight, on April 27, 1646,
+from Oxford to the Scottish camp, of which Dr. Gardiner
+writes (<i>History of the Civil War</i>, Ch. xli): "At three in
+the morning of the 27th, Charles, disguised as a servant, with
+his beard and hair closely trimmed, passed over Magdalen
+Bridge in apparent attendance upon Ashburnham and Hudson."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[345]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<h4>P. <a href="#Page_187">187</a>. To Mr. M. L., upon his Reduction of the Psalms into Method.</h4>
+
+<p>Dr. Grosart identifies M. L. with Matthew Locke, of whom
+Roger North says, in his <i>Memoirs of Music</i> (4to, 1846, p. 96):
+"He set most of the Psalms to music in parts, for the use of
+some vertuoso ladyes in the city." Locke's setting of the
+<i>Psalms</i> exists only in MS. A copy was in the library of Dr.
+E. F. Rimbault, who thinks that the author assisted Playford
+in his <i>Whole Book of Psalms</i> (1677). In 1677 he died.</p>
+
+
+<h4>P. <a href="#Page_189">189</a>. To the pious Memory of C[harles] W[albeoffe] Esquire.</h4>
+
+<p>Charles Walbeoffe was a man of considerable importance in
+Brecknockshire. His name occurs several times in State
+papers of the period. A petition of his concerning a ward is
+dated October 12, 1640. (<i>Cal. S. P. Dom.</i>, Car. I., 470, 113).
+He was High Sheriff in 1648 (Harl. MS. 2,289, f. 174), and a
+fragment of a warrant signed by him on April 17 of that year
+to Thomas Vaughan, treasurer of the county, for the monthly
+assessment, is in Harl. MS. 6,831, f. 13. As we might perhaps
+gather from Vaughan's poem, he does not seem to have taken
+an active part in the Civil War. He did not, like some
+other members of his family, sign the <i>Declaration</i> of Brecknock
+for the Parliament on November 23, 1645 (J. R. Phillips,
+<i>Civil War in Wales and the Marches</i>, ii. 284). And he
+seems to have joined the Royalist rising in Wales of 1648.
+Information was laid on February 10, 1649, that he "was
+Commissioner of Array and Association, raised men and money,
+subscribed warrants to raise men against the Parliament's
+generals, and sat as J.P. in the court at Brecon when the
+friends of Parliament were prosecuted" (<i>Cal. Proc. Ctee. for
+Advance of Money</i>, p. 1017). Afterwards he was reconciled,
+sat on the local Committee for Compositions, and again got
+into trouble with the authorities. On May 14, 1652, the
+Brecon Committee wrote to the Central Committee that, being
+one of the late Committee, he would not account for sums in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[346]</a></span>
+his hands. He was fined &pound;20. (<i>Cal. Proc. Ctee. for Compositions</i>,
+p. 578.)</p>
+
+<p>Miss Morgan has copied the inscription on his tombstone in
+Llanhamlach Church.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p style='text-align:center;'>[Arms of Walbeoffe.]</p>
+
+<p>"Here lieth the body of Charles Walbeoffe, Esqre., who
+departed this life the 13th day of September, 1653, and was
+married to Mary, one of the daughters of Sir Thomas Aubrey
+of Llantryddid, in the county of Glamorgan, Knt., by whom
+he had issue two sonnes, of whom only Charles surviveth."</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>Charles Walbeoffe the younger died in 1668, and was
+succeeded by his cousin John. "This gentleman," says Jones
+(<i>Hist. of Brecknock</i>, ii., 482), "being of a gay and extravagant
+turn, left the estate, much encumbered, to his son Charles,
+and soon after his death it was foreclosed and afterwards sold."</p>
+
+<p>This John Walbeoffe is mentioned in Thomas Vaughan's
+<i>Diary</i> (<i>cf.</i> vol. ii., p. xxxviii). He may be the writer of the
+preface to <i>Thalia Rediviva</i> (<i>cf.</i> p. 164, <i>note</i>).</p>
+
+<p>It is possible that the R. W. of another of Vaughan's Elegies
+may also have been a Walbeoffe. <i>Cf.</i> p. 79, <i>note</i>.</p>
+
+<p>Dr. Grosart was unable to identify the initials C. W. The Walbeoffes, or
+Walbieffes, of Llanhamlach, the next village to Llansantfread, were
+among the most important of the <i>Advenae</i>, or Norman settlers of
+Brecknockshire. They were related, as the following table shows, to the
+Vaughans of Tretower. The following extract from the genealogy of the
+Walbeoffes of Llanhamlach is compiled from Harl. MS. 2,289. f. 136<i>b</i>;
+Jones, <i>History of Brecknockshire</i>, ii., 484; Miss G. E. F. Morgan, in
+<i>Brecon County Times</i> for May 13, 1887.
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[347]</a></span></p>
+
+<p class='center'>
+<img src='images/pedigree3.png'
+	alt='Genealogy of the Walboeffes of Llanhamlach'
+	title='Genealogy of the Walboeffes of Llanhamlach'
+/>
+</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[348]</a></span></p>
+
+<h4>P. <a href="#Page_193">193</a>. In Zodiacum Marcelli Palingenii.</h4>
+
+<p>Marcellus Palingenius, or Petro Angelo Manzoli, wrote his
+didactic and satirical poem, the <i>Zodiacus Vitae</i>, about 1535.
+It was translated into English by Barnabee Googe in 1560-1565.
+The latest edition of the original is that by C. C. Weise
+(1832). As we may gather from Vaughan's lines, Manzoli was
+an earnest student of occult lore. <i>Cf.</i> Gustave Reynier, <i>De
+Marcelli Palingenii Stellatae Poctae Zodiaco Vitae</i> (1893).</p>
+
+
+<h4>P. <a href="#Page_195">195</a>. To Lysimachus.</h4>
+
+<p><i>Bevis ... Arundel ... Morglay</i>. The allusion is to
+the <i>Romance of Sir Bevis of Hampton</i> (ed. E. K&ouml;lbing,
+E. E. T. S., 1885). Arundel was Sir Bevis' horse, and Morglay his sword.</p>
+
+
+<h4>P. <a href="#Page_197">197</a>. On Sir Thomas Bodley's Library.</h4>
+
+<p>If Vaughan was not himself an Oxford man (<i>Biog. Note</i>,
+vol. ii., p. xxvi), he may have been in Oxford with the King's
+troops at the end of August, 1645 (<i>Biog. Note</i>, vol. ii., p. xxxi).</p>
+
+<p><i>Walsam</i>, Walsingham, in Norfolk, famous for the rich
+shrine of Our Lady of Walsingham, to which many offerings were made.</p>
+
+
+<h4>P. <a href="#Page_200">200</a>. The Importunate Fortune.</h4>
+
+<p>I. 105. <i>My purse, as Randolph's was.</i> The allusion is to
+Randolph's <i>A Parley with his Empty Purse</i>, which begins:</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Purse, who'll not know you have a poet's been,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When he shall look and find no gold herein?"<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h4>P. <a href="#Page_204">204</a>. To I. Morgan, of Whitehall, Esq.</h4>
+
+<p>Whitehall appears to be an Anglicised form of Wenallt, more
+properly Whitehill. John Morgan, or Morgans, of Wenallt, in
+Llandetty, was a kinsman of Vaughan's, as the following table
+(from Harl. MS., 2,289, f. 39) shows:
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[349]</a></span>
+</p>
+<p class="center">
+<img src='images/pedigree4.png'
+	alt='Pedigree of John Morgan'
+	title='Pedigree of John Morgan' />
+</p>
+
+<h4>P. <a href="#Page_211">211</a>. To the Editor of the Matchless Orinda.</h4>
+
+<p><i>cf.</i> p. 100, <i>note</i>. These lines do not appear in either the 1664
+or the 1667 edition of Orinda's poems.</p>
+
+
+<h4>P. <a href="#Page_213">213</a>. Upon Sudden News of the Much Lamented
+Death of Judge Trevers.</h4>
+
+<p>"This was probably Sir Thomas Trevor, youngest son of
+John Trevor, Esq., of Trevallyn, co. Denbigh, by Mary,
+daughter of Sir George Bruges, of London. He was born
+6th July, 1586. He was made one of the Barons of the
+Exchequer 12th May, 1625; and was one of the six judges who
+refused to accept the new commission offered them by the
+ruling powers under the Commonwealth. He died 21st
+December, 1656, and is buried at Lemington-Hastang, in
+Warwickshire." (Dr. Grosart.)</p>
+
+
+<h4>P. <a href="#Page_214">214</a>. To Etesia (for Timander) The First Sight.</h4>
+
+<p>I do not think we need look for anything autobiographical in
+this and the following poems written to Etesia. They are
+written "for Timander," that is, either to serve the suit of a
+friend, or as copies of verses with no personal reference at all.
+The names Etesia and Timander smack of Orinda's poetic circle.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[350]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<h4>P. <a href="#Page_224">224</a>. Translations from Severinus.</h4>
+
+<p>Dr. Grosart hunted out an obscure Neapolitan, Marcus
+Aurelius Severino, and ascribed to him the originals of these
+translations. They are of course from the <i>De Consolatione
+Philosophiae</i> of Anicius Manlius Severinus Boethius, and are a
+continuation of the pieces already printed in <i>Olor Iscanus</i>
+(pp. 125-143).</p>
+
+
+<h4>P. <a href="#Page_245">245</a>. Pious Thoughts and Ejaculations.</h4>
+
+<p>These are much in the vein of <i>Silex Scintillans</i>. They
+probably belong to various dates later than 1655, when the
+second part of that collection appeared. <i>The Nativity</i>
+(p. 259) is dated 1656, and <i>The True Christmas</i> (p. 261) was
+apparently written after the Restoration.</p>
+
+
+<h4>P. <a href="#Page_261">261</a>. The True Christmas.</h4>
+
+<p>Vaughan was no Puritan; <i>cf.</i> his lines on <i>Christ's Nativity</i>
+(vol. i., p. 107)&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Alas, my God! Thy birth now here<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Must not be numbered in the year,"<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>but he was not much in sympathy with the ideals of the Restoration either;
+<i>cf.</i> the passage on "our unjust ways" in <i>Daphnis</i> (p. 284).</p>
+
+
+<h4>P. <a href="#Page_267">267</a>. De Salmone.</h4>
+
+<p>On Thomas Powell, <i>cf.</i> p. 57, note.</p>
+
+
+<h4>P. <a href="#Page_272">272</a>. The Bee.</h4>
+
+<p><i>Hilarion's servant, the sage crow.</i> There seems to be some
+confusion between Hilarion, an obscure fourth-century Abbot,
+and Paul the Hermit, of whom it is related in his <i>Life by
+S. Jerome</i> that for sixty years he was daily provided with half
+a loaf of bread by a crow.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[351]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<h4>P. <a href="#Page_278">278</a>. Daphnis.</h4>
+
+<p>The subject of the Eclogue appears to be Vaughan's brother
+Thomas, who died 27th February, 1666. On him <i>see</i> the
+<i>Biographical Note</i> (vol. ii., p. xxxiii).</p>
+
+<p><i>true black Moors</i>; an allusion, perhaps, to Thomas
+Vaughan's controversy with Henry More.</p>
+
+<p><i>Old Amphion</i>; perhaps Matthew Herbert, on whom see note to p. 158.</p>
+
+<p><i>The Isis and the prouder Thames.</i> Thomas Vaughan was
+buried at Albury, near Oxford.</p>
+
+<p><i>Noble Murray.</i> Thomas Vaughan's patron, himself a poet
+and alchemist, Sir Robert Murray, Secretary of State for
+Scotland. His poems have been collected by the Hunterian Club.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">[352]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<h3>FRAGMENTS AND TRANSLATIONS.</h3>
+
+
+<p>The larger number of the verses in this section are translated
+quotations scattered through Vaughan's prose-pamphlets.
+Dr. Grosart identified some of the originals; I have added a
+few others; but the larger number remain obscure and are
+hardly worth spending much labour upon. The title-pages of
+the pamphlets will be found in the <i>Bibliography</i> (vol. ii., p. lvii).</p>
+
+
+<h4>P. <a href="#Page_289">289</a>. From Eucharistica Oxoniensia.</h4>
+
+<p>I have already, in the <i>Biographical Note</i> (vol. ii., p. xxviii),
+given reasons for doubting whether this poem is by the Silurist.
+It was first printed as his by Dr. Grosart. Charles the First was
+in Scotland, trying to settle his differences with the Scots,
+during the closing months of 1641.</p>
+
+
+<h4>P. <a href="#Page_291">291</a>. Translations from Plutarch and Maximus Tyrius.</h4>
+
+<p>These, together with a translation of Guevara's <i>De vitae
+rusticae laudibus</i>, were appended to the <i>Olor Iscanus</i>. Vaughan
+did not translate directly from the Greek, but from a Latin
+version published in 1613-14 amongst some tracts by John
+Reynolds, Lecturer in Greek at, and afterwards President of
+Corpus Christi College, Oxford.</p>
+
+
+<h4>P. <a href="#Page_294">294</a>. From the Mount of Olives.</h4>
+
+<p>A volume of Devotions published by Vaughan in 1652. The
+preface, dated 1st October, 1651, is addressed to Sir Charles
+Egerton, Knight, and in it Vaughan speaks of "that near<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[353]</a></span>
+relation by which my dearest friend lays claim to your person."
+It is impossible to say who is the "dearest friend" referred to.
+The <i>Flores Solitudinis</i> (1654) is also dedicated to Sir Charles
+Egerton. He was probably of Staffordshire. Dr. Grosart
+(II. xxxiii) states that in Hanbury Church, co. Stafford, is a
+monument <i>Caroli Egertoni Equitis Aurati</i>, who died 1662.
+Perhaps therefore he was connected with Vaughan's wife's
+family, the Wises of Staffordshire.</p>
+
+
+<h4>P. <a href="#Page_298">298</a>. From Man in Glory.</h4>
+
+<p>This translation from a work attributed to St. Anselm and
+published as his in 1639 is appended to the Mount of Olives.</p>
+
+<p>In the original lines 5, 6, are printed in error after lines 7, 8.</p>
+
+
+<h4>P. <a href="#Page_299">299</a>. From Flores Solitudinis.</h4>
+
+<p>In 1654 Vaughan published a volume containing (1) translations
+of two discourses by Eusebius Nierembergius, (2) a
+translation of Eucherius, <i>De Contemptu Mundi</i>, (3) an original
+life of S. Paulinus, Bishop of Nola. These were poems
+"collected in his sickness and retirement." The Epistle-dedicatory
+to Sir Charles Egerton is dated 1653, and that to
+the reader which precedes the translations from Nierembergius
+on 17th April, 1652.</p>
+
+<p><i>Bissellius.</i> John Bissel a Jesuit, (1601-1677), wrote <i>Deliciae
+Aetatis</i>, <i>Argonauticon Americanorum</i>, etc. (Grosart).</p>
+
+<p><i>Augurellius.</i> Johannes Aurelius Augurellius of Rimini
+(1454-1537), wrote <i>Carmina</i>, <i>Chrysopoeia</i>, <i>Geronticon</i>, etc.
+(Grosart).</p>
+
+
+<h4>P. <a href="#Page_307">307</a>. From Primitive Holiness.</h4>
+
+<p>This original life of S. Paulinus of Nola, by far the most
+striking of Vaughan's prose works, contains a number of poems,
+pieced together by Vaughan from lines in Paulinus' own poems
+and in those of Ausonius addressed to him. The edition used
+by Vaughan seems to have been that published by Rosweyd at
+Antwerp in 1622. I have traced the sources of the poems so far
+as I can in the edition published by W. de Hartel in the <i>Corpus</i>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">[354]</a></span>
+<i>Scriptorum Ecclesiasticorum Latinorum</i> (vols. xxix, xxx 1894).</p>
+
+
+<h4>P. <a href="#Page_322">322</a>. From Hermetical Physic.</h4>
+
+<p>A translation from the <i>Naturae Sanctuarium! quod est
+Physica Hermetica</i> (1619) of the alchemist Henry Nollius,
+published by Vaughan in 1655.</p>
+
+
+<h4>P. <a href="#Page_323">323</a>. From Cerbyd Fechydwiaeth.</h4>
+
+<p>This tract is bound up with the Brit. Mus. copy of [Thomas
+Powell's] <i>Quadriga Salutis</i> (1657), of which it appears to be a
+Welsh translation. The verses, to which nothing corresponds
+in the English version, are signed Ol[or] Vaughan (<i>cf.</i> Olor
+Iscanus). Professor Palgrave (<i>Y Cymrodor</i>, 1890-1) translates
+them as follows: "The Lord's Prayer, when looked into (we
+see), the Trinity of His Fatherly goodness has given it as a
+foundation-stone of all prayer, and has made it for our
+instruction in doctrine." He adds that this Englyn occurs with
+others written in an eighteenth-century hand on the fly-leaf of
+a MS. of Welsh poetry by Iago ab Duwi.</p>
+
+
+<h4>P. <a href="#Page_324">324</a>. From Humane Industry.</h4>
+
+<p>On Thomas Powell <i>cf.</i> p. 57, note. The first three of
+these translations are marked H. V. in the margin; of the
+fourth Powell says, "The translation of Mr. Hen. Vaughan,
+Silurist, whose excellent Poems are published." Many other
+translations are scattered through the book, but there is
+nothing to connect them with Vaughan.
+</p>
+
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[355]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="LIST_OF_FIRST_LINES" id="LIST_OF_FIRST_LINES"></a>
+LIST OF FIRST LINES.</h2>
+
+<table summary='Index of first lines'>
+<tr><td>&nbsp;</td><td style='width:2.5em;'>Vol.</td><td style='width:2.5em;'>page</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>A grove there grows, round with the sea confin'd,</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_239'>239</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>A king and no king! Is he gone from us,</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_181'>181</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>A tender kid&mdash;see, where 'tis put&mdash;</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_293'>293</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>A ward, and still in bonds, one day</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>19</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>A wit most worthy in tried gold to shine,</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>2</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Accept, dread Lord, the poor oblation;</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>92</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Accipe pr&aelig;rapido salmonem in gurgite captum,</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_267'>267</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Against the virtuous man we all make head,</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_305'>305</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Ah! He is fled!</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>40</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Ah! what time wilt Thou come? when shall that cry</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>123</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>All sorts of men, who live on Earth,</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_235'>235</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>All worldly things, even while they grow, decay</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_304'>304</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Almighty Spirit! Thou that by</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_144'>144</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Amyntas go, thou art undone</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_12'>12</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>And do they so? have they a sense</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>87</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>And for life's sake to lose the crown of life.</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_303'>303</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>And is the bargain thought too dear</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_311'>311</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>And rising at midnight the stars espied</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_297'>297</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>And will not bear the cry</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_301'>301</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>As Egypt's drought by Nilus is redress'd</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_304'>304</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>As kings do rule like th' heavens, who dispense</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_289'>289</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>As Time one day by me did pass,</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>234</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>As travellers, when the twilight's come</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>146</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Ask, lover, e'er thou diest; let one poor breath
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[356]</a></span>
+</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_11'>11</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Awake, glad heart! get up and sing!</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>105</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Base man! and couldst thou think Cato alone</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_301'>301</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Be dumb, coarse measures, jar no more; to me</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>195</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Be still, black parasites,</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>187</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Bless me! what damps are here! how stiff an air!</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_65'>65</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Blessed, unhappy city! dearly lov'd,</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>218</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Blessings as rich and fragrant crown your heads</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_92'>92</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Blest be the God of harmony and love!</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>76</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Blest infant bud, whose blossom-life</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>120</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Boast not, proud Golgotha, that thou canst show</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_197'>197</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Bright and blest beam! whose strong projection,</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>121</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Bright books! the perspectives to our weak sights:</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_245'>245</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Bright Queen of Heaven! God's Virgin Spouse!</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>225</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Bright shadows of true rest! some shoots of bliss;</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>114</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>But night and day doth his own life molest,</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_302'>302</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Can any tell me what it is? Can you</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_268'>268</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Chance taking from me things of highest price</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_292'>292</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Come, come! what do I here?</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>61</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Come, drop your branches, strew the way</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>216</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Come, my heart! come, my head,</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>52</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Come, my true consort in my joys and care!</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_317'>317</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Come sapless blossom, creep not still on earth,</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>166</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Curtain'd with clouds in a dark night</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_132'>132</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Darkness, and stars i' th' mid-day! They invite</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_18'>18</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Dear, beauteous saint! more white than day</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>227</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Dear friend, sit down, and bear awhile this shade</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>193</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Dear friend! whose holy, ever-living lines</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>91</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Dearest! if you those fair eyes&mdash;wond'ring&mdash;stick</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_115'>115</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Death and darkness, get you packing,</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>133</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Diminuat ne sera dies pr&aelig;sentis honorem</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_51'>51</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Draw near, fond man, and dress thee by this glass,</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_294'>294</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Dust and clay,</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>180</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Early, while yet the dark was gay
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">[357]</a></span>
+</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_255'>255</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Eternal God! Maker of all</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>285</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Et sic in cithara, sic in dulcedine vit&aelig;</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_266'>266</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Excel then if thou canst, be not withstood,</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_291'>291</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Fair and young light! my guide to holy</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>236</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Fair order'd lights&mdash;whose motion without noise</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>155</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Fair Prince of Light! Light's living well!</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_249'>249</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Fair, shining mountains of my pilgrimage</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_247'>247</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Fair, solitary path! whose blessed shades</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>256</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Fair vessel of our daily light, whose proud</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_257'>257</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Fairly design'd! to charm our civil rage</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_171'>171</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>False life! a foil and no more, when</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>282</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Fancy and I, last evening, walk'd,</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_15'>15</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Farewell! I go to sleep; but when</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>73</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Farewell thou true and tried reflection</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_276'>276</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Farewell, you everlasting hills! I'm cast</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>43</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Father of lights! what sunny seed,</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>189</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Feeding on fruits which in the heavens do grow,</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_291'>291</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Flaccus, not so: that worldly he</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_152'>152</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Fool that I was! to believe blood</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_209'>209</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>For shame desist, why shouldst thou seek my fall?</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_200'>200</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Fortune&mdash;when with rash hands she quite turmoils</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_134'>134</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Fresh fields and woods! the Earth's fair face</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_252'>252</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>From fruitful beds and flow'ry borders,</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_272'>272</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>From the first hour the heavens were made</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_296'>296</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Go catch the ph&oelig;nix, and then bring</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_217'>217</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Go, go, quaint follies, sugar'd sin,</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>113</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Go, if you must! but stay&mdash;and know</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_222'>222</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Had I adored the multitude and thence</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_169'>169</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Hail, sacred shades! cool, leafy house!</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_26'>26</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Happy is he, that with fix'd eyes</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_224'>224</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Happy that first white age! when we</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_138'>138</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Happy those early days, when I
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">[358]</a></span>
+</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>59</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Have I so long in vain thy absence mourn'd?</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_309'>309</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>He that thirsts for glory's prize,</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_140'>140</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Here holy Anselm lives in ev'ry page,</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_298'>298</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Here, take again thy sackcloth! and thank heav'n</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_83'>83</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Here the great well-spring of wash'd souls, with beams</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_313'>313</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>His deep, dark heart&mdash;bent to supplant&mdash;</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_292'>292</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Hither thou com'st: the busy wind all night</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>207</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>How could that paper sent,</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_307'>307</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>How is man parcell'd out! how ev'ry hour</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>139</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>How kind is Heav'n to man! if here</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>107</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>How oft have we beheld wild beasts appear</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_325'>325</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>How rich, O Lord, how fresh Thy visits are!</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>105</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>How shrill are silent tears! when sin got head</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>124</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>I am confirm'd, and so much wing is given</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_79'>79</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>I call'd it once my sloth: in such an age</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_58'>58</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>I cannot reach it; and my striving eye</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>249</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>I did but see thee! and how vain it is</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_90'>90</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>I have consider'd it; and find</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>90</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>I have it now:</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>238</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>I knew it would be thus! and my just fears</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_94'>94</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>I knew thee not, nor durst attendance strive</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_87'>87</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>I saw beneath Tarentum's stately towers</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_296'>296</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>I saw Eternity the other night</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>150</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>I see the Temple in thy pillar rear'd;</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>261</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>I see the use: and know my blood</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>69</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>I've read thy soul's fair nightpiece, and have seen</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_77'>77</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>I walk'd the other day, to spend my hour,</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>171</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>I whose first year flourished with youthful verse,</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_125'>125</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>I wonder, James, through the whole history</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_70'>70</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>I write not here, as if thy last in store</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_59'>59</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>I wrote it down. But one that saw</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>264</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>If Amoret, that glorious eye,</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_13'>13</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>"If any have an ear,"</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>242</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>If I were dead, and in my place</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_16'>16</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>If old tradition hath not fail'd,
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">[359]</a></span>
+</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_233'>233</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>If sever'd friends by sympathy can join,</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_178'>178</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>If this world's friends might see but once</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>232</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>If weeping eyes could wash away</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_151'>151</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>If with an open, bounteous hand</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_135'>135</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>In all the parts of earth, from farthest West,</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_28'>28</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>In March birds couple, a new birth</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_295'>295</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>In those bless'd fields of everlasting air</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_119'>119</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Isca parens florum, placido qui spumeus ore</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_157'>157</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>It is perform'd! and thy great name doth run</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_193'>193</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>It lives when kill'd, and brancheth when 'tis lopp'd</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_301'>301</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>It would less vex distress&egrave;d man</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_145'>145</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Jesus, my life! how shall I truly love Thee?</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>200</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Joy of my life while left me here!</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>67</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Knave's tongues and calumnies no more doth prize</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_292'>292</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>King of comforts! King of Life!</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>127</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>King of mercy, King of love,</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>174</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Learning and Law, your day is done,</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_213'>213</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Leave Amoret, melt not away so fast</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_23'>23</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Let me not weep to see thy ravish'd house</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_307'>307</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Let not thy youth and false delights</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_146'>146</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Life, Marcellina, leaving thy fair frame,</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_312'>312</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Like some fair oak, that when her boughs</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_302'>302</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>[Like] to speedy posts, bear hence the lamp of life</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_304'>304</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Long life, oppress'd with many woes,</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_306'>306</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Long since great wits have left the stage</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_211'>211</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Lord, bind me up, and let me lie</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>161</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Lord Jesus! with what sweetness and delights,</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>177</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Lord, since Thou didst in this vile clay</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>116</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Lord! what a busy restless thing</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>48</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Lord, when Thou didst on Sinai pitch,</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>148</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Lord, when Thou didst Thyself undress,</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>51</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Lord, with what courage, and delight
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">[360]</a></span>
+</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>80</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Love, the world's life! What a sad death</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_223'>223</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Man should with virtue arm'd and hearten'd be</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_303'>303</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Mark, when the evening's cooler wings</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_21'>21</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Most happy man! who in his own sweet fields</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_236'>236</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>My dear, Almighty Lord! why dost Thou weep?</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>220</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>My God and King! to Thee</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>259</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>My God, how gracious art Thou! I had slipt</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>89</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>My God! Thou that didst die for me,</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>13</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>My God, when I walk in those groves</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>30</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>My soul, my pleasant soul, and witty,</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_294'>294</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>My soul, there is a country</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>83</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Nature even for herself doth lay a snare,</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_303'>303</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Nimble sigh on thy warm wings,</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_10'>10</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Nothing on earth, nothing at all</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_149'>149</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Now I have seen her; and by Cupid</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_206'>206</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Now that the public sorrow doth subside</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_189'>189</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>O book! Life's guide! how shall we part;</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>287</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>O come, and welcome! come, refine!</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_251'>251</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>O come away,</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>274</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>O day of life, of light, of love!</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>267</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>O do not go! Thou know'st I'll die!</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>214</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>O dulcis luctus, risuque potentior omni!</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_221'>221</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>O health, the chief of gifts divine!</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_293'>293</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>O holy, blessed, glorious Three,</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>201</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>O in what haste, with clouds and night</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_126'>126</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>O joys! infinite sweetness! with what flowers</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>71</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>O knit me, that am crumbled dust! the heap</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>46</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>O my chief good!</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>84</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>O qu&aelig; frondos&aelig; per am&oelig;na cubilia silv&aelig;</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_160'>160</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>O, subtle Love! thy peace is war;</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_220'>220</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>O tell me whence that joy doth spring</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>284</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>O the new world's new-quick'ning Sun!
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361">[361]</a></span>
+</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>289</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>O Thou great builder of this starry frame,</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_129'>129</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>O Thou that lovest a pure and whiten'd soul;</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>130</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>O Thou! the first-fruits of the dead,</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>78</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>O Thou who didst deny to me</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_263'>263</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>O Thy bright looks! Thy glance of love</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>197</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>O when my God, my Glory, brings</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>260</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Obdurate still and tongue-tied, you accuse</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_308'>308</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Oft have I seen, when that renewing breath</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>25</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Patience digesteth misery</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_302'>302</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Peace? and to all the world? Sure One,</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_259'>259</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Peace, peace! I blush to hear thee; when thou art</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>108</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Peace, peace! I know 'twas brave;</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>65</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Peace, peace! it is not so. Thou dost miscall</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>137</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Peter, when thou this pleasant world dost see,</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_299'>299</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Praying! and to be married! It was rare,</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>37</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Quid celebras auratam undam, et combusta pyropis</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_265'>265</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Quite spent with thoughts, I left my cell, and lay</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>57</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Quod vixi, Math&aelig;e dedit pater, h&aelig;c tamen olim</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_158'>158</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Sacred and secret hand!</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>223</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Sad, purple well! whose bubbling eye</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>254</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Saw not, Lysimachus, last day, when we</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_195'>195</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Say, witty fair one, from what sphere</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_100'>100</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>See what thou wert! by what Platonic round</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_175'>175</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>See you that beauteous queen, which no age tames?</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_219'>219</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Sees not my friend, what a deep snow</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_99'>99</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Shall I believe you can make me return,</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_306'>306</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Shall I complain, or not? or shall I mask</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_112'>112</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Sickness and death, you are but sluggish things,</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_309'>309</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Silence and stealth of days! 'Tis now,</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>74</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Since dying for me, Thou didst crave no more</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>278</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Since I in storms us'd most to be,</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>283</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Since in a land not barren still,
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362">[362]</a></span>
+</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>145</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Since last we met, thou and thy horse&mdash;my dear&mdash;</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_73'>73</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Sion's true, glorious God! on Thee</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>269</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>So from our cold, rude world, which all things tires,</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_204'>204</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>So our decays God comforts by</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_295'>295</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>So, stick up ivy and the bays,</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_261'>261</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Some esteem it no point of revenge to kill</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_323'>323</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Some struggle and groan as if by panthers torn,</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_300'>300</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Still young and fine! but what is still in view</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>230</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Sure, it was so. Man in those early days</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>101</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Sure Priam will to mirth incline,</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_291'>291</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Sure, there's a tie of bodies! and as they</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>82</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Sure thou didst flourish once! and many springs,</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>209</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Sweet, harmless live[r]s!&mdash;on whose leisure</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>158</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Sweet, sacred hill! on whose fair brow</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>49</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Tentasti, fateor, sine vulnere s&aelig;pius et me</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>liv</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Thanks, mighty Silver! I rejoice to see</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_68'>68</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>That man for misery excell'd</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_293'>293</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>That the fierce pard doth at a beck</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_325'>325</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>That the world in constant force</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_142'>142</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>The lucky World show'd me one day</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>226</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>The naked man too gets the field,</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_300'>300</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>The painful cross with flowers and palms is crown'd,</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_314'>314</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>The pains of Saints and Saints' rewards are twins,</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_314'>314</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>The plenteous evils of frail life fill the old:</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_305'>305</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>The strongest body and the best</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_323'>323</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>The trees we set grow slowly, and their shade</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_297'>297</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>The untired strength of never-ceasing motion,</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_324'>324</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>The whole wench&mdash;how complete soe'er&mdash;was but</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_298'>298</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>There are that do believe all things succeed</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_295'>295</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>There's need, betwixt his clothes, his bed and board</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_322'>322</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>They are all gone into the world of light!</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>182</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>&mdash;They fain would&mdash;if they might&mdash;</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_302'>302</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>This is the day&mdash;blithe god of sack&mdash;which we,</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_106'>106</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>This pledge of your joint love, to heaven now fled,</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_308'>308</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Those sacred days by tedious Time delay'd,
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_363" id="Page_363">[363]</a></span>
+</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_315'>315</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Though since thy first sad entrance by</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>272</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Thou that know'st for whom I mourn,</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>54</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Thou the nepenthe easing grief</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_301'>301</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Thou who didst place me in this busy street</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>244</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Thou, who dost flow and flourish here below,</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>198</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Thou, whose sad heart, and weeping head lies low</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>133</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Through pleasant green fields enter you the way</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_313'>313</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Through that pure virgin shrine,</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>251</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Time's teller wrought into a little round,</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_324'>324</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>'Tis a sad Land, that in one day</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>23</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>'Tis dead night round about: Horror doth creep</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>41</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>'Tis madness sure; and I am in the fit,</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_184'>184</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>'Tis not rich furniture and gems,</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_147'>147</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>'Tis now clear day: I see a rose</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>33</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>'Tis true, I am undone: yet, ere I die,</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_17'>17</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>To live a stranger unto life</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_304'>304</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>True life in this is shown,</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_304'>304</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>'Twas so; I saw thy birth. That drowsy lake</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>45</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Tyrant, farewell! this heart, the prize</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_8'>8</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Unfold! Unfold! Take in His light,</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_254'>254</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Up, O my soul! and bless the Lord! O God,</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>202</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Up to those bright and gladsome hills,</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>136</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Vain, sinful art! who first did fit</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>219</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Vain wits and eyes</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>16</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Virtue's fair cares some people measure</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_303'>303</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Vivaces oculorum ignes et lumina dia</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_159'>159</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Waters above! eternal springs!</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_248'>248</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Weary of this same clay and straw, I laid</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>153</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>We thank you, worthy Sir, that now we see</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_97'>97</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Weighing the steadfastness and state</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>169</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Welcome, dear book, soul's joy and food! The feast</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>103</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Welcome sweet and sacred feast! welcome life!
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">[364]</a></span>
+</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>134</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Welcome, white day! a thousand suns,</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>184</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Well, we are rescued! and by thy rare pen</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_104'>104</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>What can the man do that succeeds the king?</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>247</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>What clouds, Menalcas, do oppress thy brow,</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_278'>278</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>What fix'd affections, and lov'd laws</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_228'>228</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>What happy, secret fountain,</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>241</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>What greater good hath decked great Pompey's crown</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_306'>306</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>What is't to me that spacious rivers run</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_295'>295</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>What planet rul'd your birth? what witty star?</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_57'>57</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>What smiling star in that fair night,</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_214'>214</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>What though they boast their riches unto us?</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_292'>292</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Whatever 'tis, whose beauty here below</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>191</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>When Daphne's lover here first wore the bays,</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_61'>61</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>When first I saw True Beauty, and Thy joys</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>168</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>When first Thou didst even from the grave</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>110</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>When first thy eyes unveil, give thy soul leave</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>94</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>When Jove a heav'n of small glass did behold,</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_238'>238</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>When the Crab's fierce constellation</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_131'>131</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>When the fair year</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>212</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>When the sun from his rosy bed</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_136'>136</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>When through the North a fire shall rush</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>28</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>When to my eyes,</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>63</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>When we are dead, and now, no more</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_5'>5</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>When with these eyes, clos'd now by Thee,</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>271</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Whenever did, I pray,</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_322'>322</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Where reverend bards of old have sate</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_172'>172</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Where'er my fancy calls, there I go still,</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_322'>322</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Whither, O whither didst thou fly</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_250'>250</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Who wisely would for his retreat</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_137'>137</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Who would unclouded see the laws</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_230'>230</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Who on you throne of azure sits,</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>142</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Whom God doth take care for, and love,</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_306'>306</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Whose calm soul in a settled state</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_128'>128</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Whose guilty soul, with terrors fraught, doth frame,</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_303'>303</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Whose hissings fright all Nature's monstrous ills,</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_305'>305</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>With restless cares they waste the night and day,</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_322'>322</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>With what deep murmurs, through Time's silent stealth,
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_365" id="Page_365">[365]</a></span>
+</td><td align='right'>i.</td><td align='right'>280</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Y Pader, pan trier, Duw-tri a'i dododd</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_323'>323</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>You have consum'd my language, and my pen,</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_109'>109</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>You have oblig'd the patriarch: and 'tis known</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_187'>187</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>You minister to others' wounds a cure,</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_291'>291</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>You see what splendour through the spacious aisle,</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_314'>314</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>You that to wash your flesh and souls draw near,</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_312'>312</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>Youth, beauty, virtue, innocence</td><td align='right'>ii.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_102'>102</a></td></tr>
+</table>
+
+
+<p class='center'
+style='padding-top:0.5em;border-top:solid 2px black;padding-bottom:2em;'>
+Woodfall &amp; Kinder, Printers, 70-76, Long Acre., W.C.</p>
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+The Project Gutenberg eBook of Poems of Henry Vaughan, Silurist, Volume
+II, by Henry Vaughan, et al, Edited by E. K. Chambers
+
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+
+
+
+Title: Poems of Henry Vaughan, Silurist, Volume II
+
+
+Author: Henry Vaughan
+
+Editor: E. K. Chambers
+
+Release Date: March 20, 2009  [eBook #28375]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS OF HENRY VAUGHAN, SILURIST,
+VOLUME II***
+
+
+E-text prepared by Susan Skinner, David Cortesi, and the Project Gutenberg
+Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)
+
+
+
+Transcriber's note:
+
+      The ligatures oe and OE are indicated by [oe] and [OE].
+
+      The carat (^) indicates a superscript in the original. One
+      carat indicates that the following single letter is
+      superscript. A pair of carats indicates that the enclosed
+      letters are superscript; for example the abbreviations
+      8^vo^ and 12^mo^ are used for the printer's page sizes
+      octavo and duodecimo respectively.
+
+      In the poem "In Etesiam Lachrymantem" (Page 221) the
+      initial letter of the final line is missing in all extant
+      editions; either "C" or "D" seems possible.
+
+      In the Boethius translation Lib. IV. Metrum VI. (page 230),
+      the letter 'y' has been added to make line 9/10 read
+      "...though they/See other stars..." although it is missing
+      in all available editions.
+
+      At many points a period, comma or hyphen seems to be
+      omitted in the original. Obvious typographical errors have
+      been corrected, but where missing punctuation is not clearly
+      an error, or the omission is harmless to the sense, the text
+      remains as in the original.
+
+      Footnotes in the original appear on the page where they are
+      referenced and are numbered from 1 on each page. Here
+      footnotes are numbered consecutively throughout the book and
+      are grouped following each chapter or poem to which they
+      refer. To locate footnote 17 (for example) search for [17].
+      Another search for [17] returns to the point of reference.
+
+
+
+
+
+POEMS OF HENRY VAUGHAN
+
+SILURIST.
+
+VOL. II.
+
+The Muses' Library
+
+
+POEMS OF HENRY VAUGHAN
+
+SILURIST
+
+Edited by E. K. Chambers
+
+With an Introduction by Canon Beeching
+
+VOL. II.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+London:
+George Routledge & Sons, Limited
+New York: E. P. Dutton & Co.
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS OF VOL. II.
+
+                                                               PAGE
+
+TABLE OF CONTENTS                                               vii
+
+BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE                                                xv
+
+BIBLIOGRAPHY OF HENRY VAUGHAN'S WORKS                          lvii
+
+
+POEMS WITH THE TENTH SATIRE OF JUVENAL ENGLISHED, 1646            1
+
+   To all Ingenious Lovers of Poesy                               3
+
+   To my Ingenuous Friend, R. W.                                  5
+
+   Les Amours                                                     8
+
+   To Amoret. The Sigh                                           10
+
+   To his Friend, Being in Love                                  11
+
+   Song: [Amyntas go, thou art Undone]                           12
+
+   To Amoret. Walking in a Starry Evening                        13
+
+   To Amoret Gone from him                                       15
+
+   A Song to Amoret                                              16
+
+   An Elegy                                                      17
+
+   A Rhapsodis                                                   18
+
+   To Amoret, of the Difference 'twixt him and other Lovers,     21
+   and what True Love is
+
+   To Amoret Weeping                                             23
+
+   Upon the Priory Grove, his Usual Retirement                   26
+
+   Juvenal's Tenth Satire Translated                             28
+
+
+OLOR ISCANUS. 1651.
+
+   Ad Posteros                                                   51
+
+   To the ... Lord Kildare Digby                                 53
+
+   The Publisher to the Reader                                   55
+
+   Upon the Most Ingenious Pair of Twins, Eugenius               57
+   Philalethes and the Author of those Poems [by T. Powell,
+   Oxoniensis]
+
+   To my Friend the Author upon these his Poems [by I.           58
+   Rowlandson, Oxoniensis]
+
+   Upon the following Poems [by Eugenius Philalethes,            59
+   Oxoniensis]
+
+   Olor Iscanus. To the River Isca                               61
+
+   The Charnel-House                                             65
+
+   In Amicum Foeneratorem                                        68
+
+   To his Friend ----                                            70
+
+   To his Retired Friend, An Invitation to Brecknock             73
+
+   Monsieur Gombauld                                             77
+
+   An Elegy on the Death of Mr. R. W., Slain in the late         79
+   Unfortunate Differences at Routon Heath, near Chester,
+   1645
+
+   Upon a Cloak lent him by Mr. J. Ridsley                       83
+
+   Upon Mr. Fletcher's Plays, Published 1647                     87
+
+   Upon the Poems and Plays of the Ever-Memorable Mr. William    90
+   Cartwright
+
+   To the Best and Most Accomplished Couple ----                 92
+
+   An Elegy on the Death of Mr. R. Hall, Slain at Pontefract,    94
+   1648
+
+   To my Learned Friend, Mr. T. Powell, upon his Translation     97
+   of Malvezzi's Christian Politician
+
+   To my Worthy Friend, Master T. Lewes                          99
+
+   To the Most Excellently Accomplished Mrs. K. Philips         100
+
+   An Epitaph upon the Lady Elizabeth, Second Daughter to his   102
+   Late Majesty
+
+   To Sir William Davenant upon his Gondibert                   104
+
+
+TRANSLATIONS FROM OVID.
+
+   To his Fellow Poets at Rome, upon the Birthday of Bacchus    106
+
+   To his Friends--after his Many Solicitations--Refusing to    109
+   Petition Caesar for his Releasement
+
+   To his Inconstant Friend, Translated for the Use of all      112
+   the Judases of this Touchstone Age
+
+   To his Wife at Rome, when he was Sick                        115
+
+   Ausonii. Idyll vi. Cupido [Cruci Affixus]                    119
+
+   [Translations from Boethius]                                 125
+
+   [Translations from Casimirus]                                144
+
+   The Praise of a Religious Life of Mathias Casimirus. In      152
+   Answer to that Ode of Horace, Beatus Ille Qui Procul
+   Negotiis.
+
+   Ad Fluvium Iscam                                             157
+
+   Venerabili Viro, Praeceptori Suo Olim Et Semper              158
+   Colendissimo Magistro Mathaeo Herbert
+
+   Praestantissimo Viro, Thomae Poello In Suum De Elementis     159
+   Opticae Libellum
+
+   Ad Echum                                                     160
+
+
+THALIA REDIVIVA. 1678.
+
+   To ... Henry Lord Marquis and Earl of Worcester, &c.         163
+   [by J. W.]
+
+   To the Reader [by I. W.]                                     167
+
+   To Mr. Henry Vaughan, the Silurist: upon These and his       169
+   Former Poems. [By Orinda]
+
+   Upon the Ingenious Poems of his Learned Friend, Mr. Henry    171
+   Vaughan, the Silurist. [By Tho. Powell, D.D.]
+
+   To the Ingenious Author of Thalia Rediviva [By N. W.,        172
+   Jes. Coll., Oxon.]
+
+   To my Worthy Friend Mr. Henry Vaughan, the Silurist.         175
+   [by I. W., A.M., Oxon.]
+
+
+CHOICE POEMS ON SEVERAL OCCASIONS.
+
+   To his Learned Friend and Loyal Fellow-Prisoner, Thomas      178
+   Powel of Cant[reff], Doctor of Divinity
+
+   The King Disguised                                           181
+
+   The Eagle                                                    184
+
+   To Mr. M. L. upon his Reduction of the Psalms into Method    187
+
+   To the Pious Memory of C[harles] W[albeoffe] Esquire, Who    189
+   Finished his Course Here, and Made his Entrance into
+   Immortality upon the 13 of September, in the Year of
+   Redemption, 1653
+
+   In Zodiacum Marcelli Palingenii                              193
+
+   To Lysimachus, the Author Being with him in London           195
+
+   On Sir Thomas Bodley's Library, the Author Being Then in     197
+   Oxford
+
+   The Importunate Fortune, Written to Dr. Powel, of            200
+   Cant[reff]
+
+   To I. Morgan of Whitehall, Esq., upon his Sudden Journey     204
+   and Succeeding Marriage
+
+   Fida; or, The Country Beauty. To Lysimachus                  206
+
+   Fida Forsaken                                                209
+
+   To the Editor of the Matchless Orinda                        211
+
+   Upon Sudden News of the Much-Lamented Death of Judge         213
+   Trevers
+
+   To Etesia (for Timander); The First Sight                    214
+
+   The Character, to Etesia                                     217
+
+   To Etesia Looking from her Casement at the Full Moon         219
+
+   To Etesia Parted from Him, and Looking Back                  220
+
+   In Etesiam Lachrymantem                                      221
+
+   To Etesia Going Beyond Sea                                   222
+
+   Etesia Absent                                                223
+
+
+TRANSLATIONS.
+
+   Some Odes of the Excellent and Knowing [Anicius Manlius]     224
+   Severinus [Boethius], Englished
+
+   The Old Man of Verona, out of Claudian                       236
+
+   The Sphere of Archimedes, out of Claudian                    238
+
+   The Ph[oe]nix, out of Claudian                               239
+
+
+PIOUS THOUGHTS AND EJACULATIONS.
+
+   To his Books                                                 245
+
+   Looking Back                                                 247
+
+   The Shower                                                   248
+
+   Discipline                                                   249
+
+   The Eclipse                                                  250
+
+   Affliction                                                   251
+
+   Retirement                                                   252
+
+   The Revival                                                  254
+
+   The Day Spring                                               255
+
+   The Recovery                                                 257
+
+   The Nativity                                                 259
+
+   The True Christmas                                           261
+
+   The Request                                                  263
+
+   Jordanis                                                     265
+
+   Servilii Fatum, Sive Vindicta Divina                         266
+
+   De Salmone                                                   267
+
+   The World                                                    268
+
+   The Bee                                                      272
+
+   To Christian Religion                                        276
+
+   Daphnis                                                      278
+
+
+FRAGMENTS AND TRANSLATIONS. 1641-1661.
+
+   From Eucharistica Oxoniensia (1641)                          289
+
+   From Of the Benefit we may get by our Enemies (1651)         291
+
+   From Of the Diseases of the Mind and the Body (1651)         293
+
+   From The Mount of Olives (1652)                              294
+
+   From Man in Glory (1652)                                     298
+
+   From Flores Solitudinis (1654)                               299
+
+   From Of Temperance and Patience (1654)                       300
+
+   From Of Life and Death (1654)                                305
+
+   From Primitive Holiness (1654)                               307
+
+   From Hermetical Physic (1655)                                322
+
+   From Cerbyd Fechydwiaeth (1657)                              323
+
+   From Humane Industry (1661)                                  324
+
+
+NOTES TO VOL. II                                                329
+
+LIST OF FIRST LINES                                             355
+
+
+
+
+BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE.
+
+
+Recent inquiries into the life of Henry Vaughan have added but little to
+the information already contained in the memoirs of Mr. Lyte and Dr.
+Grosart. I have, however, been enabled to put together a few notes on
+this somewhat obscure subject, which may be taken as supplementary to
+Mr. Beeching's _Introduction_ in Vol. I. It will be well to preface them
+by reprinting the account of Anthony a Wood, our chief original
+authority (_Ath. Oxon._, ed. Bliss, 1817, iv. 425):
+
+"Henry Vaughan, called the _Silurist_ from that part of Wales whose
+inhabitants were in ancient times called Silures, brother twin (but
+elder)[1] to Eugenius Philalethes, alias Tho. Vaughan ... was born at
+Newton S. Briget, lying on the river Isca, commonly called Uske, in
+Brecknockshire, educated in grammar learning in his own country for six
+years under one Matthew Herbert, a noted schoolmaster of his time, made
+his first entry into Jesus College in Mich. term 1638, aged 17 years;
+where spending two years or more in logicals under a noted tutor, was
+taken thence and designed by his father for the obtaining of some
+knowledge in the municipal laws at London. But soon after the civil war
+beginning, to the horror of all good men, he was sent for home, followed
+the pleasant paths of poetry and philology, became noted for his
+ingenuity, and published several specimens thereof, of which his _Olor
+Iscanus_ was most valued. Afterwards applying his mind to the study of
+physic, became at length eminent in his own country for the practice
+thereof, and was esteemed by scholars an ingenious person, but proud and
+humorous.... [A list of Vaughan's works follows.] ... He died in the
+latter end of April (about the 29th day) in sixteen hundred ninety and
+five, and was buried in the parish church of Llansenfreid, about two
+miles distant from Brecknock, in Brecknockshire."
+
+Anthony a Wood seems to have had some personal acquaintance with the
+poet, for in his account of Thomas Vaughan (_Ath. Oxon._ iii. 725) he
+says that "Olor Iscanus sent me a catalogue of his brother's works."
+
+
+(a) THE VAUGHAN GENEALOGY.
+
+Henry Vaughan's descent from the Vaughans of Tretower, County Brecon,
+has been accurately traced by Dr. Grosart and others. Little has been
+hitherto known about his immediate family. Theophilus Jones, in his
+_History of Brecknockshire_ (1805-9), ii. 544, says: "Henry Vaughan died
+in 1695, aged 75,[2] leaving by his first wife two sons and three
+daughters, and by his second a daughter Rachel, who married John
+Turberville. His grand-daughter, Denys, or Dyenis, a corruption or
+abbreviation of Dyonisia, who was the daughter of Jenkin Jones of
+Trebinshwn, by Luce his wife, died single in 1780, aged 92, and is
+buried in the Priory churchyard.[3] What became of the remainder of his
+family, or whether they are extinct, I know not." To this statement Mr.
+Lyte added nothing but some errors, and Dr. Grosart nothing but the
+following hypothesis:--
+
+"I am inclined to think that William Vaughan, censor of the College of
+Physicians, physician to William III^d., was one of the sons of our
+worthy mentioned by Mr. Lyte.... William Vaughan's 'age 20' in 1668
+represents 1648 as the birth-date, and that fits in with the love-verse
+of the Poems of 1646."
+
+Mr. G. T. Clark, in his _Genealogies of Glamorgan_, p. 240, gives the
+following account:--
+
+Henry [Vaughan], ob. 1695, aet. 75, father by first wife of (1) a son,
+s.p.; (2) Lucy ob. 29 Aug., 1780, aet. 92,[4] m. Jenkin Jones of
+Trebinshwn. Their d. Denise Jones, died single, 1780, aet. 92. By second
+wife (3) Rachel, m. John Turberville; (4) Edmund; (5) Alexander, ob.
+1622 [!], s.p.; (6) Catharine, m. Wm. Harris; (7) Mary, m. John
+Walbeoffe of Llanhamlach; (8) Elizabeth, m. John Arnold; (9) Frances, m.
+Wm. Johns of Cwm Dhu.
+
+Unfortunately Mr. Clark is unable to remember his authority for this
+pedigree. I have found another, which differs from it in many ways, and
+is exceedingly interesting, inasmuch as it gives, for the first time,
+the names of Henry Vaughan's two wives, who appear to have been sisters.
+It is in a volume of _Brecknockshire Pedigrees_ collected by the Welsh
+Herald, Hugh Thomas, and now amongst the Harleian MSS. Hugh Thomas was
+born and lived hard by Llansantffread, and must have known Vaughan and
+his family personally.
+
+           PEDIGREE OF VAUGHAN OF TRETOWER AND NEWTON.
+
+                 (From Harl. MS. 2289, f. 81.)
+
+  Thomas m. Denis, d. and h. to Gwillims of Newton Skethrog.
+                              |
+                       Henry, of Newton.
+                              |
+        Henry, of Newton Skethrog, Doctor of Phisick, m.
+         Catharine, d. to Charles Wise, of Ritsonhall,
+       Staffordshire, and secondly Elizabeth, her sister.
+                |                              |
+   Lucy, m. Ch. Greenleafe of     Grisill, m. Roger Prosser.
+   Streton-upon-Trent, Staff.
+                                  Lucy, m. Jenkin Jones of Trebinshwn.
+
+   Catharine, m.                  Rachel, m. John Turberville
+   Tho. Vaughan, of Newton                             of Llangattock.
+   Skethrog, m. Frances,          Henry, Parson of Penderin,
+   d. to                          m. Janet, d. of Robert
+                                  Walbeoffe of Talyllyn.
+
+It will be observed that neither Mr. Clark's pedigree nor Hugh Thomas'
+agrees with the number of children assigned to each marriage by
+Theophilus Jones, and that neither of them helps out Dr. Grosart's
+hypothesis that Dr. William Vaughan was a son of the poet. Mr. W. B. Rye
+(_Genealogist_, iii. 33) has made it appear likely that this Dr.
+Vaughan, who married Anne Newton, of Romford in Essex, belonged to a
+branch of the Vaughans who had been settled in Romford since 1571.
+
+I now proceed to confirm and illustrate the pedigrees by giving such
+further facts concerning Vaughan's immediate family as I have been able
+with Miss Morgan's assistance, to glean. I can trace no family of Wises
+in Staffordshire so early as the seventeenth century, nor any place in
+that county called Ritsonhall. It is possible that the R. W. of the
+_Elegy_ (vol. ii., p. 79, _note_) may have been a Wise, and also that
+the connection between Vaughan and the Staffordshire Egertons may have
+been through this family (vol. ii., p. 294, _note_). Vaughan's first
+wife Catharine was probably dead before 1658. Thomas Vaughan, in his
+diary (MS. Sloane, 1741, f. 106 (b)), makes mention in that year of
+"eyewater made at the Pinner of Wakefield by my dear wife and my Sister
+Vaughan, who are both now with God." The second wife, Elizabeth,
+survived her husband. Administration of his goods was granted to her as
+the widow of an intestate in May, 1695.[5] The fine old manor-house at
+Newton was pulled down by a stupid land-agent within the memory of man,
+but a stone has been found built into the wall of a house half-a-mile
+from the site, bearing the inscription "H^VE, 1689." This may well
+stand for H[enry and] E[lizabeth] V[aughan]. Newton probably passed to
+the poet's eldest son Thomas and his wife Frances.[6] Of their
+descendants, if any, we know nothing. There was a William Vaughan of
+Llansantffread who, later than 1714, married Mary Games of Tregaer in
+Llanfrynach. But this was probably a Vaughan not of Newton, but of
+Scethrog, also in Llansantffread (_cf._ footnote to p. xxv. below.) In
+1733 William Vaughan was churchwarden of Llanfrynach. In 1740 William
+Vaughan of Tregaer was high sheriff of Brecknock. In 1760 Tregaer had
+passed by purchase to a Mr. Phillips. The registers of Llanfrynach from
+1695-1756 are now lost. Lucy Greenleafe and her sister Catharine are
+quite obscure. One of them may have been the niece who was living with
+Thomas Vaughan when news came from the country in 1658 of his father's
+death (MS. Sloane, 1741, f. 89 (b)). Of the second family, Henry became
+Rector of Penderin in 1684, and vacated the living, probably through
+death, in 1713. A tablet to his memory hung during the present century
+in the church at Penderin, but when the church was restored the tablets
+were taken down and buried under the tiles of the chancel. His wife, a
+Walbeoffe of Talyllyn, belonged to the same family as the Walbeoffes of
+Llanhamlach (vol. ii., p. 189, _note_). The eldest girl, Grisill,
+married Roger Prosser. The Prossers were the younger branch of a
+Brecknockshire family who had become sadlers and mercers in Brecon. Many
+of their tombs are in the Priory church, but Theophilus Jones states
+that by his time they were extinct. Grisill Prosser was married a second
+time, in 1709, to Morgan Watkins, an attorney, and was buried on August
+21, 1737. The second girl, Lucy, married Jenkin Jones of Trebinshwn, a
+cousin of Colonel Jenkin Jones, the local Parliamentary leader. Her
+daughter, Denise Jones, died single in 1780, as Theophilus Jones states,
+and her tombstone in the Priory church records her descent. The third
+girl, Rachel, married John Turberville, one of the Turbervilles of
+Llangattock, who claimed kinship with the Elizabethan poet of that name.
+The following pedigree shows the descendants of the three daughters of
+Henry Vaughan's second marriage, so far as they can be traced.[7]
+
+                     Henry Vaughan = 2. Elizabeth Wise.
+                  _________________|____________________
+                 |                    |                 |
+ 1. Roger   =Grisill ...=2. Morgan   Lucy=Jenkin      Rachel=John
+    Prosser,|              Watkins,     |Jones,            |Turberville
+    Mercer. |              Attorney.    |of Trebinshwn.    |of Llangattock.
+            |                           |                  |
+     _______|___                        |               Richard = Mary----?
+    |           |                       |           of Llamwyse |
+ Walter,       Elizabeth  = Morgan      Denise       and Glan y |
+ bapt. 1693.  bapt. 1686. | Davies,    nat. 1688,    rhyd, ob.  |
+                          | mercer,    o.s.p. 29     1720.      |
+                          | ob. 1727.  Aug., 1780.              |
+                          |                                     |
+                          |                                   John.
+         _________________|_________________                    |
+        |                 |                 |                   |
+   Thomas             Morgan,         Elizabeth,                |
+                     bapt. 8 July,    bapt. 4 April,            |
+                     1720,            1725,                     |
+                     sep. 20 Nov.,    sep. 6 July,              |
+                     1737.            1730.                 Margaret,
+                                                            o.s.p. 1765.
+
+It will be seen that I can give no evidence of the existence of any
+living descendants of Henry Vaughan.
+
+Henry's grandfather, Thomas Vaughan, a younger son of Charles Vaughan of
+Tretower, seems to have come into the possession of Newton through his
+marriage with an heiress of the family of Gwillims or Williams. Newton,
+or in Welsh Trenewydd, is a farm of about 200 acres in the manor or
+lordship, and near the village of Scethrog, both being in the parish of
+Llansantffread and hundred of Penkelley. Williams is a common name in
+Breconshire, and I cannot trace the descent of Thomas Vaughan's wife. In
+the sixteenth century Newton belonged to a family who finally settled on
+the name of Howel, ap Howell or Powell.[8] The last of these is
+described on his tombstone in Llansantffread Church as "David Morgan
+David Howel, who married ... William of Llanhamoloch: and they had issue
+one daughter called Denys. He died 2nd June, 1598." Perhaps Newton
+passed in some way from David Morgan David Howel to his wife's family,
+and so to Thomas Vaughan, who married Denise Gwillims. Theophilus Jones
+(ii. 538) records that at a later date other Williams's, also
+apparently connected with Llanhamlach, were succeeded by other Vaughans
+at Scethrog, hard by Newton. His account is that David Williams,
+youngest brother of Sir Thomas Williams of Eltham, married a daughter of
+John Walbeoffe of Llanhamlach (_cf._ pedigree in vol. ii., p. 189,
+_note_), and bought Scethrog. Their son Charles died without issue, and
+the property passed to his wife Mary (Anne in Harl. MS., 2289, t. 39;
+_cf._ vol. ii., p. 204, _note_), the daughter of Morgan John of
+Wenallt.... She afterwards married Hugh Powell, clerk, parson of
+Llansanffread and precentor of St. David's, and her daughter Margaret
+married Charles Vaughan, son to Vaughan Morgan of Tretower.[9]
+
+A trace of Thomas Vaughan is probably preserved in a window-head from
+the old church of Llansantffread, now destroyed, which has the
+inscription:--
+
+  1626.    E. G.    T. V.    W. T.
+   W.       F.       I.       [bold reversed 'D'].
+
+T. V. may stand for T[homas] V[aughan].[10]
+
+Of Henry Vaughan, the poet's father, very little is known. His name
+appears in a list of Breconshire magistrates for 1620. And we learn from
+Thomas Vaughan's diary in Sloane MS. 1741, f. 89 (b), that he died in
+August 1658.
+
+The only additional definite fact which I can here record of the poet
+himself is that in 1691 he entered a caveat against any institution to
+the vicarage of Llandevalley, he claiming the next presentation under a
+grant from William Winter, Esq.[11] Mr. Rye has shown that the specimen
+of handwriting facsimiled by Dr. Grosart in his edition of Henry
+Vaughan's _Works_ cannot possibly be the poet's. The signatures,
+however, on the margin of a copy of _Olor Iscanus_, once in the library
+of Lady Isham, might be genuine.
+
+
+(b) VAUGHAN AND JESUS COLLEGE, OXFORD.
+
+Anthony a Wood's statement as to Vaughan's residence at Jesus College,
+Oxford, has been generally accepted, but I venture to doubt it on the
+following grounds:--
+
+(1) Vaughan's name does not occur in the University Matriculation
+Register, although his brother Thomas Vaughan is duly entered as
+matriculating from Jesus on 14th December, 1638. The only College
+records which help us are the Battel-books for 1638 and 1640. That for
+1639 is unfortunately missing. The Rev. Llewellyn Thomas kindly informs
+me that he can only trace one undergraduate Vaughan in the two books in
+question. The Christian name is not given, but I think that we must
+assume it to be Thomas.
+
+(2) Vaughan does not describe himself on any title-page as of Jesus
+College; nor does he ever speak of himself as an Oxford man. This
+omission is the more noticeable as he would naturally have done so in
+the lines _Ad Posteros_ (vol. ii., p. 51), and might well have done so
+in those _On Sir Thomas Bodley's Library, the Author being then in
+Oxford_ (vol. ii., p. 197).
+
+(3) Anthony a Wood cannot be depended on. He describes Thomas Carew, for
+instance, as of C.C.C., whereas he was a most certainly of Merton. And
+there was another Henry Vaughan of Jesus, who may have been confused
+with the poet. This Henry Vaughan, a son of John Vaughan of Cathlin,
+Merionethshire, matriculated at Oriel on July 4, 1634. He afterwards
+became a Scholar and Fellow of Jesus, taking his B.A. in 1637 and his
+M.A. in 1639. In 1643 he became vicar of Penteg, co. Monmouth, and died
+at Abergavenny in 1661. (Wood, _Ath. Oxon._, iii. 531; Foster, _Alumni
+Oxon._)
+
+(4) The only confirmation of Anthony a Wood's statement is the poem
+(vol. ii., p. 289) taken by Dr. Grosart from the _Eucharistica
+Oxoniensia_ (1641), and signed "H. Vaughan, Jes. Col." If I am right,
+this may be by Vaughan's namesake. He has indeed another poem in that
+volume signed "Hen. Vaugh., Jes. Soc." but that is in Latin, and it is
+not unexampled for one man to contribute more than one poem, especially
+in different tongues, to such collections. Or it may be by Herbert
+Vaughan, who was a Gentleman-commoner of the College in 1641, and has,
+with Henry Vaughan the Fellow, verses in the [Greek: proteleia] _Anglo
+Batava_ of the same year.
+
+
+(c) VAUGHAN IN THE CIVIL WAR.
+
+There are several passages which make it probable that Vaughan, like his
+brother Thomas, bore arms on the King's side in the Civil War. The most
+important is in the poem _To Mr. Ridsley_ (vol. ii., p. 83), where he
+speaks of the time
+
+         "when this juggling fate
+    Of soldiery first seiz'd me."
+
+In the same poem he mentions
+
+               "that day, when we
+    Left craggy Biston and the fatal Dee."
+
+"Craggy Biston" is clearly Beeston Castle, one of the outlying defences
+of Chester, situated on a steep rock not very far east of the Dee. This
+castle was besieged on several occasions during the Civil War,
+especially during the campaign of 1645, when Chester was also besieged
+by the Parliamentarians.[12] Between Beeston and the Dee was fought, on
+September 24, 1645, the battle of Rowton Heath, after which Charles the
+First, who had hoped to raise the siege of Chester, was obliged to
+retreat to Denbigh.[13] The following lines from Vaughan's _Elegy on Mr.
+R. W._ (vol. ii., p. 79), who fell in that battle, seem to have been
+written by an eye-witness:
+
+                                "O that day
+    When like the fathers in the fire and cloud
+    I miss'd thy face! I might in ev'ry crowd
+    See arms like thine, and men advance, but none
+    So near to lightning mov'd, nor so fell on.
+    Have you observ'd how soon the nimble eye
+    Brings th' object to conceit, and doth so vie
+    Performance with the soul, that you would swear
+    The act and apprehension both lodg'd there?
+    Just so mov'd he: like shot his active hand
+    Drew blood, ere well the foe could understand.
+    But here I lost him."
+
+This appears to me pretty conclusive evidence; against it, however, must
+be set the passage on the Civil War in the autobiographical poem _Ad
+Posteros_ (vol. ii., p. 51).
+
+    Vixi, divisos cum fregerat haeresis Anglos
+      Inter Tysiphonas presbyteri et populi.
+    His primum miseris per amoena furentibus arva
+      Prostravit sanctam vilis avena rosam.
+    Turbarunt fontes, et fusis pax perit undis,
+      Moestaque coelestes obruit umbra dies.
+    Duret ut integritas tamen, et pia gloria, partem
+      Me nullam in tanta strage fuisse, scias;
+    Credidimus nempe insonti vocem esse cruori,
+      Et vires quae post funera flere docent.
+    Hinc castae, fidaeque pati me more parentis
+      Commonui, et lachrimis fata levare meis;
+    Hinc nusquam horrendis violavi sacra procellis,
+      Nec mihi mens unquam, nec manus atra fuit.
+
+The natural interpretation of this certainly is that Vaughan took no
+share in the disturbances of his time, except to grieve over them in
+retirement. Yet, in the first place, the lines may have been written
+before he took up arms in 1645, and, in the second, they may only mean
+that he had no share in _bringing about_ the troubles of England, or in
+shedding _innocent_ blood. Similarly when elsewhere, as in _Abel's
+Blood_ (vol. i. p. 254), and in the prayer to be quoted below, he
+expresses horror of blood-guiltiness, this need not necessarily be taken
+as extending to the man who fights in a righteous cause.
+
+Miss Morgan, I may add, suggests that Vaughan was at Rowton Heath, not
+as a combatant, but as a physician. The description which he gives of
+the battle reads like that of a man who saw it from some commanding
+point of view, but was not himself engaged. I think it not improbable
+that Vaughan was one of the garrison of Beeston Castle, which is
+described to me as "a sort of grand stand for the battle-field." Beeston
+Castle was invested by the Parliamentarians in the course of September
+1645. On the approach of Charles the troops were drawn off on 19th
+September to Chester.[14] Charles no doubt took the opportunity to
+strengthen the garrison. After Rowton Heath Beeston Castle was again
+besieged, and on November 16th it surrendered. The garrison were allowed
+to march across the Dee to Denbigh. I think that this winter ride from
+the fallen fortress is the one described by Vaughan in the poem to Mr.
+Ridsley. It is the more probable that Vaughan took part in this campaign
+of 1645, in that Charles's force was largely recruited from Wales. After
+the battle of Naseby on June 14th, the King had marched through Wales,
+collecting such levies as he could. He was in Brecon on August 5th.[15]
+It is quite possible that Vaughan, whose kinsman Sir William Vaughan was
+in command of a brigade, volunteered on this occasion. From Brecon
+Charles marched through Radnorshire, Shropshire, Staffordshire,
+Derbyshire, Nottinghamshire, Yorkshire, and so to Oxford. In September
+he set out again, and after some delay at Hereford and Raglan, finally
+made for Chester.
+
+It is just conceivable that it is to some occasion in this campaign that
+Vaughan refers when he calls Dr. Powell his "fellow-prisoner" (vol. ii.,
+p. 178). The poet may even have been the Captain Vaughan whose name
+appears in the official list of prisoners taken at Rowton Heath.[16]
+Powell's name is not there, but then the list does not profess to be
+complete. But on the whole I think that Vaughan and Powell were only
+fellow-prisoners in the Platonic sense of imprisonment in the flesh, and
+even if a literal imprisonment is intended, it may have been due to some
+act of persecution which Vaughan had to suffer as a Royalist at a later
+date. There is in _The Mount of Olives_ (1652) a _Prayer in Adversity
+and Troubles occasioned by our Enemies_ (Grosart, vol. iii., p. 75),
+which, if it is to be taken--I think it is not--as autobiographical,
+seems to show that, at least for a time, he lost his estate. The prayer
+runs: "Thou seest, O God, how furious and implacable mine enemies are:
+they have not only robbed me of that portion and provision which Thou
+hast graciously given me, but they have also washed their hands in the
+blood of my friends, my dearest and nearest relations. I know, O God,
+and I am daily taught by that disciple whom Thou didst love, that no
+murderer hath eternal life abiding in him. Keep me, therefore, O my
+God, from the guilt of blood, and suffer me not to stain my soul with
+the thoughts of recompense and vengeance, which is a branch of Thy great
+prerogative, and belongs wholly unto Thee. Though they persecute me unto
+death, and pant after the very dust upon the heads of Thy poor, though
+they have taken the bread out of Thy children's mouth, and have made me
+a desolation; yet, Lord, give me Thy grace, and such a measure of
+charity as may fully forgive them."
+
+It may have been during some such time of trouble, or imprisonment, if
+imprisonment there was, that Vaughan's wife lived with Thomas Vaughan,
+as will be seen below, in London.
+
+
+(d) THOMAS VAUGHAN.
+
+It has not been thought necessary to reprint in this edition of Henry
+Vaughan's poems the scanty English and Latin verses of his brother,
+Thomas Vaughan. They may be found, together with verses by Virgil and
+Campion ascribed to him, in vol. ii. of Dr. Grosart's _Fuller Worthies_
+edition. But some account of so curious a person will not be out of
+place.
+
+As for his brother, our chief authority is Anthony a Wood (_Ath. Oxon._,
+iii. 722), who says that he was the son of Thomas Vaughan of
+Llansantffread,[17] that he was born in 1621, educated under Matthew
+Herbert and at Jesus College, Oxford, of which he became Fellow, took
+orders and received [in 1640] the living of Llansanffread from his
+kinsman, Sir George Vaughan [of Fallerstone, Wilts]. He lost his living
+in the unquiet times of the Civil War, retired to Oxford, and became an
+eminent chemist, afterwards moving to London, where he worked under the
+patronage of Sir Robert Murray. He was a great admirer of Cornelius
+Agrippa, "a great chymist, a noted son of the fire, an experimental
+philosopher, a zealous brother of the Rosicrucian fraternity ... neither
+papist nor sectary, but a true resolute protestant in the best sense of
+the Church of England." In the great plague he fled with Murray from
+London to Oxford, and thence went to the house of Samuel Kem at Albury,
+where he died on February 27, 1665/6, of mercury accidentally getting
+into his nose while he was operating. He was buried at Albury on March
+1st. Writing in 1673, Anthony a Wood gives a list of his alchemical and
+mystical treatises published between 1650 and 1655. Of these he had
+received a list from Olor Iscanus (Henry Vaughan). They all bear the
+name of Eugenius Philalethes, except the _Aula Lucis_ (1652), which was
+issued as by S. N., _i.e._ [Thoma]S [Vaugha]N. Some of these pamphlets
+contain Vaughan's share of a vigorous and scurrilous controversy with
+Henry More, the Platonist. Anthony a Wood distinguishes from Vaughan
+another Eugenius Philalethes, author of the _Brief Natural History_
+(1669), also one Eirenaeus Philalethes, author of _Ripley Redivivus_ and
+other works, and Eirenaeus Philoponos Philalethes, author of _The Marrow
+of Alchemy_ (1654-5).[18]
+
+A few facts, from well-known sources, may be added to Anthony a Wood's
+account. The University Registers show that "Thos. Vaughan, son of
+Thomas of Llansanfraid, co. Brecon, pleb., matriculated from Jesus
+College on 14 Dec, 1638, aged 16." He took his B.A. on 18 Feb., 1641/2,
+but does not appear to have taken his M.A., though he became Fellow of
+his College (Foster, _Alumni Oxon._). John Walker (_Sufferings of the
+Clergy_ (1714), p. 389) states that he was ejected from his living on
+the charges of "drunkenness, immorality, and bearing arms for the
+King."[19] This must have been in 1649, under the Act for the
+Propagation of the Gospel in Wales. There exists a letter from Thomas
+Vaughan to a friend in London, dated from "Newtown, Ash Wednesday,
+1653;"[20] and it appears from Jones' _History of Brecknockshire_ (ii.,
+542), that at one time he lived with his brother Henry there. The
+allusions to Henry More, to Murray, and to the Isis and Thames seem to
+show that he is the Daphnis of his brother's _Eclogue_ (vol. ii., p.
+278). No trace of his death or burial can however be now found at
+Albury. Mr. Gordon Goodwin points out to me that Dr. Samuel Kem was a
+somewhat notorious character (_Dict. Nat. Biog._, s.v. _Kem_): perhaps
+this friendship, together with the personal confession quoted below,
+throws light on the charges which lost Vaughan his living. On the other
+hand Anthony a Wood speaks well of him, and the tone of his writings
+bears out this more kindly judgment, at any rate so far as his later
+years are concerned.
+
+What has been said fairly well exhausted the available information on
+Thomas Vaughan until a few years ago, when Mr. A. E. Waite discovered in
+Sloane MS. 1741 a valuable manuscript of his, containing amongst other
+things a number of autobiographical memoranda. He printed some extracts
+from this in the preface to an edition of some of _The Magical Writings
+of Thomas Vaughan_ (Redway, 1888), and has been kind enough to furnish
+me with a reference to the MS. itself, which I have carefully examined.
+It bears the title _Aqua Vitae non Vitis_, and the inscription "Ex
+libris Thomas et Rebecca Vaughan, 1651, Sept. 28. Quos Deus coniunxit
+quis separabit?" The contents are partly personal jottings and records
+of dreams, partly alchemical formulae. They appear to cover the period
+1658-1662. We learn from them the following facts:--Vaughan was married
+on September 28, 1651, to a lady named Rebecca (f. 106 (b)). With her
+and his "Sister Vaughan" he lived and studied alchemy at the Pinner of
+Wakefield.[21] He had previously lodged at Mr. Coalman's in Holborn (f.
+104 (b)). His wife died on Saturday, April 17, 1658, and was buried at
+Mappersall, in Bedfordshire (f. 106 (b)).[22] In 1658 his father and his
+brother W. were both dead, and he mentions the news of his father's
+death coming to his niece in a letter from the country (f. 89 (b)). On
+April 9, 1659, he saw his brother H. in a dream. On 16 July, 1658, he
+was living at Wapping (f. 103 (b)), and at an earlier period at
+Paddington. There is an inventory of his wife's goods left at Mrs.
+Highgate's, and mention of a Mr. Highgate and a Sir John Underhill (f.
+107). He names his cousin, Mr. J. Walbeoffe, with whom he had some money
+transactions (f. 18), and speaks of "a certain person with whom I had in
+former times revelled away my years in drinking" (f. 103). Perhaps this
+also was John Walbeoffe, on whom _see_ vol. ii., p. 189, _note_. The
+alchemical formulae and receipts are interesting. In one place (f. 12)
+Vaughan announces the discovery of the "Extract of Oil of Halcaly,"
+which he had previously found in his wife's days and had lost again.
+This he calls "the greatest joy I can ever have in this world after her
+death." He seems to have regarded it as the key to an universal solvent.
+Nearly every receipt is followed by his and his wife's initials in the
+form T. R. V. or T. ^V. R., and by some expression of devotion to her or
+of religious piety.
+
+I now come to the remarkable statements made with respect to Thomas
+Vaughan in the _Memoires d'une ex-Palladiste_, now in course of
+publication by Miss Diana Vaughan. Miss Vaughan is a lady who has
+created a considerable sensation in Paris. Her own account of herself is
+that she was brought up as a worshipper of Lucifer, and was for some
+years a leading spirit amongst certain androgynous lodges of Freemasons,
+in which the worship of Lucifer is largely practised. She has now, owing
+to the direct interposition of Joan of Arc, become a Catholic, and has
+made it her mission to combat Luciferian Freemasonry in every way. Her
+_Memoirs_ are partly a biography, partly an account of this cult.[23]
+Miss Vaughan claims to be a great-grand-daughter of Thomas Vaughan's.
+She declares him to have been a Luciferian, Grand-master of the
+Rosicrucian order, and the founder of modern Freemasonry; and gives an
+exhaustive account of his career on the authority of family archives.
+The following paragraphs contain the substance of her narrative, the
+"legend of Philalethes," as it was told to Miss Vaughan by her father
+and her uncle, who were intimate friends of Albert Pike.
+
+The traditional accounts of Thomas Vaughan, says Miss Vaughan, contain
+serious errors. The dates of his birth and of his death, and the
+pseudonym under which he wrote are all incorrectly stated[24] (p. 110).
+He was born in Monmouth in 1612, being two years the elder of his
+brother Henry. The two boys were brought up at Oxford, after their
+father's death, by their uncle, Robert Vaughan the antiquary,[25] and
+entered at Jesus College (p. 114). In 1636, at the age of 24, Thomas
+Vaughan went to London, and became the disciple of Robert Fludd, who was
+a Rosicrucian (p. 148). The real nature of the Rosicrucians has hitherto
+been a mystery. They were in reality Luciferians, and carried on in
+secret during the seventeenth century that warfare against Adonai, the
+god of the Catholics, out of which had already sprung Wiclif, Luther,
+and the Reformation, and out of which was some day to spring, more
+deadly and more dangerous still, Freemasonry. The Fraternity of
+Rosie-Cross was founded by Faustus Socinus in 1597. He was succeeded as
+head of it by Caesar Cremonini (1604-1617), Michael Maier (1617-1622),
+Valentin Andreae (1622-1654), and Thomas Vaughan (1654-1678).[26] When
+Thomas Vaughan first came to London in 1636, Valentin Andreae was
+_Summus Magister_ of the Fraternity, and amongst its leading members
+were Robert Fludd and Amos Komenski, or Comenius (pp. 129-148). Robert
+Fludd initiated Thomas Vaughan into the lower degrees of the Golden
+Cross (p. 148), and sent him to Andreae at Calw, near Stuttgart, with a
+letter in which he prophesied for him a miraculous future (p. 163).
+After this visit to Germany, Vaughan returned to London, and after
+Fludd's death, in 1637, undertook in 1638 his first visit to America. In
+many of his writings he speaks as a Christian minister, and at this time
+he probably passed as a Nonconformist (p. 164). He was back in London
+early in June, 1639 (p. 165), and in the same year visited Denmark, and
+made a report to Komenski on the mysterious golden horn found at Tondern
+in that country (p. 166). In 1640 Vaughan received from Komenski the
+first initiation of the Rosie Cross, and chose the pseudonym of
+Eirenaeus Philalethes.[27] He now became exceedingly active, going and
+coming upon the face of the earth. When in England, he divided his time
+between Oxford and London (p. 167). Between 1640 and 1644 he visited
+Hamburg, the Netherlands, Italy and Sweden (pp. 171-174). It was at this
+period that he conceived the design of obtaining a far wider circulation
+than they had yet met with for the ideas of Faustus Socinus. Some of the
+Rosicrucians were already "accepted masons." Vaughan determined to
+capture the vast organization of craft masonry by permeating the lodges
+with Luciferianism. His associate in this task was Elias Ashmole, with
+whose aid, a few years later, he composed the degrees of Apprentice
+(1646), Companion (1648), and Master (1649) (pp. 142, 169-175, 197-206).
+The Civil War had now approached. Oliver Cromwell was a freemason, a
+Rosicrucian, and a friend of Vaughan's (p. 176). With the execution of
+Laud came the crisis of Vaughan's life, his initiation into the highest
+degree of Rosie Cross by the hands of Lucifer himself. It took place in
+this wise. At the last moment Vaughan was substituted for the intended
+executioner of Laud.[28] He had prepared a sacramental cloth which he
+soaked in the martyr's blood, and on the same night he sacrificed the
+relic to Lucifer. The divinity appeared, consecrated Vaughan as
+_Magus_, named him as the next _Summus Magister_ of the Fraternity, and
+signed a pact, granting him thirty-three years more life, at the end of
+which he should be borne away from earth without death (p. 177). In 1645
+Vaughan wrote, but did not yet publish, his most important treatise, the
+_Introitus Apertus ad Occlusum Regis Palatium_. In 1645, still following
+the direct command of Lucifer, he departed for America. Here he met the
+apothecary George Starkey, and in his presence performed the alchemical
+feat of making gold (p. 179).[29] Here, too, he lived amongst the
+Lenni-Lennaps, where he was united to the demon Venus-Astarte in the
+form of a beautiful woman, who after eleven days bore him a daughter.
+This girl was brought up among the Lenni-Lennaps under the name of Diana
+Wulisso-Waghan, and became Miss Diana Vaughan's great-great-grandmother
+(p. 181). In 1648 Vaughan returned to England, and after composing the
+masonic degree of Master in 1649 (p. 197), he began the publication of
+a series of alchemical and, in reality, Luciferian writings. In 1650
+appeared the _Anthroposophia Theomagica_ and the _Magia Adamica_, in
+1651 the _Lumen de Lumine_; in 1652 the _Aula Lucis_ (p. 211). In 1654
+Valentin Andreae died, and Vaughan succeeded him as _Summus Magister_ of
+the Rosie Cross, the event being announced to him by the homage of three
+demons, Leviathan, Cerberus, and Belphegor (p. 214). In 1655 he
+published his _Euphrates_, and in 1656 made his head-quarters at
+Amsterdam or Eirenaeopolis. In 1659 came his _Fraternity of R. C._; in
+1664 his _Medulla Alchymiae_.[30] In 1666 he exhibited the philosopher's
+stone to Helvetius at La Haye and converted him to occultism: in 1667 he
+at last resolved to publish his Opus Magnum, the _Introitus Apertus_,
+already written in 1645 (p. 215). In 1668 this was followed by the
+_Experimenta de Praeparatione Mercurii Sophici_ and the _Tractatus Tres_
+(p. 236). The time was now approaching when Vaughan, in fulfilment of
+the pact of 1644, must disappear from earth. He named Charles Blount as
+his successor (p. 237), and was granted a magical vision of his
+grandson, the child of Diana Wulisso-Waghan and a Lenni-Lennap (p. 239).
+He finished his _Memoirs_, published the _Ripley Revised_[31] and the
+_Enarratio Methodica trium Gebri Medicinarum_, left his poems to his
+brother Henry, who published them in the next year as the _Thalia
+Rediviva_,[32] and on March 25, 1678, disappeared in the company of
+_Lucifer Dieu-Bon_ himself (p. 240). This event is vouched for, not only
+by a written statement of Henry Vaughan (p. 114), but also by the
+existence in a masonic triangle at Valetta of a magical talisman into
+which, when properly evoked, the spirit of Philalethes enters and
+records his glorious end for the edification of the Luciferians
+present[33] (p. 243).
+
+I fear that I have taken Miss Vaughan with undue seriousness. Her
+account of Thomas Vaughan is not only unsupported by direct
+evidence,[34] but much of it is of a character which we should not be
+justified in accepting, even were direct evidence forthcoming. And it is
+all discordant with the little that we do happen to know of Thomas
+Vaughan from other sources. The whole thing is, in fact, a pretty
+obvious romance of very modern fabrication. It appears to have been
+compiled from such information as to the alchemical and mystical writers
+of the seventeenth century as was within the reach of Albert Pike and
+the brothers Vaughan about the year 1870.[35] It is always better to
+explain than to refute an error; and the nature of the Luciferian
+tradition of Thomas Vaughan is pretty clearly shown by the fact that it
+is not corroborated in a single particular by any of the new facts about
+him that have come to light since this probable date of its
+composition.[36] The fabricator put Thomas Vaughan's birth-place in
+Monmouth instead of Brecon, because he had never seen Dr. Grosart's
+_Fuller Worthies_ Edition of Henry Vaughan. He makes no mention of any
+of the facts contained in Sloane MS. 1741, because that MS. was still
+unknown. And, most fatal of all, he puts Thomas Vaughan's birth in 1612
+instead of 1621-2, because Foster's _Alumni Oxonienses_ being yet
+unpublished, he was ignorant of the record of that date preserved in the
+University Registers. But we can go a step further. We can confute him,
+not only by pointing to the books he did not use, but by pointing to
+those he did. It has already been shown that the ascription to Vaughan
+of the English translation of Maier's _Themis Aurea_ is due to a
+misunderstanding of a phrase used by Anthony a Wood. The _Athenae
+Oxonienses_ then was one source of the compilation. Another was the
+_Histoire de la Philosophie Hermetique_, written by Lenglet-Dufresnoy in
+1742. Here is the proof. Miss Vaughan supports her statement as to the
+birth-date in 1612 by a quotation from the _Introitus Apertus_, in which
+the writer states it to have been composed "en l'an 1645 de notre salut,
+et le trente-troisieme de mon age." This she professes to translate from
+the _editio princeps_ published by Jean Lange in 1667. As a matter of
+fact it is taken from the version given in Lenglet-Dufresnoy's book. And
+Lenglet-Dufresnoy followed, not the edition of 1667, but the later
+edition published by J. M. Faust at Frankfort in 1706. In this the words
+are "trigesimo tertio," whereas in the _editio princeps_ they are
+"vicesimo tertio," and in W. Cooper's English translation of 1669, "in
+the 23rd year of my age," thus bringing the date of the birth of
+Eirenaeus Philalethes not to 1612, but to 1622. The "legend of
+Philalethes" need detain us no longer. Miss Vaughan's narrative is a
+very insufficient basis for regarding the pious minister and mystic
+which Thomas Vaughan appears to have been as a secret enemy of
+Christianity and a worshipper of Lucifer.
+
+But when the legend is set aside, there still remain certain questions
+suggested by it which may be considered without much reference to the
+statements of Miss Vaughan. Was Thomas Vaughan a Rosicrucian? And was
+he, admittedly the author of a series of tracts under the name of
+Eugenius Philalethes, also the author of those which bear the name of
+Eirenaeus Philalethes? The first question is, I am afraid, insoluble,
+until it has been decided whether the Fraternity of R. C. ever had an
+actual existence. Anthony a Wood states that Thomas Vaughan was a
+zealous Rosicrucian, but probably Anthony a Wood took the term in the
+general sense of mystic and alchemist. On the other hand Vaughan
+himself, in his preface to the English translation of the Rosicrucian
+manifestoes, seems to disavow any personal acquaintance with the members
+of the fraternity. Even this is not conclusive, for the Rosicrucian
+rule, as given in the _Laws of the Brotherhood_, published by Sincerus
+Renatus in 1710,[37] obliges the members to deny their membership.
+
+There is more material for the discussion of the second question, but I
+do not know that it is more possible to come to a definite conclusion.
+The personality of the anonymous adept who took the name of Eirenaeus
+Philalethes was shrouded in mystery even to his contemporaries. The
+fullest account given of him on any of his title-pages is on that of the
+_Experimenta de Praeparatione Mercurii Sophici_ (1668), which is said to
+be "ex manuscripto Philosophi Americani alias Eyrenaei Philalethis,
+natu Angli, habitatione Cosmopolitae."[38] We have also the description
+given by George Starkey, or whoever it was, in the _Marrow of Alchemy_
+(1654-5), p. 25. Starkey says:--
+
+    "His present place in which he doth abide
+         I know not, for the world he walks about,
+    Of which he is a citizen; this tide
+         He is to visit artists and seek out
+            Antiquities a voyage gone and will
+            Return when he of travel hath his fill.
+
+    "By nation an Englishman, of note
+         His family is in the place where he
+    Was born, his fortune's good, and eke his coat
+         Of arms is of a great antiquity;
+            His learning rare, his years scarce thirty-three;
+            Fuller description get you not from me."
+
+
+Starkey gives the age of Eirenaeus Philalethes as 33 in 1654. This
+precisely confirms the writer's own statement in the earlier editions of
+the _Introitus Apertus_ that he was 23 in 1645, and fixes the birth-date
+as 1621 or 1622. Now this agrees remarkably with the birth-date
+ascertained from other sources of Thomas Vaughan. But Thomas died in
+1666, and it is usually asserted that Eirenaeus Philalethes lived until
+at least 1678. Miss Vaughan states that he must have been alive in that
+year, because he then published the _Ripley Revived_, and the _Enarratio
+Trium Gebri Medicinarum_. She declares that the author of the
+_Enarratio_ mentions the pains taken about that edition (p. 240). I do
+not find any prefatory matter in this book at all. There is a preface to
+the _Ripley Revived_, but this was written long before 1678, for it
+mentions the _Introitus Apertus_, published in 1667, as still in
+manuscript. Neither Jean Lange, the editor of the _Introitus Apertus_ of
+1667, writing 9th December, 1666, nor William Cooper, the editor of the
+English translation[39] of 1669, writing 15th September, 1668, know
+whether the author is still alive. In fact he cannot be shown to have
+outlived Thomas Vaughan, for there is no proof that the adept who showed
+the philosopher's stone to Helvetius on December 27th, 1666,[40] was the
+same as he who showed it to George Starkey many years before. I will
+briefly enumerate a few other links which connect Eirenaeus Philalethes
+with Thomas Vaughan. A German translation of the _Introitus Apertus_,
+published at Hamburg under the title of _Abyssus Alchemiae_ (1704), is
+said on the title-page to be "von T. de Vagan." Miss Vaughan states that
+a similar translation of the first of the _Tres Tractatus_, published at
+Hamburg in 1705, also bears this name (p. 237), and this is borne out by
+Lenglet-Dufresnoy (iii. 261-6), who speaks of a French MS. of the _Tres
+Tractatus_ inscribed "par Thomas de Vagan, dit Philalethe ou Martin
+Birrhius." Birrhius, however, was only the editor. These ascriptions are
+probably made on the authority of G. W. Wedelius, who in his preface,
+dated 2nd Sept., 1698, to an edition of the _Introitus Apertus_,
+published at Jena in 1699, says of the author:--"Ex Anglia tamen vulgo
+habetur oriundus ... et Thomas De Vagan appellatus." The English _Three
+Tracts_ (1694) are stated on the title-page to have been written in
+Latin by Eirenaeus Philalethes; but there is a note in the British
+Museum Catalogue to the effect that the Latin original has the name
+_Eugenius_ Philalethes. Unfortunately this Latin _Tres Tractatus_,
+published in 1668 by Martin Birrhius at Amsterdam, is not in the
+Library, and I cannot verify the statement. Finally, I may note that the
+_Ripley Revived_ (1678) has an engraved title-page by Robert Vaughan,
+who also did the title-page to _Olor Iscanus_, and that Starkey's
+_Marrow of Alchemy_ contains, at the end of the preface to Part ii.,
+some lines by William Sampson, which mention
+
+                    "Harry Mastix Moor
+    Who judged of Nature when he did not know her";
+
+clearly an allusion to More's controversy with Thomas Vaughan.
+
+It will be seen that there is some _prima facie_ evidence for
+identifying Eirenaeus Philalethes with Thomas Vaughan, whereas he was
+probably not George Starkey (Eirenaeus Philoponos Philalethes), and
+cannot be shown to have been anyone else. But I am not satisfied. We do
+not know that Thomas Vaughan was ever in America, and there is the
+strong evidence of Anthony a Wood, who distinguishes between Eirenaeus
+and Eugenius, and who appears to have had information from Henry Vaughan
+himself. Mr. A. E. Waite argues against the identification on the ground
+that Eirenaeus Philalethes was a "physical alchemist," whereas Thomas
+Vaughan's alchemy was spiritual and mystical. But we have Vaughan's
+authority for saying that he had pursued the physical alchemy also.[41]
+And he was clearly doing so when he wrote Sloane MS. 1741. A more
+pertinent objection is perhaps that Eirenaeus Philalethes appears to
+have been in possession of the grand secret when he wrote the _Introitus
+Apertus_ in 1645, whereas Thomas Vaughan was still seeking it in 1658.
+To pursue the matter further would require a wide knowledge of the
+alchemical writings of the seventeenth century, which unfortunately I do
+not possess.[42]
+
+My gratitude is due for help received in compiling the biographical and
+other notes in these volumes to Dr. Grosart, Mr. C. H. Firth, Mr. W. C.
+Hazlitt, Mr. A. E. Waite, and the Rev. Llewellyn Thomas; notably to Miss
+G. E. F. Morgan of Brecon, whose knowledge of local genealogy and
+antiquities has been invaluable.
+
+   July, 1896.                              E. K. Chambers.
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[1] Dr. Grosart, however, says (ii. 298), "In all the pedigrees that
+have been submitted to me, Thomas is placed as the first of the twins."
+But, as Henry inherited Newton, and Thomas took orders, Anthony a Wood
+is probably right.
+
+[2] The tombstone says 73. G. T. Clark repeats Jones' error.
+
+[3] The tombstone is actually in the north aisle of the church itself.
+
+[4] Obviously Mr. Clark has confused Lucy Jones with her daughter,
+Denise Jones.
+
+[5] This was noted by Mr W. B. Rye in _The Genealogist_, iii. 33, from
+the Entry Book of the Registry at Hereford. Since then Mr. Clark of
+Hereford has kindly sent me, through Miss Morgan, a copy of the bond
+entered into by the administratrix, Elizabetha Vaughan de Llansanfread,
+and her son-in-law and surety, Roger Prosser de Villa Brecon. The bond,
+or the copy, is dated in error "30 May, 1694, et 7th Wm. iii."
+Administration was granted on May 29, 1695. The inventory of the
+personal property amounted to L49 4s. 0d. The witnesses are Walter
+Prosser and David Thomas.
+
+[6] An old alphabetical catalogue of wills in the Hereford Registry,
+between 1660-1677, has the following entries:--
+
+Thomas Vaughan, Lansamfread, 11 Dec., 1660.
+Franca Vaughan, Lansamfread, 16 Nov., 1677.
+
+The wills cannot, in the present state of the Registry, be found
+(_Genealogist_, iii., 33). These dates are much too early for the poet's
+son and daughter-in-law; but whose are the wills?
+
+[7] The _Turberville_ and _Jones_ lines are taken from Theophilus Jones'
+_History of Brecknockshire_ (ii. 444), and from Harl. MS. 2289, f. 70,
+respectively. Miss Morgan has kindly traced the Prossers from the
+_Registers_ of St. John's and St. Mary's Churches, Brecon.
+
+[8] Miss Morgan tells me that David Morgan David Howel's father, Morgan
+ap Howel, is described in a pedigree as "of Trenewydd in Penkelley"; and
+I find from Harl. MS. 2289, ff. 84 (b), 85, that the Powells "of Newton
+Penkelley" were related to the Powells of Cantreff. (_See_ vol. ii., p.
+57, _note_.)
+
+[9] The will of this Charles Vaughan has been abstracted by Mr. W. B.
+Rye (_Genealogist_, iii. 33) from the Hereford Will Office. It was made
+9th April, 1707, and proved 29th May, 1707. The testator is described as
+of Skellrog, Llansanffread, and mention is made of his wife Margaret
+Powell, and of a son William. This William, therefore, and not a
+grandson of Henry Vaughan, may be the William Vaughan of Llansantffread,
+who married Mary Games of Tregaer (p. xxi). Skellrog appears to have
+passed to another and probably elder son, Charles.
+
+[10] S. W. Williams, _Llansaintffread Church_ in _Archaeologia
+Cambrensis_ (1887.)
+
+[11] W. B. Rye in _Genealogist_, iii. 36, from Entry Book in Hereford
+Will Office.
+
+[12] An account of the part played by Beeston Castle during the Civil
+War will be found in Ormerod's _History of Cheshire_ (ed. Helsby), ii.
+272 _sqq._
+
+[13] Gardiner, _The Great Civil War_, ch. xxxvi.; J. R. Phillips, _The
+Civil War in Wales and the Marches_, i. 329; ii. 270.
+
+[14] Ormerod, i. 243.
+
+[15] Phillips, i. 314.
+
+[16] Phillips, ii. 272.
+
+[17] Both Wood and Foster give the father's name as Thomas, but it
+appears to be Henry in all the pedigrees.
+
+[18] The following list of Vaughan's admitted prose treatises is mainly
+taken from Dr. Grosart:--_Anthroposophia Theomagica_ (1650); _Anima
+Magica Abscondita_ (1650); _Magia Adamica_ with the _Coelum Terrae_
+(1650); _The Man-Mouse taken in a Trap_ (1650); _The Second Wash; or,
+the Moor scoured once more_ (1651) [These two are polemics against Henry
+More]; _Lumen de Lumine_, with the _Aphorismi Magici Eugeniani_ (1651);
+_The Fame and Confession of the Fraternity of R:C:_ (1653); _Aula Lucis_
+(1652); _Euphrates_ (1655); _Nollius' Chymist's Key_ (1657); _A Brief
+Natural History_ (1669); [Wood ascribes this to another writer, as it
+was not in the list furnished him by Henry Vaughan].--Henry More's
+pamphlets against Vaughan are the _Observations upon Anthroposophia
+Theomagica and Anima Magica Abscondita_ (1650), issued under the name of
+Alazonomastix Philalethes and _The Second Lash of Alazonomastix_ (1651).
+
+[19] Walker falls into the curious confusion of supposing that there
+were two Thomas Vaughans, one rector of Llansantffread, the other of
+Newton St. Bridget. But "St. Bridget" is only the English form of the
+Welsh "Santffread."
+
+[20] Printed from the Rawl. MSS. in Thurloe's _State Papers_, ii. 120.
+
+[21] Is this the inn of that name once in the Gray's Inn Road?
+(Cunningham and Wheatley, _Handbook to London_.)
+
+[22] The Rev. Henry Howlett has kindly sent me the following extract
+from the registers of Meppershall:--
+
+                "1658.
+                Buried.
+    Rebecka, the Wife of Mr. Vahanne
+          the 26th of Aprill."
+
+
+
+[23] An entire literature has grown up in Paris during the last year
+around the question whether the cultus of Lucifer is practised in
+certain Masonic Lodges. A number of Catholic journalists and
+pamphleteers assert very categorically that this is the case, that the
+centre of this cultus, containing the full Luciferian initiates, is the
+33^rd^ degree of a so-called New and Reformed Palladian Rite, having its
+head-quarters at Charlestown, and that the chiefs of this Rite have
+obtained a controlling influence over the whole of Freemasonry. The
+creed is described as Manichaean in character, with Lucifer as Dieu-Bon
+and Adonai, the God of the Catholics, as Dieu-Mauvais. Adonai is the
+principle of asceticism, Lucifer of natural humanity and _la joie de
+vivre_. The rituals and the accepted interpretation of the Masonic
+symbolism used in the lodges, or "triangles," are of a phallic type.
+Women are admitted to membership. Immorality, a parody of the Eucharist,
+known as the black mass, and the practice of black magic, take place at
+the meetings. Lucifer is worshipped in the form of Baphomet, but from
+time to time he is personally evoked, and manifested to his followers.
+Luciferianism tends to become identical with Satanism, in which Lucifer
+and Satan are identified and frankly worshipped as evil. The first
+mention of Luciferian Freemasonry was in the _Y-a-t-il des Femmes dans
+la Franc Maconnerie?_ (1891), of the somewhat notorious Leo Taxil. But
+the case rests mainly on the alleged revelations of writers who claim to
+have themselves been members of the Palladian Rite. The chief of these
+are Dr. Hacke or Bataille, Signor Margiotta and Miss Diana Vaughan.
+Unfortunately very little evidence is forthcoming as to the identity of
+any of these personages. Many leading Masons, _e.g._, M. Papus in his
+_Le Diable et l'Occultisme_, deny that Luciferian Freemasonry exists at
+all, and it is freely stated (_cf._ _Light_ for 27 June and 4 July,
+1896, pp. 305, 322) that Miss Diana Vaughan is a myth, and that her
+_Memoires_ with the rest of the revelations are the ingenious concoction
+of a band of irresponsible journalists of whom Leo Taxil is the chief.
+No one appears to have seen Miss Vaughan, and she is alleged to be
+hiding in some convent from the vengeance of the Luciferians. Probably
+there will be some further light thrown on the matter before long: in
+the meantime a good summary of the evidence up-to-date may be found in
+A. E. Waite's _Devil-Worship in France_ (1896). Assuming that
+Luciferianism really exists, I do not for a moment believe that it has
+the antiquity which Miss Vaughan claims for it. The various Rites of
+modern Freemasonry, with their fantastic and high-sounding degrees, are
+comparatively recent excrescences upon the original Craft Masonry. The
+New and Reformed Palladian Rite is said to have been founded at
+Charlestown by the well-known Mason, Albert Pike, in 1870. It is based
+on the Ancient and Accepted Scottish Rite, which dates from the
+beginning of the century. If there is such a thing as Luciferianism, I
+do not think we need look further back than 1870 for its origin. As
+expounded by Miss Vaughan and others, it is pretty clearly a compilation
+from Eliphaz Levi and other occultist and Cabbalistic writers, with a
+good deal of modern American Spiritualism thrown in. Albert Pike, a man
+of considerable learning, could easily have invented it. Masonic
+symbolism lends itself readily enough to a wide range of
+interpretations. I do not say that seventeenth-century occultism has
+left no traces upon Freemasonry which modern ritual-mongers may have
+elaborated; but it is a far cry from this to the belief that Thomas
+Vaughan and Luther were Manichaean worshippers of Lucifer and
+Protestantism an organized warfare on Adonai.
+
+[24] Miss Vaughan quotes from Allibone's _History of English
+Literature_. Allibone only repeats Anthony a Wood's account.
+
+[25] Robert Vaughan belonged to quite a different branch from the
+Vaughans of Newton: and, as Sl. MS. 1741 shows, the father of Henry and
+Thomas Vaughan did not die until 1658.
+
+[26] Miss Vaughan gives an elaborate account of the Rosicrucians and of
+their famous manifestoes, which I have no room to reproduce.
+
+[27] Miss Vaughan states that Thomas Vaughan signed "not _Eugenius
+Philalethes_, but _Eirenaeus Philalethes_" (p. 114). But she ascribes to
+him the _Anthroposophia Theomagica_ and other writings which are signed,
+though she does not mention it, _Eugenius Philalethes_ (p. 211). She
+quotes from Anthony a Wood the assertion, which he does not make, that
+the English translations of the _Fama Fraternitatis Rosae Crucis_ (1652)
+and of Maier's _Themis Aurea_ (1656) both bear the name of Eugenius, and
+were by another Thomas Vaughan! The manuscripts of both are, she says,
+signed _Eirenaeus_ (p. 163). What Wood says is that he has seen a
+translation of Maier's tract, dedicated to Elias Ashmole by [N. L.]/[T.
+S.] H. S., and that Ashmole has forgotten whose the initials are. He
+does not suggest that this translation is by a Thomas Vaughan. (_Ath.
+Oxon._, iii. 724.)
+
+[28] This episode has previously done duty in the _Vingt Ans Apres_
+(vol. iii., ch. 8-10), of Alexandre Dumas, in which Mordaunt acts as the
+executioner of Charles. There is a Latin poem amongst Vaughan's remains
+in _Thalia Rediviva_ entitled _Epitaphium Gulielmi Laud Episcopi
+Cantuariensis_, full of sorrow for the archbishop's death.
+
+[29] Miss Vaughan refers to Lenglet-Dufresnoy's _Histoire de la
+Philosophie Hermetique_ as an authority on Starkey's relations with
+Eirenaeus Philalethes. Lenglet-Dufresnoy probably took his account from
+_The Marrow of Alchemy_ (1654-5). The prefaces to this are signed with
+anagrams of George Starkey's name. But he ascribes the poem to a friend,
+who is called in the _Breve Manuductorium ad Campum Sophiae_ Agricola
+Rhomaeus. Perhaps Starkey himself was the real author. The title-page
+has the name Eirenaeus Philoponus Philalethes, apparently a distinct
+designation from that of Eirenaeus Philalethes.
+
+[30] The _Medulla Alchemiae_ (1664) is only a Latin translation of the
+_Marrow of Alchemy_ (1654-5) of Eirenaeus Philoponos Philalethes.
+
+[31] The actual name of the tract is _Ripley Revived_.
+
+[32] The _Thalia Rediviva_ was actually published in 1678, not 1679.
+
+[33] Miss Vaughan has herself witnessed this, in the presence of
+Lucifer. Moreover, the spirit of Philalethes has appeared, and conversed
+with her (pp. 257-267).
+
+[34] Miss Vaughan refers to several family documents, but does not offer
+them for inspection. They include (a) the will of her grandfather James,
+enumerating the proofs of his descent (p. 111); (b) the autobiographical
+Memoirs of Philalethes, from which Miss Vaughan quotes largely (pp. 174,
+240); (c) a letter from Fludd to Andreae (pp. 114, 149); (d) a MS. of
+the _Introitus Apertus_, of which the margin has been covered by Vaughan
+with a comment for Luciferian initiates (pp. 111, 217, 225); (e) a
+letter from Andreae in the archives of the Sovereign Patriarchal Council
+of Hamburg (p. 197); (f) Henry Vaughan's account of his brother's
+disappearance in the archives of the Supreme Dogmatic Directory of
+Charleston (p. 114); (g) Masonic rituals in the archives of Masonic
+chapters at Bristol and Gibraltar (p. 200); (h) Rosicrucian rituals
+drawn up by one Nick Stone in the hands of Dr. W. W. W[estcott] of
+London (p. 141). The documents in Masonic hands are presumably, like the
+Valetta talisman, now out of Miss Vaughan's reach. A communication
+signed Q. V. in _Light_ for May 16, 1896, denies, on Dr. Westcott's
+authority, that his rituals have anything to do with Nick Stone, or that
+Miss Vaughan ever saw them. Dr. Westcott is the head of the modern
+_Societas Rosicruciana in Anglia_. This body does not even pretend to be
+the _Fraternity of R. C._ Finally, there is (i) Thomas Vaughan's
+original pact with Lucifer, now, according to Miss Vaughan, in holy
+hands, and to be destroyed on the day she takes the veil.
+
+[35] Miss Vaughan somewhat naively gives us a lead. After describing
+Thomas Vaughan's sojourn with Venus-Astarte among the Lenni-Lennaps, she
+adds: "This legend is not accepted by all the Elect Mages; there are
+those who regard it as fabricated by my grandfather James of Boston, who
+was, they believe, of Delaware origin, or, at any rate, a half-breed;
+and they even assert that, in the desire to Anglicize himself, he
+invented an entirely false genealogy, by way of justifying his change of
+the Lennap name Waghan into Vaughan. Herein the opponents of the
+Luciferian legend of Thomas Vaughan go too far" (p. 181).
+
+[36] I have already pointed out that Miss Vaughan is quite possibly a
+myth. But, if she exists, I do not see any reason to suppose that she
+personally invented the "legend of Philalethes." It lies between Leo
+Taxil and his friends in 1895, and the alleged founders of Palladism in
+or about 1870, that is Albert Pike and Miss Vaughan's father and uncle.
+And, so far as it goes, the ignorance shown in the legend of all books
+published in the last twenty years is evidence for the earlier date, and
+therefore, to some extent, for the actual existence of Luciferianism.
+
+[37] _Cf._ A. E. Waite, _Real History of the Rosicrucians_, p. 274.
+
+[38] The principal writings ascribed to Eirenaeus Philalethes are
+_Introitus Apertus in Occlusum Regis Palatium_ (1667), _Tres Tractatus_
+(1668), _Experimenta de Praeparatione Mercurii Sophici_ (1668), _Ripley
+Revived_ (1678), _Enarratio Trium Gebri Medicinarum_ (1678). The works
+of Eirenaeus Philoponos Philalethes (George Starkey?) are often
+attributed to him in error. The B. M. Catalogue, s.vv. _Philaletha,
+Philalethes_, is a mass of confusions. Lenglet-Dufresnoy, _Histoire de
+la Philosophie Hermetique_ (iii. 261-266), gives a long list of printed
+and manuscript works. Most of these he had probably never seen. He
+probably took many items in his list from one in J. M. Faust's edition
+of the _Introitus Apertus_ (Frankfort, 1706); and this, in its turn, was
+based on what Eirenaeus Philalethes himself says he has written in the
+preface to _Ripley Revived_. He there says, after naming other works:
+"Two English Poems I wrote, declaring the whole secret, which are lost.
+Also an Enchiridion of Experiments, together with a Diurnal of
+Meditations, in which were many Philosophical receipts, declaring the
+whole secret, with an Aenigma annexed; which also fell into such hands
+which I conceive will never restore it. This last was written in
+English." Can this Enchiridion and Diurnal be Sl. MS. 1741? I find no
+"Aenigma." Can Starkey have stolen the poems and published them as the
+_Marrow of Alchemy_?
+
+[39] The preface to _Ripley Revived_ makes it clear that the _Introitus
+Apertus_ was originally written in Latin, not in English.
+
+[40] This is recorded in Helvetius' _Vitulus Aureus_ (1667). Helvetius
+describes his master as 43 or 44 years old, and calls him Elias
+Artistes.
+
+[41] _See_ the passage from the Epistle to _Euphrates_, quoted by
+Grosart (Vol. ii., p. 312).
+
+[42] The "legend of Philalethes" has already been exposed by Mr. A. E.
+Waite in his _Devil Worship in France_ (ch. xiii.). I am also indebted
+to what Mr. Waite has written on Eirenaeus Philalethes in that book, as
+well as in his _True History of the Rosicrucians_ (1887) and his _Lives
+of Alchymistical Philosophers_ (1888).
+
+
+
+
+BIBLIOGRAPHY OF HENRY VAUGHAN'S WORKS.
+
+
+(1)
+
+POEMS, | WITH | The tenth SATYRE of | IUVENAL | ENGLISHED. | By _Henry
+Vaughan_, Gent. |--_Tam nil, nulla tibi vendo_ | _Illiade_--| _LONDON_,
+| Printed for _G. Badger_, and are to be sold at his | shop under Saint
+_Dunstan's_ Church in | Fleet-street. 1646. [8^vo^.]
+
+The translation from Juvenal has a separate title-page.
+
+IVVENAL'S | TENTH | SATYRE | TRANSLATED. | _Nec verbum verbo curabit
+reddere fidus_ | _Interpres_--| _LONDON_, | Printed for G. B., and are
+to be sold at his Shop | under Saint _Dunstan's_ Church. 1646.
+
+
+(2)
+
+[Emblem] | Silex Scintillans: | _or_ | _SACRED POEMS_ | _and_ | _Priuate
+Eiaculations_ | _By_ | Henry Vaughan _Silurist_ | LONDON | _Printed by
+T. W. for H. Blunden_ | _at ye Castle in Cornehill._ 1650. [8^vo^.]
+
+
+(3)
+
+_OLOR ISCANUS._ | A COLLECTION | OF SOME SELECT | POEMS, | AND |
+TRANSLATIONS, | Formerly written by | _Mr._ Henry Vaughan _Silurist_. |
+Published by a Friend. | Virg. Georg. | _Flumina amo, Sylvasq.
+Inglorius_--| LONDON | Printed by _T. W._ for _Humphrey Moseley_, | and
+are to be sold at his shop, at the | Signe of the Princes Arms in St.
+_Pauls_ | Church-yard, 1651. [8^vo^.]
+
+The Preface is dated "Newton by Usk this 17 of Decemb. 1647."
+
+The prose translations in this volume have separate title-pages:
+
+(a) OF THE | BENEFIT | Wee may get by our | ENEMIES. | A DISCOURSE |
+Written originally in the | Greek by _Plutarchus Chaeronensis_, |
+translated in to Latin by _I. Reynolds_ Dr. | of Divinitie and lecturer
+of the Greeke Tongue | In _Corpus Christi_ College In _Oxford_. |
+_Englished By_ H: V: _Silurist_. |--_Dolus, an virtus quis in hoste
+requirat._ |--_fas est, et ab hoste doceri._ | LONDON. | Printed for
+_Humphry Moseley_ [etc.].
+
+(b) OF THE | DISEASES | OF THE | MIND | And the BODY. | A DISCOURSE |
+Written originally in the | Greek by _Plutarchus Chaeronensis_, | put in
+to latine by _I. Reynolds D.D._ | Englished by _H: V:_ Silurist. |
+_Omnia perversae poterunt Corrumpere mentes._ | LONDON. | Printed for
+_Humphry Moseley_ [etc.].
+
+(c) OF THE DISEASES | OF THE | MIND, | AND THE | BODY, | and which of
+them is | most pernicious. | The Question stated, and decided | by
+_Maximus Tirius_, a Platonick Philosopher, written originally in | the
+Greek, put into Latine by | _John Reynolds_ D.D. | _Englished_ by Henry
+Vaughan _Silurist_. | LONDON, | Printed for _Humphry Moseley_ [etc.].
+
+(d) THE | PRAISE | AND | HAPPINESSE | OF THE | _COUNTRIE-LIFE_; |
+Written Originally in | _Spanish_ by _Don Antonio de Guevara_, | Bishop
+of _Carthagena_, and | Counsellour of Estate to | _Charls_ the Fifth
+Emperour | of _Germany_. |_Put into English by_ H. Vaughan _Silurist._ |
+Virgil. Georg. | _O fortunatos nimium, bona si sua norint,_ |
+_Agricolas!_--| LONDON, | Printed for _Humphry Moseley_ [etc.].
+
+
+(4)
+
+THE | MOUNT of OLIVES: | OR, | SOLITARY DEVOTIONS. | By | HENRY VAUGHAN
+_Silurist_. | With | An excellent Discourse of the | blessed State of
+MAN in GLORY, | written by the most Reverend and | holy Father ANSELM
+Arch-| Bishop of _Canterbury_, and now | done into English. | Luke 21,
+v. 39, 37. | [quoted in full]. | LONDON, Printed for WILLIAM LEAKE at
+the | Crown in Fleet-Street between the two | Temple-Gates. 1652
+[12^mo^].
+
+The preface is dated "Newton by Usk this first of October 1651."
+
+The translation from Anselm has a separate title-page:
+
+MAN | IN | GLORY: | OR, | A Discourse of the blessed | state of the
+Saints in the | New JERUSALEM. | Written in Latin by the most | Reverend
+and holy Father | _ANSELMUS_ | Archbishop of _Canterbury_, and now |
+done into English. | Printed _Anno Dom._ 1652.
+
+
+(5)
+
+_Flores Solitudinis._ | Certaine Rare and Elegant | PIECES; | _Viz._ |
+Two Excellent Discourses | Of 1. _Temperance, and Patience_; | 2. _Life
+and Death_. | BY | _I. E._ NIEREMBERGIUS. | THE WORLD | CONTEMNED; | BY
+| EUCHERIUS, Bp. of LYONS. | And the Life of | PAULINUS, | Bp. of
+_NOLA_. | Collected in his Sicknesse and Retirement, | BY | _HENRY
+VAUGHAN_, Silurist. | _Tantus Amor Florum, & generandi gloria Mellis._ |
+_London_, Printed for _Humphry Moseley_ at the | _Princes Armes_ in St.
+_Pauls_ Church-yard. 1654. [12^mo^.]
+
+The Preface is dated "Newton by Usk, in South-Wales, April 17, 1652."
+The pieces have separate title-pages:
+
+(a) Two Excellent | DISCOURSES | Of 1. Temperance and Patience. | 2.
+Life and Death. | Written in Latin by | _Johan: Euseb: Nierembergius_. |
+Englished by | HENRY VAUGHAN, Silurist. | ... _Mors vitam temperet, &
+vita Mortem_. | _LONDON:_ | Printed for _Humphrey Moseley_, etc.
+
+The Preface is dated "Newton by Uske neare Sketh-Rock. 1653."
+
+(b) THE WORLD | CONTEMNED, | IN A | Parenetical Epistle written by | the
+Reverend Father | _EUCHERIUS_, | Bishop of _Lyons_, to his Kinsman |
+_VALERIANUS_. | [Texts] | _London_, Printed for _Humphrey Moseley_ [etc.].
+
+(c) Primitive Holiness, | Set forth in the | LIFE | of blessed |
+PAULINUS, | The most Reverend, and | Learned BISHOP of | _NOLA_: |
+Collected out of his own Works, | and other Primitive Authors by |
+_Henry Vaughan_, Silurist. | 2 Kings _cap._ 2. _ver._ 12 | _My Father,
+my Father, the Chariot of_ | Israel, _and the Horsmen thereof._ |
+_LONDON_, | Printed for _Humphry Moseley_ [etc.].
+
+
+(6)
+
+Silex Scintillans: | SACRED | POEMS | And private | EJACULATIONS. | The
+second Edition, In two Books; | By _Henry Vaughan_, Silurist. | Job
+chap. 35 ver. 10, 11. | [quoted in full] | _London_, Printed for _Henry
+Crips_, and _Lodo-_ | _wick Lloyd_, next to the Castle in _Cornhil_, |
+and in _Popes-head Alley_. 1655. [8^vo^.]
+
+A reissue, with additions and a fresh title-page, of (2). The Preface is
+dated "Newton by Usk, near Sketh-rock Septem. 30, 1654."
+
+
+(7)
+
+HERMETICAL | PHYSICK: | _OR_, | The right way to pre-| serve, and to
+restore | HEALTH | _BY_ | That famous and faith-| full Chymist, | _HENRY
+NOLLIUS_. | Englished by | HENRY UAUGHAN, Gent. | _LONDON._ | Printed
+for _Humphrey Moseley_, and | are to be sold at his shop, at the |
+_Princes Armes_, in S^t _Pauls Church-Yard_, 1655. [12^mo^.]
+
+
+(8)
+
+_Thalia Rediviva:_ | THE | _Pass-Times_ and _Diversions_ | OF A |
+COUNTREY-MUSE, | In Choice | POEMS | On several Occasions. | WITH | Some
+Learned _Remains_ of the Eminent | _Eugenius Philalethes_. | Never made
+Publick till now. |--Nec erubuit sylvas habitare Thalia. _Virgil._ |
+Licensed, _Roger L'Estrange_. | _London_, Printed for _Robert Pawlet_ at
+the Bible in | _Chancery-lane_, near _Fleetstreet_, 1678 [8^vo^.]
+
+The Remains of Eugenius Philalethes [Thomas Vaughan] have a separate
+title-page.
+
+_Eugenii Philalethis_, | VIRI | INSIGNISSIMI | ET | Poetarum | Sui
+Saeculi, merito Principis: | _VERTUMNUS_ | ET | _CYNTHIA_, &c. | Q.
+Horat. |--_Qui praegravat artes Infra se positas,_ | _extinctus
+am[a]bitur._--| _LONDINI_, | Impensis _Roberti Pawlett_, M.DC.LXXVIII.
+[12^mo^.]
+
+
+(9)
+
+Olor Iscanus. A collection of some Select Poems, Together with these
+Translations following, etc. All Englished by H. Vaughan, Silurist.
+London: Printed and are to be sold by Peter Parker ... 1679. [8^vo^.]
+
+A reissue, according to Dr. Grosart (ii. 59) and W. C. Hazlitt
+(_Supplement to Third Series Of Collections_, p. 106), of the 1651 _Olor
+Iscanus_, with a fresh title-page. I have not seen a copy.
+
+
+(10)
+
+[Miss L. I. Guiney writes in her essay on _Henry Vaughan, the Silurist_
+(Atlantic Monthly, May, 1894): "Mr. Carew Hazlitt has been fortunate
+enough to discover the advertisement of an eighteenth-century Vaughan
+reprint."
+
+As to this Mr. Hazlitt writes to me: "I cannot tell where Miss Guiney
+heard about the Vaughan--not certainly from me. But there is an edition
+of his 'Spiritual Songs,' 8^vo^, 1706, of which, however, I don't at
+present know the whereabouts."]
+
+
+(11)
+
+Silex Scintillans: Sacred Poems and Private Ejaculations of Henry
+Vaughan, with Memoir by the Rev. H. F. Lyte. London: William Pickering,
+1847. [12^mo^.]
+
+An edition of (6) and part of (8).
+
+
+(12)
+
+The Sacred Poems and Private Ejaculations of Henry Vaughan, with a
+Memoir by the Rev. H. F. Lyte. Boston [U. S. A.]: Little, Brown and
+Company, 1856. [8^vo^.]
+
+A reprint of (11).
+
+
+(13)
+
+Silex Scintillans, etc.: Sacred Poems and Private Ejaculations, by Henry
+Vaughan. London: Bell and Daldy. 1858.
+
+A reprint, with a revised text, of (11).
+
+
+(14)
+
+The Fuller Worthies' Library. The Works in Verse and Prose complete of
+Henry Vaughan, Silurist, for the first time collected and edited: with
+Memorial-Introduction: Essay on Life and Writings: and Notes: by the
+Rev. Alexander B. Grosart, St. George's, Blackburn, Lancashire. In four
+Volumes.... Printed for Private Circulation. 1871.
+
+A reprint of the original editions, with biographical and critical
+matter. Only 50 4^to^, 106 8^vo^, and 156 12^mo^ copies printed. In Vol.
+II. are included the Poems of Thomas Vaughan, with a separate
+title-page.
+
+The English and Latin Verse-Remains of Thomas Vaughan ('Eugenius
+Philalethes'), twin-brother of the Silurist. For the first time
+collected and edited: with Memorial-Introduction and Notes: by the Rev.
+Alexander B. Grosart [etc.].
+
+
+(15)
+
+Silex Scintillans, etc. Sacred Poems and Pious Ejaculations. By Henry
+Vaughan, "Silurist." With a Memoir by the Rev. H. F. Lyte. Job xxxv. 10,
+11 [in full]. London: George Bell and Sons, York Street, Covent Garden.
+1883. [8^vo^.]
+
+A reprint, with a text further revised, of (11) and (13), forming a
+volume of the _Aldine Poets_. Since reprinted in 1891.
+
+
+(16)
+
+The Jewel Poets. Henry Vaughan. Edinburgh. Macniven and Wallace. 1884.
+
+A selection, with a short preface by W. R. Nicoll.
+
+
+(17)
+
+Silex Scintillans. Sacred Poems and Private Ejaculations, by Henry
+Vaughan (Silurist). Being a facsimile of the First Edition, published in
+1650, with an Introduction by the Rev. William Clare, B.A. (Adelaide).
+London: Elliot Stock, 62, Paternoster Row. 1885. [12^mo^.]
+
+A facsimile reprint of (2).
+
+
+(18)
+
+Secular Poems by Henry Vaughan, Silurist. Including a few pieces by his
+twin-brother Thomas ("Eugenius Philalethes"). Selected and arranged,
+with Notes and Bibliography, by J. R. Tutin, Editor of "Poems of Richard
+Crashaw," etc. Hull: J. R. Tutin. 1893.
+
+A selection from Vol. II. of (14).
+
+
+(19)
+
+The Poems of Henry Vaughan, Silurist. With an Introduction by H. C.
+Beeching, Rector of Yattendon. [Publishers' Device.] London: Lawrence
+and Bullen, 16, Henrietta Street, W.C. New York: Charles Scribner's
+Sons, 153-157 Fifth Avenue. 1896. [Two vols. 8^vo^.]
+
+The present edition. A hundred copies are printed on large paper.
+
+
+                   POEMS,
+
+                  WITH THE
+
+          TENTH SATIRE OF JUVENAL
+
+                 ENGLISHED.
+
+                    1646.
+
+
+
+
+TO ALL INGENIOUS LOVERS OF POESY.
+
+
+Gentlemen,
+
+To you alone, whose more refined spirits out-wing these dull times, and
+soar above the drudgery of dirty intelligence, have I made sacred these
+fancies: I know the years, and what coarse entertainment they afford
+poetry. If any shall question that courage that durst send me abroad so
+late, and revel it thus in the dregs of an age, they have my silence:
+only,
+
+    Languescente seculo, liceat aegrotari.
+
+My more calm ambition, amidst the common noise, hath thus exposed me to
+the world: you have here a flame, bright only in its own innocence, that
+kindles nothing but a generous thought: which though it may warm the
+blood, the fire at highest is but Platonic; and the commotion, within
+these limits, excludes danger. For the satire, it was of purpose
+borrowed to feather some slower hours; and what you see here is but the
+interest: it is one of his whose Roman pen had as much true passion for
+the infirmities of that state, as we should have pity to the
+distractions of our own: honest--I am sure--it is, and offensive cannot
+be, except it meet with such spirits that will quarrel with antiquity,
+or purposely arraign themselves. These indeed may think that they have
+slept out so many centuries in this satire and are now awakened; which,
+had it been still Latin, perhaps their nap had been everlasting. But
+enough of these,--it is for you only that I have adventured thus far,
+and invaded the press with verse; to whose more noble indulgence I shall
+now leave it, and so am gone.--
+
+                                                                 H. V.
+
+
+
+
+TO MY INGENUOUS FRIEND, R. W.
+
+
+    When we are dead, and now, no more
+    Our harmless mirth, our wit, and score
+    Distracts the town; when all is spent
+    That the base niggard world hath lent
+    Thy purse, or mine; when the loath'd noise
+    Of drawers, 'prentices and boys
+    Hath left us, and the clam'rous bar
+    Items no pints i' th' Moon or Star;
+    When no calm whisp'rers wait the doors,
+    To fright us with forgotten scores;
+    And such aged long bills carry,
+    As might start an antiquary;
+    When the sad tumults of the maze,
+    Arrests, suits, and the dreadful face
+    Of sergeants are not seen, and we
+    No lawyers' ruffs, or gowns must fee:
+    When all these mulcts are paid, and I
+    From thee, dear wit, must part, and die;
+    We'll beg the world would be so kind,
+    To give's one grave as we'd one mind;
+    There, as the wiser few suspect,
+    That spirits after death affect,
+    Our souls shall meet, and thence will they,
+    Freed from the tyranny of clay,
+    With equal wings, and ancient love
+    Into the Elysian fields remove,
+    Where in those blessed walks they'll find
+    More of thy genius, and my mind.
+      First, in the shade of his own bays,
+    Great Ben they'll see, whose sacred lays
+    The learned ghosts admire, and throng
+    To catch the subject of his song.
+    Then Randolph in those holy meads,
+    His _Lovers_ and _Amyntas_ reads,
+    Whilst his Nightingale, close by,
+    Sings his and her own elegy.
+    From thence dismiss'd, by subtle roads,
+    Through airy paths and sad abodes,
+    They'll come into the drowsy fields
+    Of Lethe, which such virtue yields,
+    That, if what poets sing be true,
+    The streams all sorrow can subdue.
+    Here, on a silent, shady green,
+    The souls of lovers oft are seen,
+    Who, in their life's unhappy space,
+    Were murder'd by some perjur'd face.
+    All these th' enchanted streams frequent,
+    To drown their cares, and discontent,
+    That th' inconstant, cruel sex
+    Might not in death their spirits vex.
+      And here our souls, big with delight
+    Of their new state, will cease their flight:
+    And now the last thoughts will appear,
+    They'll have of us, or any here;
+    But on those flow'ry banks will stay,
+    And drink all sense and cares away.
+      So they that did of these discuss,
+      Shall find their fables true in us.
+
+
+
+
+LES AMOURS
+
+
+    Tyrant, farewell! this heart, the prize
+    And triumph of thy scornful eyes,
+    I sacrifice to heaven, and give
+    To quit my sins, that durst believe
+    A woman's easy faith, and place
+    True joys in a changing face.
+      Yet ere I go: by all those tears
+    And sighs I spent 'twixt hopes and fears;
+    By thy own glories, and that hour
+    Which first enslav'd me to thy power;
+    I beg, fair one, by this last breath,
+    This tribute from thee after death.
+    If, when I'm gone, you chance to see
+    That cold bed where I lodged be,
+    Let not your hate in death appear,
+    But bless my ashes with a tear:
+    This influx from that quick'ning eye,
+    By secret pow'r, which none can spy,
+    The cold dust shall inform, and make
+    Those flames, though dead, new life partake
+    Whose warmth, help'd by your tears, shall bring
+    O'er all the tomb a sudden spring
+    Of crimson flowers, whose drooping heads
+    Shall curtain o'er their mournful beds:
+    And on each leaf, by Heaven's command,
+    These emblems to the life shall stand
+      Two hearts, the first a shaft withstood;
+    The second, shot and wash'd in blood;
+    And on this heart a dew shall stay,
+    Which no heat can court away;
+    But fix'd for ever, witness bears
+    That hearty sorrow feeds on tears.
+    Thus Heaven can make it known, and true
+    That you kill'd me, 'cause I lov'd you.
+
+
+
+
+TO AMORET.
+
+
+The Sigh.
+
+    Nimble sigh, on thy warm wings,
+      Take this message and depart;
+    Tell Amoret, that smiles and sings,
+    At what thy airy voyage brings,
+      That thou cam'st lately from my heart.
+
+    Tell my lovely foe that I
+    Have no more such spies to send,
+      But one or two that I intend,
+    Some few minutes ere I die,
+      To her white bosom to commend.
+
+    Then whisper by that holy spring,
+      Where for her sake I would have died,
+    Whilst those water-nymphs did bring
+      Flowers to cure what she had tried;
+    And of my faith and love did sing.
+
+    That if my Amoret, if she
+      In after-times would have it read,
+    How her beauty murder'd me,
+    With all my heart I will agree,
+      If she'll but love me, being dead.
+
+
+
+
+TO HIS FRIEND BEING IN LOVE.
+
+
+    Ask, lover, ere thou diest; let one poor breath
+    Steal from thy lips, to tell her of thy death;
+    Doating idolater! can silence bring
+    Thy saint propitious? or will Cupid fling
+    One arrow for thy paleness? leave to try
+    This silent courtship of a sickly eye.
+    Witty to tyranny, she too well knows
+    This but the incense of thy private vows,
+    That breaks forth at thine eyes, and doth betray
+    The sacrifice thy wounded heart would pay;
+    Ask her, fool, ask her; if words cannot move,
+    The language of thy tears may make her love.
+      Flow nimbly from me then; and when you fall
+    On her breast's warmer snow, O may you all,
+    By some strange fate fix'd there, distinctly lie,
+    The much lov'd volume of my tragedy.
+    Where, if you win her not, may this be read,
+    The cold that freez'd you so, did strike me dead.
+
+
+
+
+SONG.
+
+
+    Amyntas go, thou art undone,
+      Thy faithful heart is cross'd by fate;
+    That love is better not begun,
+      Where love is come to love too late.[43]
+
+    Had she professed[44] hidden fires,
+      Or show'd one[45] knot that tied her heart,
+    I could have quench'd my first desires,
+      And we had only met to part.
+
+    But, tyrant, thus to murder men,
+      And shed a lover's harmless blood,
+    And burn him in those flames again,
+      Which he at first might have withstood.
+
+    Yet, who that saw fair Chloris weep
+      Such sacred dew, with such pure[46] grace;
+    Durst think them feigned tears, or seek
+      For treason in an angel's face.
+
+    This is her art, though this be true,
+      Men's joys are kill'd with[47] griefs and fears,
+    Yet she, like flowers oppress'd with dew,
+      Doth thrive and flourish in her tears.
+
+
+    This, cruel, thou hast done, and thus
+      That face hath many servants slain,
+    Though th' end be not to ruin us,
+      But to seek glory by our pain.[48]
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[43] MS. _Whose pure offering comes too late._
+
+[44] MS. _profess'd her._
+
+[45] MS. _the._
+
+[46] MS. _such a._
+
+[47] MS. _by._
+
+[48]
+
+    MS. _Your aime is sure to ruine us._
+        _Seeking your glory by our paine_
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+TO AMORET.
+
+Walking in a Starry Evening.
+
+
+    If, Amoret, that glorious eye,
+        In the first birth of light,
+          And death of Night,
+    Had with those elder fires you spy
+          Scatter'd so high,
+      Received form and sight;
+
+    We might suspect in the vast ring,
+      Amidst these golden glories,
+        And fiery stories;[49]
+    Whether the sun had been the king
+        And guide of day,
+      Or your brighter eye should sway.
+
+    But, Amoret, such is my fate,
+      That if thy face a star
+        Had shin'd from far,
+    I am persuaded in that state,
+        'Twixt thee and me,
+    Of some predestin'd sympathy.[50]
+
+
+    For sure such two conspiring minds,
+      Which no accident, or sight,
+        Did thus unite;
+    Whom no distance can confine,
+        Start, or decline,
+    One for another were design'd.
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[49] MS.
+
+    MS. _We may suspect in the vast ring_,
+          _Which rolls those fiery spheres_
+            _Thro' years and years._
+
+
+
+[50] MS. _There would be perfect sympathy._
+
+
+
+
+
+TO AMORET GONE FROM HIM.
+
+
+    Fancy and I, last evening, walk'd,
+    And Amoret, of thee we talk'd;
+    The West just then had stolen the sun,
+    And his last blushes were begun:
+    We sate, and mark'd how everything
+    Did mourn his absence: how the spring
+    That smil'd and curl'd about his beams,
+    Whilst he was here, now check'd her streams:
+    The wanton eddies of her face
+    Were taught less noise, and smoother grace;
+    And in a slow, sad channel went,
+    Whisp'ring the banks their discontent:
+    The careless ranks of flowers that spread
+    Their perfum'd bosoms to his head.
+    And with an open, free embrace,
+    Did entertain his beamy face,
+    Like absent friends point to the West,
+    And on that weak reflection feast.
+    If creatures then that have no sense,
+    But the loose tie of influence,
+    Though fate and time each day remove
+    Those things that element their love,
+    At such vast distance can agree,
+    Why, Amoret, why should not we?
+
+
+
+
+A SONG TO AMORET.
+
+
+    If I were dead, and in my place
+      Some fresher youth design'd
+    To warm thee with new fires, and grace
+      Those arms I left behind;
+
+    Were he as faithful as the sun,
+      That's wedded to the sphere;
+    His blood as chaste and temp'rate run,
+      As April's mildest tear;
+
+    Or were he rich, and with his heaps
+      And spacious share of earth,
+    Could make divine affection cheap,
+      And court his golden birth:
+
+    For all these arts I'd not believe,
+      --No, though he should be thine--
+    The mighty amorist could give
+      So rich a heart as mine.
+
+    Fortune and beauty thou might'st find,
+      And greater men than I:
+    But my true resolved mind
+      They never shall come nigh.[51]
+
+    For I not for an hour did love,
+      Or for a day desire,
+    But with my soul had from above
+      This endless, holy fire.
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[51]
+
+    MS. _But with my true steadfast minde_
+        _None can pretend to vie._
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+AN ELEGY.
+
+
+    'Tis true, I am undone: yet, ere I die,
+    I'll leave these sighs and tears a legacy
+    To after-lovers: that, rememb'ring me,
+    Those sickly flames which now benighted be,
+    Fann'd by their warmer sighs, may love; and prove
+    In them the metempsychosis of love.
+    'Twas I--when others scorn'd--vow'd you were fair,
+    And sware that breath enrich'd the coarser air,
+    Lent roses to your cheeks, made Flora bring
+    Her nymphs with all the glories of the spring
+    To wait upon thy face, and gave my heart
+    A pledge to Cupid for a quicker dart,
+    To arm those eyes against myself; to me
+    Thou ow'st that tongue's bewitching harmony.
+    I courted angels from those upper joys,
+    And made them leave their spheres to hear thy voice.
+    I made the Indian curse the hours he spent
+    To seek his pearls, and wisely to repent
+    His former folly, and confess a sin,
+    Charm'd by the brighter lustre of thy skin.
+    I borrow'd from the winds the gentler wing
+    Of Zephyrus, and soft souls of the spring;
+    And made--to air those cheeks with fresher grace--
+    The warm inspirers dwell upon thy face.
+                  _Oh! jam satis_ ...
+
+
+
+
+A RHAPSODIS:
+
+_Occasionally written upon a meeting with some of his friends at the
+      Globe Tavern, in a chamber painted overhead with a cloudy sky and
+      some few dispersed stars, and on the sides with landscapes, hills,
+      shepherds and sheep._
+
+
+    Darkness, and stars i' th' mid-day! They invite
+    Our active fancies to believe it night:
+    For taverns need no sun, but for a sign,
+    Where rich tobacco and quick tapers shine;
+    And royal, witty sack, the poet's soul,
+    With brighter suns than he doth gild the bowl;
+    As though the pot and poet did agree,
+    Sack should to both illuminator be.
+    That artificial cloud, with its curl'd brow,
+    Tells us 'tis late; and that blue space below
+    Is fir'd with many stars: mark! how they break
+    In silent glances o'er the hills, and speak
+    The evening to the plains, where, shot from far,
+    They meet in dumb salutes, as one great star.
+      The room, methinks, grows darker; and the air
+    Contracts a sadder colour, and less fair.
+    Or is't the drawer's skill? hath he no arts
+    To blind us so we can't know pints from quarts?
+    No, no, 'tis night: look where the jolly clown
+    Musters his bleating herd and quits the down.
+    Hark! how his rude pipe frets the quiet air,
+    Whilst ev'ry hill proclaims Lycoris fair.
+    Rich, happy man! that canst thus watch and sleep,
+    Free from all cares, but thy wench, pipe and sheep!
+    But see, the moon is up; view, where she stands
+    Sentinel o'er the door, drawn by the hands
+    Of some base painter, that for gain hath made
+    Her face the landmark to the tippling trade.
+    This cup to her, that to Endymion give;
+    'Twas wit at first, and wine that made them live.
+    Choke may the painter! and his box disclose
+    No other colours than his fiery nose;
+    And may we no more of his pencil see
+    Than two churchwardens, and mortality.
+      Should we go now a-wand'ring, we should meet
+    With catchpoles, whores and carts in ev'ry street:
+    Now when each narrow lane, each nook and cave,
+    Sign-posts and shop-doors, pimp for ev'ry knave,
+    When riotous sinful plush, and tell-tale spurs
+    Walk Fleet Street and the Strand, when the soft stirs
+    Of bawdy, ruffled silks, turn night to day;
+    And the loud whip and coach scolds all the way;
+    When lust of all sorts, and each itchy blood
+    From the Tower-wharf to Cymbeline, and Lud,
+    Hunts for a mate, and the tir'd footman reels
+    'Twixt chairmen, torches, and the hackney wheels.
+      Come, take the other dish; it is to him
+    That made his horse a senator: each brim
+    Look big as mine: the gallant, jolly beast
+    Of all the herd--you'll say--was not the least.
+      Now crown the second bowl, rich as his worth
+    I'll drink it to; he, that like fire broke forth
+    Into the Senate's face, cross'd Rubicon,
+    And the State's pillars, with their laws thereon,
+    And made the dull grey beards and furr'd gowns fly
+    Into Brundusium to consult, and lie.
+      This, to brave Sylla! why should it be said
+    We drink more to the living than the dead?
+    Flatt'rers and fools do use it: let us laugh
+    At our own honest mirth; for they that quaff
+    To honour others, do like those that sent
+    Their gold and plate to strangers to be spent.
+      Drink deep; this cup be pregnant, and the wine
+    Spirit of wit, to make us all divine,
+    That big with sack and mirth we may retire
+    Possessors of more souls, and nobler fire;
+    And by the influx of this painted sky,
+    And labour'd forms, to higher matters fly;
+    So, if a nap shall take us, we shall all,
+    After full cups, have dreams poetical.
+
+    Let's laugh now, and the press'd grape drink,
+    Till the drowsy day-star wink;
+    And in our merry, mad mirth run
+    Faster, and further than the sun;
+    And let none his cup forsake,
+    Till that star again doth wake;
+    So we men below shall move
+    Equally with the gods above.
+
+
+
+
+TO AMORET, OF THE DIFFERENCE 'TWIXT HIM AND OTHER LOVERS,
+AND WHAT TRUE LOVE IS.
+
+
+    Mark, when the evening's cooler wings
+      Fan the afflicted air, how the faint sun,
+                  Leaving undone,
+                  What he begun,
+    Those spurious flames suck'd up from slime and earth
+                  To their first, low birth,
+                  Resigns, and brings.
+
+    They shoot their tinsel beams and vanities,
+        Threading with those false fires their way;
+                  But as you stay
+                  And see them stray,
+    You lose the flaming track, and subtly they
+                  Languish away,
+                  And cheat your eyes.
+
+    Just so base, sublunary lovers' hearts
+        Fed on loose profane desires,
+                  May for an eye
+                  Or face comply:
+    But those remov'd, they will as soon depart,
+                  And show their art,
+                  And painted fires.
+
+
+    Whilst I by pow'rful love, so much refin'd,
+        That my absent soul the same is,
+                  Careless to miss
+                  A glance or kiss,
+    Can with those elements of lust and sense
+                  Freely dispense,
+                  And court the mind.
+
+    Thus to the North the loadstones move,
+      And thus to them th' enamour'd steel aspires:
+                  Thus Amoret
+                  I do affect;
+    And thus by winged beams, and mutual fire,
+                  Spirits and stars conspire:
+                  And this is Love.
+
+
+
+
+TO AMORET WEEPING.
+
+
+    Leave Amoret, melt not away so fast
+    Thy eyes' fair treasure; Fortune's wealthiest cast
+    Deserves not one such pearl; for these, well spent,
+    Can purchase stars, and buy a tenement
+    For us in heaven; though here the pious streams
+    Avail us not; who from that clue of sunbeams
+    Could ever steal one thread? or with a kind
+    Persuasive accent charm the wild loud wind?
+      Fate cuts us all in marble, and the Book
+    Forestalls our glass of minutes; we may look
+    But seldom meet a change; think you a tear
+    Can blot the flinty volume? shall our fear
+    Or grief add to their triumphs? and must we
+    Give an advantage to adversity?
+    Dear, idle prodigal! is it not just
+    We bear our stars? What though I had not dust
+    Enough to cabinet a worm? nor stand
+    Enslav'd unto a little dirt, or sand?
+    I boast a better purchase, and can show
+    The glories of a soul that's simply true.
+      But grant some richer planet at my birth
+    Had spied me out, and measur'd so much earth
+    Or gold unto my share: I should have been
+    Slave to these lower elements, and seen
+    My high-born soul flag with their dross, and lie
+    A pris'ner to base mud, and alchemy.
+    I should perhaps eat orphans, and suck up
+    A dozen distress'd widows in one cup;
+    Nay, further, I should by that lawful stealth,
+    Damn'd usury, undo the commonwealth;
+    Or patent it in soap, and coals, and so
+    Have the smiths curse me, and my laundress too;
+    Geld wine, or his friend tobacco; and so bring
+    The incens'd subject rebel to his king;
+    And after all--as those first sinners fell--
+    Sink lower than my gold, and lie in hell.
+      Thanks then for this deliv'rance! blessed pow'rs,
+    You that dispense man's fortune and his hours,
+    How am I to you all engag'd! that thus
+    By such strange means, almost miraculous,
+    You should preserve me; you have gone the way
+    To make me rich by taking all away.
+    For I--had I been rich--as sure as fate,
+    Would have been meddling with the king, or State,
+    Or something to undo me; and 'tis fit,
+    We know, that who hath wealth should have no wit,
+    But, above all, thanks to that Providence
+    That arm'd me with a gallant soul, and sense,
+    'Gainst all misfortunes, that hath breath'd so much
+    Of Heav'n into me, that I scorn the touch
+    Of these low things; and can with courage dare
+    Whatever fate or malice can prepare:
+    I envy no man's purse or mines: I know
+    That, losing them, I've lost their curses too;
+    And Amoret--although our share in these
+    Is not contemptible, nor doth much please--
+    Yet, whilst content and love we jointly vie,
+    We have a blessing which no gold can buy.
+
+
+
+
+UPON THE PRIORY GROVE, HIS USUAL RETIREMENT.
+
+
+    Hail, sacred shades! cool, leafy house!
+    Chaste treasurer of all my vows
+    And wealth! on whose soft bosom laid
+    My love's fair steps I first betray'd:
+      Henceforth no melancholy flight,
+    No sad wing, or hoarse bird of night,
+    Disturb this air, no fatal throat
+    Of raven, or owl, awake the note
+    Of our laid echo, no voice dwell
+    Within these leaves, but Philomel.
+    The poisonous ivy here no more
+    His false twists on the oak shall score;
+    Only the woodbine here may twine,
+    As th' emblem of her love, and mine;
+    The amorous sun shall here convey
+    His best beams, in thy shades to play;
+    The active air the gentlest show'rs
+    Shall from his wings rain on thy flowers;
+    And the moon from her dewy locks
+    Shall deck thee with her brightest drops.
+    Whatever can a fancy move,
+    Or feed the eye, be on this grove!
+      And when at last the winds and tears
+    Of heaven, with the consuming years,
+    Shall these green curls bring to decay,
+    And clothe thee in an aged grey
+    --If ought a lover can foresee,
+    Or if we poets prophets be--
+    From hence transplanted, thou shalt stand
+    A fresh grove in th' Elysian land;
+    Where--most bless'd pair!--as here on earth
+    Thou first didst eye our growth, and birth;
+    So there again, thou'lt see us move
+    In our first innocence and love;
+    And in thy shades, as now, so then,
+    We'll kiss, and smile, and walk again.
+
+
+
+
+JUVENAL'S TENTH SATIRE TRANSLATED.
+
+
+    In all the parts of earth, from farthest West,
+    And the Atlantic Isles, unto the East
+    And famous Ganges, few there be that know
+    What's truly good, and what is good, in show,
+    Without mistake: for what is't we desire,
+    Or fear discreetly? to whate'er aspire,
+    So throughly bless'd, but ever as we speed,
+    Repentance seals the very act, and deed?
+    The easy gods, mov'd by no other fate
+    Than our own pray'rs, whole kingdoms ruinate,
+    And undo families: thus strife, and war
+    Are the sword's prize, and a litigious bar
+    The gown's prime wish. Vain confidence to share
+    In empty honours and a bloody care
+    To be the first in mischief, makes him die
+    Fool'd 'twixt ambition and credulity.
+    An oily tongue with fatal, cunning sense,
+    And that sad virtue ever, eloquence,
+    Are th' other's ruin, but the common curse;
+    And each day's ill waits on the rich man's purse;
+    He, whose large acres and imprison'd gold
+    So far exceeds his father's store of old,
+    As British whales the dolphins do surpass.
+      In sadder times therefore, and when the laws
+    Of Nero's fiat reign'd, an armed band
+    Seiz'd on Longinus, and the spacious land
+    Of wealthy Seneca, besieg'd the gates
+    Of Lateranus, and his fair estate
+    Divided as a spoil: in such sad feasts
+    Soldiers--though not invited--are the guests.
+      Though thou small pieces of the blessed mine
+    Hast lodg'd about thee, travelling in the shine
+    Of a pale moon, if but a reed doth shake,
+    Mov'd by the wind, the shadow makes thee quake.
+    Wealth hath its cares, and want has this relief,
+    It neither fears the soldier nor the thief;
+      Thy first choice vows, and to the gods best known,
+    Are for thy stores' increase, that in all town
+    Thy stock be greatest, but no poison lies
+    I' th' poor man's dish; he tastes of no such spice.
+    Be that thy care, when, with a kingly gust,
+    Thou suck'st whole bowls clad in the gilded dust
+    Of some rich mineral, whilst the false wine
+    Sparkles aloft, and makes the draught divine.
+      Blam'st thou the sages, then? because the one
+    Would still be laughing, when he would be gone
+    From his own door; the other cried to see
+    His times addicted to such vanity?
+    Smiles are an easy purchase, but to weep
+    Is a hard act; for tears are fetch'd more deep.
+    Democritus his nimble lungs would tire
+    With constant laughter, and yet keep entire
+    His stock of mirth, for ev'ry object was
+    Addition to his store; though then--alas!--
+    Sedans, and litters, and our Senate gowns,
+    With robes of honour, fasces, and the frowns
+    Of unbrib'd tribunes were not seen; but had
+    He liv'd to see our Roman praetor clad
+    In Jove's own mantle, seated on his high
+    Embroider'd chariot 'midst the dust and cry
+    Of the large theatre, loaden with a crown,
+    Which scarce he could support--for it would down,
+    But that his servant props it--and close by
+    His page, a witness to his vanity:
+    To these his sceptre and his eagle add,
+    His trumpets, officers, and servants clad
+    In white and purple; with the rest that day,
+    He hir'd to triumph, for his bread, and pay;
+    Had he these studied, sumptuous follies seen,
+    'Tis thought his wanton and effusive spleen
+    Had kill'd the Abderite, though in that age
+    --When pride and greatness had not swell'd the stage
+    So high as ours--his harmless and just mirth
+    From ev'ry object had a sudden birth.
+    Nor was't alone their avarice or pride,
+    Their triumphs or their cares he did deride;
+    Their vain contentions or ridiculous fears,
+    But even their very poverty and tears.
+    He would at Fortune's threats as freely smile
+    As others mourn; nor was it to beguile
+    His crafty passions; but this habit he
+    By nature had, and grave philosophy.
+    He knew their idle and superfluous vows,
+    And sacrifice, which such wrong zeal bestows,
+    Were mere incendiaries; and that the gods,
+    Not pleas'd therewith, would ever be at odds.
+    Yet to no other air, nor better place
+    Ow'd he his birth, than the cold, homely Thrace;
+    Which shows a man may be both wise and good,
+    Without the brags of fortune, or his blood.
+      But envy ruins all: what mighty names
+    Of fortune, spirit, action, blood, and fame,
+    Hath this destroy'd? yea, for no other cause
+    Than being such; their honour, worth and place,
+    Was crime enough; their statues, arms and crowns
+    Their ornaments of triumph, chariots, gowns,
+    And what the herald, with a learned care,
+    Had long preserv'd, this madness will not spare.
+      So once Sejanus' statue Rome allow'd
+    Her demi-god, and ev'ry Roman bow'd
+    To pay his safety's vows; but when that face
+    Had lost Tiberius once, its former grace
+    Was soon eclips'd; no diff'rence made--alas!--
+    Betwixt his statue then, and common brass,
+    They melt alike, and in the workman's hand
+    For equal, servile use, like others stand.
+      Go, now fetch home fresh bays, and pay new vows
+    To thy dumb Capitol gods! thy life, thy house,
+    And state are now secur'd: Sejanus lies
+    I' th' lictors' hands. Ye gods! what hearts and eyes
+    Can one day's fortune change? the solemn cry
+    Of all the world is, "Let Sejanus die!"
+    They never lov'd the man, they swear; they know
+    Nothing of all the matter, when, or how,
+    By what accuser, for what cause, or why,
+    By whose command or sentence he must die.
+    But what needs this? the least pretence will hit,
+    When princes fear, or hate a favourite.
+    A large epistle stuff'd with idle fear,
+    Vain dreams, and jealousies, directed here
+    From Caprea does it; and thus ever die
+    Subjects, when once they grow prodigious high.
+      'Tis well, I seek no more; but tell me how
+    This took his friends? no private murmurs now?
+    No tears? no solemn mourner seen? must all
+    His glory perish in one funeral?
+    O still true Romans! State-wit bids them praise
+    The moon by night, but court the warmer rays
+    O' th' sun by day; they follow fortune still,
+    And hate or love discreetly, as their will
+    And the time leads them. This tumultuous fate
+    Puts all their painted favours out of date.
+      And yet this people that now spurn, and tread
+    This mighty favourite's once honour'd head,
+    Had but the Tuscan goddess, or his stars
+    Destin'd him for an empire, or had wars,
+    Treason, or policy, or some higher pow'r
+    Oppress'd secure Tiberius; that same hour
+    That he receiv'd the sad Gemonian doom,
+    Had crown'd him emp'ror of the world and Rome
+      But Rome is now grown wise, and since that she
+    Her suffrages, and ancient liberty
+    Lost in a monarch's name, she takes no care
+    For favourite or prince; nor will she share
+    Their fickle glories, though in Cato's days
+    She rul'd whole States and armies with her voice.
+    Of all the honours now within her walls,
+    She only dotes on plays and festivals.
+    Nor is it strange; for when these meteors fall,
+    They draw an ample ruin with them: all
+    Share in the storm; each beam sets with the sun,
+    And equal hazard friends and flatt'rers run.
+    This makes, that circled with distractive fear
+    The lifeless, pale Sejanus' limbs they tear,
+    And lest the action might a witness need,
+    They bring their servants to confirm the deed;
+    Nor is it done for any other end,
+    Than to avoid the title of his friend.
+    So falls ambitious man, and such are still
+    All floating States built on the people's will:
+      Hearken all you! whom this bewitching lust
+    Of an hour's glory, and a little dust
+    Swells to such dear repentance! you that can
+    Measure whole kingdoms with a thought or span!
+    Would you be as Sejanus? would you have,
+    So you might sway as he did, such a grave?
+    Would you be rich as he? command, dispose,
+    All acts and offices? all friends and foes?
+    Be generals of armies and colleague
+    Unto an emperor? break or make a league?
+    No doubt you would; for both the good and bad
+    An equal itch of honour ever had.
+    But O! what state can be so great or good,
+    As to be bought with so much shame and blood?
+    Alas! Sejanus will too late confess
+    'Twas only pride and greatness made him less:
+    For he that moveth with the lofty wind
+    Of Fortune, and Ambition, unconfin'd
+    In act or thought, doth but increase his height,
+    That he may loose it with more force and weight;
+    Scorning a base, low ruin, as if he
+    Would of misfortune make a prodigy.
+      Tell, mighty Pompey, Crassus, and O thou
+    That mad'st Rome kneel to thy victorious brow,
+    What but the weight of honours, and large fame
+    After your worthy acts, and height of name,
+    Destroy'd you in the end? The envious Fates,
+    Easy to further your aspiring States,
+    Us'd them to quell you too; pride, and excess.
+    In ev'ry act did make you thrive the less.
+    Few kings are guilty of grey hairs, or die
+    Without a stab, a draught, or treachery.
+    And yet to see him, that but yesterday
+    Saw letters first, how he will scrape, and pray;
+    And all her feast-time tire Minerva's ears
+    For fame, for eloquence, and store of years
+    To thrive and live in; and then lest he dotes,
+    His boy assists him with his box and notes.
+    Fool that thou art! not to discern the ill
+    These vows include; what, did Rome's consul kill
+    Her Cicero? what, him whose very dust
+    Greece celebrates as yet; whose cause, though just,
+    Scarce banishment could end; nor poison save
+    His free-born person from a foreign grave?
+    All this from eloquence! both head and hand
+    The tongue doth forfeit; petty wits may stand
+    Secure from danger, but the nobler vein
+    With loss of blood the bar doth often stain.
+
+                                               } Carmen
+    _O fortunatam natam me Consule Romam._     } Ciceronianum
+                                               }
+
+    Had all been thus, thou might'st have scorn'd the sword
+    Of fierce Antonius; here is not one word
+    Doth pinch; I like such stuff, 'tis safer far
+    Than thy Philippics, or Pharsalia's war.
+    What sadder end than his, whom Athens saw
+    At once her patriot, oracle, and law?
+    Unhappy then is he, and curs'd in stars
+    Whom his poor father, blind with soot and scars,
+    Sends from the anvil's harmless chine, to wear
+    The factious gown, and tire his client's ear
+    And purse with endless noise. Trophies of war,
+    Old rusty armour, with an honour'd scar,
+    And wheels of captiv'd chariots, with a piece
+    Of some torn British galley, and to these
+    The ensign too, and last of all the train
+    The pensive pris'ner loaden with his chain,
+    Are thought true Roman honours; these the Greek
+    And rude barbarians equally do seek.
+    Thus air, and empty fame, are held a prize
+    Beyond fair virtue; for all virtue dies
+    Without reward; and yet by this fierce lust
+    Of fame, and titles to outlive our dust,
+    And monuments--though all these things must die
+    And perish like ourselves--whole kingdoms lie
+    Ruin'd and spoil'd: put Hannibal i' th' scale,
+    What weight affords the mighty general?
+    This is the man, whom Afric's spacious land
+    Bounded by th' Indian Sea, and Nile's hot sand
+    Could not contain--Ye gods! that give to men
+    Such boundless appetites, why state you them
+    So short a time? either the one deny,
+    Or give their acts and them eternity.
+    All Aethiopia, to the utmost bound
+    Of Titan's course,--than which no land is found
+    Less distant from the sun--with him that ploughs
+    That fertile soil where fam'd[52] Iberus flows,
+    Are not enough to conquer; pass'd now o'er
+    The Pyrrhene hills, the Alps with all its store
+    Of ice, and rocks clad in eternal snow,
+    --As if that Nature meant to give the blow--
+    Denies him passage; straight on ev'ry side
+    He wounds the hill, and by strong hand divides
+    The monstrous pile; nought can ambition stay.
+    The world and Nature yield to give him way.
+    And now pass'd o'er the Alps, that mighty bar
+    'Twixt France and Rome, fear of the future war
+    Strikes Italy; success and hope doth fire
+    His lofty spirits with a fresh desire.
+    All is undone as yet--saith he--unless
+    Our Paenish forces we advance, and press
+    Upon Rome's self; break down her gates and wall,
+    And plant our colours in Suburra's vale.
+    O the rare sight! if this great soldier we
+    Arm'd on his Getick elephant might see!
+    But what's the event? O glory, how the itch
+    Of thy short wonders doth mankind bewitch!
+    He that but now all Italy and Spain
+    Had conquer'd o'er, is beaten out again;
+    And in the heart of Afric, and the sight
+    Of his own Carthage, forc'd to open flight.
+    Banish'd from thence, a fugitive he posts
+    To Syria first, then to Bithynia's coasts,
+    Both places by his sword secur'd, though he
+    In this distress must not acknowledg'd be;
+    Where once a general he triumphed, now
+    To show what Fortune can, he begs as low.
+      And thus that soul which through all nations hurl'd
+    Conquest and war, and did amaze the world,
+    Of all those glories robb'd, at his last breath,
+    Fortune would not vouchsafe a soldier's death.
+    For all that blood the field of Cannae boasts,
+    And sad Apulia fill'd with Roman ghosts,
+    No other end--freed from the pile and sword--
+    Than a poor ring would Fortune him afford.
+      Go now, ambitious man! new plots design,
+    March o'er the snowy Alps and Apennine;
+    That, after all, at best thou may'st but be
+    A pleasing story to posterity!
+      The Macedon one world could not contain,
+    We hear him of the narrow earth complain,
+    And sweat for room, as if Seriphus Isle
+    Or Gyara had held him in exile;
+    But Babylon this madness can allay,
+    And give the great man but his length of clay.
+    The highest thoughts and actions under heaven
+    Death only with the lowest dust lays even.
+    It is believed--if what Greece writes be true--
+    That Xerxes with his Persian fleet did hew
+    Their ways through mountains, that their sails full blown
+    Like clouds hung over Athos and did drown
+    The spacious continent, and by plain force
+    Betwixt the mount and it, made a divorce;
+    That seas exhausted were, and made firm land,
+    And Sestos joined unto Abydos strand;
+    That on their march his Medes but passing by
+    Drank thee, Scamander, and Melenus dry;
+    With whatsoe'er incredible design
+    Sostratus sings, inspir'd with pregnant wine.
+    But what's the end? He that the other day
+    Divided Hellespont, and forc'd his way
+    Through all her angry billows, that assign'd
+    New punishments unto the waves, and wind,
+    No sooner saw the Salaminian seas
+    But he was driven out by Themistocles,
+    And of that fleet--supposed to be so great,
+    That all mankind shar'd in the sad defeat--
+    Not one sail sav'd, in a poor fisher's boat,
+    Chas'd o'er the working surge, was glad to float,
+    Cutting his desp'rate course through the tir'd flood,
+    And fought again with carcases, and blood.
+    O foolish mad Ambition! these are still
+    The famous dangers that attend thy will.
+      Give store of days, good Jove, give length of years,
+    Are the next vows; these with religious fears
+    And constancy we pay; but what's so bad
+    As a long, sinful age? what cross more sad
+    Than misery of years? how great an ill
+    Is that which doth but nurse more sorrow still?
+    It blacks the face, corrupt and dulls the blood,
+    Benights the quickest eye, distastes the food,
+    And such deep furrows cuts i' th' checker'd skin
+    As in th' old oaks of Tabraca are seen.
+      Youth varies in most things; strength, beauty, wit,
+    Are several graces; but where age doth hit
+    It makes no difference; the same weak voice,
+    And trembling ague in each member lies:
+    A general hateful baldness, with a curs'd
+    Perpetual pettishness; and, which is worst,
+    A foul, strong flux of humours, and more pain
+    To feed, than if he were to nurse again;
+    So tedious to himself, his wife, and friends,
+    That his own sons, and servants, wish his end.
+    His taste and feeling dies; and of that fire
+    The am'rous lover burns in, no desire:
+    Or if there were, what pleasure could it be,
+    Where lust doth reign without ability?
+    Nor is this all: what matters it, where he
+    Sits in the spacious stage? who can nor see,
+    Nor hear what's acted, whom the stiller voice
+    Of spirited, wanton airs, or the loud noise
+    Of trumpets cannot pierce; whom thunder can
+    But scarce inform who enters, or what man
+    He personates, what 'tis they act, or say?
+    How many scenes are done? what time of day?
+    Besides that little blood his carcase holds
+    Hath lost[53] its native warmth, and fraught with colds
+    Catarrhs, and rheums, to thick black jelly turns,
+    And never but in fits and fevers burns.
+    Such vast infirmities, so huge a stock
+    Of sickness and diseases to him flock,
+    That Hyppia ne'er so many lovers knew,
+    Nor wanton Maura; physic never slew
+    So many patients, nor rich lawyers spoil
+    More wards and widows; it were lesser toil
+    To number out what manors and domains
+    Licinius' razor purchas'd: one complains
+    Of weakness in the back, another pants
+    For lack of breath, the third his eyesight wants;
+    Nay, some so feeble are, and full of pain,
+    That infant-like they must be fed again.
+    These faint too at their meals; their wine they spill,
+    And like young birds, that wait the mother's bill,
+    They gape for meat; but sadder far than this
+    Their senseless ignorance and dotage is;
+    For neither they, their friends, nor servants know,
+    Nay, those themselves begot, and bred up too,
+    No longer now they'll own; for madly they
+    Proscribe them all, and what, on the last day,
+    The misers cannot carry to the grave
+    For their past sins, their prostitutes must have.
+      But grant age lack'd these plagues: yet must they see
+    As great, as many: frail mortality,
+    In such a length of years, hath many falls,
+    And deads a life with frequent funerals.
+    The nimblest hour in all the span can steal
+    A friend, or brother from's; there's no repeal
+    In death, or time; this day a wife we mourn,
+    To-morrow's tears a son; and the next urn
+    A sister fills. Long-livers have assign'd
+    These curses still, that with a restless mind,
+    An age of fresh renewing cares they buy,
+    And in a tide of tears grow old and die.
+      Nestor,--if we great Homer may believe--
+    In his full strength three hundred years did live:
+    Happy--thou'lt say--that for so long a time
+    Enjoy'd free nature, with the grape and wine
+    Of many autumns; but, I prithee thee, hear
+    What Nestor says himself, when he his dear
+    Antilochus had lost; how he complains
+    Of life's too large extent, and copious pains?
+    Of all he meets, he asks what is the cause
+    He liv'd thus long; for what breach of their laws
+    The gods thus punish'd him? what sin had he
+    Done worthy of a long life's misery.
+    Thus Peleus his Achilles mourned, and he
+    Thus wept that his Ulysses lost at sea.
+    Had Priam died before Phereclus' fleet
+    Was built, or Paris stole the fatal Greek,
+    Troy had yet stood, and he perhaps had gone
+    In peace unto the lower shades; his son
+    Sav'd with his plenteous offspring, and the rest
+    In solemn pomp bearing his fun'ral chest.
+    But long life hinder'd this: unhappy he,
+    Kept for a public ruin, liv'd to see
+    All Asia lost, and ere he could aspire,
+    In his own house saw both the sword and fire;
+    All white with age and cares, his feeble arm
+    Had now forgot the war; but this alarm
+    Gathers his dying spirits; and as we
+    An aged ox worn out with labour see
+    By his ungrateful master, after all
+    His years of toil, a thankless victim fall:
+    So he by Jove's own altar; which shows we
+    Are nowhere safe from heaven, and destiny:
+    Yet died a man; but his surviving queen,
+    Freed from the Greekish sword, was barking seen.
+    I haste to Rome, and Pontus' king let pass,
+    With Lydian Cr[oe]sus, whom in vain--alas!--
+    Just Solon's grave advice bad to attend,
+    That happiness came not before the end.
+      What man more bless'd in any age to come
+    Or past, could Nature show the world, or Rome,
+    Than Marius was? if amidst the pomp of war,
+    And triumphs fetch'd with Roman blood from far,
+    His soul had fled; exile and fetters then
+    He ne'er had seen, nor known Minturna's fen;
+    Nor had it, after Carthage got, been said
+    A Roman general had begg'd his bread.
+      Thus Pompey th' envious gods, and Rome's ill stars
+    --Freed from Campania's fevers, and the wars--
+    Doom'd to Achilles' sword: our public vows
+    Made Caesar guiltless; but sent him to lose
+    His head at Nile: this curse Cethegus miss'd:
+    This Lentulus, and this made him resist
+    That mangled by no lictor's axe, fell dead
+    Entirely Catiline, and sav'd his head.
+      The anxious matrons, with their foolish zeal,
+    Are the last votaries, and their appeal
+    Is all for beauty; with soft speech, and slow,
+    They pray for sons, but with a louder vow
+    Commend a female feature: all that can
+    Make woman pleasing now they shift, and scan
+    And when[54] reprov'd, they say, Latona's pair
+    The mother never thinks can be too fair.
+      But sad Lucretia warns to wish no face
+    Like hers: Virginia would bequeath her grace
+    To crook-back Rutila in exchange; for still
+    The fairest children do their parents fill
+    With greatest cares; so seldom chastity
+    Is found with beauty; though some few there be
+    That with a strict, religious care contend
+    Th' old, modest, Sabine customs to defend:
+    Besides, wise Nature to some faces grants
+    An easy blush, and where she freely plants
+    A less instruction serves: but both these join'd,
+    At Rome would both be forc'd or else purloin'd.
+      So steel'd a forehead Vice hath, that dares win,
+    And bribe the father to the children's sin;
+    But whom have gifts defiled not? what good face
+    Did ever want these tempters? pleasing grace
+    Betrays itself; what time did Nero mind
+    A coarse, maim'd shape? what blemish'd youth confin'd
+    His goatish pathic? whence then flow these joys
+    Of a fair issue? whom these sad annoys
+    Wait, and grow up with; whom perhaps thou'lt see
+    Public adulterers, and must be
+    Subject to all the curses, plagues, and awe
+    Of jealous madmen, and the Julian law;
+    Nor canst thou hope they'll find a milder star,
+    Or more escapes than did the god of war.
+    But worse than all, a jealous brain confines
+    His fury to no law; what rage assigns
+    Is present justice: thus the rash sword spills
+    This lecher's blood; the scourge another kills.
+    But thy spruce boy must touch no other face
+    Than a patrician? is of any race
+    So they be rich; Servilia is as good,
+    With wealth, as she that boasts Iulus' blood.
+    To please a servant all is cheap; what thing
+    In all their stock to the last suit, and king,
+    But lust exacts? the poorest whore in this
+    As generous as the patrician is.
+    But thou wilt say what hurt's a beauteous skin
+    With a chaste soul? Ask Theseus' son, and him
+    That Stenob[oe]a murder'd; for both these
+    Can tell how fatal 'twas in them to please.
+    A woman's spleen then carries most of fate,
+    When shame and sorrow aggravate her hate.
+    Resolve me now, had Silius been thy son,
+    In such a hazard what should he have done?
+    Of all Rome's youth, this was the only best,
+    In whom alone beauty and worth did rest.
+    This Messalina saw, and needs he must
+    Be ruin'd by the emp'ror, or her lust.
+    All in the face of Rome, and the world's eye
+    Though Caesar's wife, a public bigamy
+    She dares attempt; and that the act might bear
+    More prodigy, the notaries appear,
+    And augurs to't; and to complete the sin
+    In solemn form, a dowry is brought in.
+    All this--thou'lt say--in private might have pass'd
+    But she'll not have it so; what course at last?
+    What should he do? If Messaline be cross'd,
+    Without redress thy Silius will be lost;
+    If not, some two days' length is all he can
+    Keep from the grave; just so much as will span
+    This news to Hostia, to whose fate he owes
+    That Claudius last his own dishonour knows.
+    But he obeys, and for a few hours' lust
+    Forfeits that glory should outlive his dust;
+    Nor was it much a fault; for whether he
+    Obey'd or not, 'twas equal destiny.
+    So fatal beauty is, and full of waste.
+    That neither wanton can be safe, nor chaste.
+    What then should man pray for? what is't that he
+    Can beg of Heaven, without impiety?
+    Take my advice: first to the gods commit
+    All cares; for they things competent and fit
+    For us foresee; besides, man is more dear
+    To them than to himself; we blindly here,
+    Led by the world and lust, in vain assay
+    To get us portions, wives and sons; but they
+    Already know all that we can intend,
+    And of our children's children see the end.
+      Yet that thou may'st have something to commend
+    With thanks unto the gods for what they send;
+    Pray for a wise and knowing soul; a sad,
+    Discreet, true valour, that will scorn to add
+    A needless horror to thy death; that knows
+    'Tis but a debt which man to nature owes;
+    That starts not at misfortunes, that can sway
+    And keep all passions under lock and key;
+    That covets nothing, wrongs none, and prefers
+    An honest want, before rich injurers.
+    All this thou hast within thyself, and may
+    Be made thy own, if thou wilt take the way;
+    What boots the world's wild, loose applause? what [can]
+    Frail, perilous honours add unto a man?
+    What length of years, wealth, or a rich fair wife?
+    Virtue alone can make a happy life.
+    To a wise man nought comes amiss: but we
+    Fortune adore, and make our deity.
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[52] The original has _framed_.
+
+[53] The original has _low_.
+
+[54] The original has _why_
+
+
+
+              OLOR ISCANUS.
+
+                  1651.
+
+
+    ----O quis me gelidis in vallibus Iscae
+    Sistat, et ingenti ramorum protegat umbra!
+
+
+
+
+AD POSTEROS.
+
+
+    Diminuat ne sera dies praesentis honorem
+      Quis, qualisque fui, percipe Posteritas.
+    Cambria me genuit, patulis ubi vallibus errans
+      Subjacet aeriis montibus Isca pater.
+    Inde sinu placido suscepit maximus arte
+      Herbertus, Latiae gloria prima scholae.
+    Bis ternos, illo me conducente, per annos
+      Profeci, et geminam contulit unus opem;
+    Ars et amor, mens atque manus certare solebant,
+      Nec lassata illi mensue, manusue fuit.
+    Hinc qualem cernis crevisse: sed ut mea certus
+      Tempora cognoscas, dura mere, scias.
+    Vixi, divisos cum fregerat haeresis Anglos
+      Inter Tysiphonas presbyteri et populi.
+    His primum miseris per am[oe]na furentibus arva
+      Prostravit sanctam vilis avena rosam,
+    Turbarunt fontes, et fusis pax perit undis,
+      Moestaque coelestes obruit umbra dies.
+    Duret ut integritas tamen, et pia gloria, partem
+      Me nullam in tanta strage fuisse, scias;
+    Credidimus nempe insonti vocem esse cruori,
+      Et vires quae post funera flere docent.
+    Hinc castae, fidaeque pati me more parentis
+      Commonui, et lachrymis fata levare meis;
+    Hinc nusquam horrendis violavi sacra procellis,
+      Nec mihi mens unquam, nec manus atra fuit.
+    Si pius es, ne plura petas; satur ille recedat
+      Qui sapit et nos non scripsimus insipidis.
+
+
+
+
+TO THE TRULY NOBLE AND MOST EXCELLENTLY ACCOMPLISHED,
+THE LORD KILDARE DIGBY.
+
+
+My Lord,
+
+It is a position anciently known, and modern experience hath allowed it
+for a sad truth, that absence and time,--like cold weather, and an
+unnatural dormition--will blast and wear out of memory the most
+endearing obligations; and hence it was that some politicians in love
+have looked upon the former of these two as a main remedy against the
+fondness of that passion. But for my own part, my Lord, I shall deny
+this aphorism of the people, and beg leave to assure your Lordship,
+that, though these reputed obstacles have lain long in my way, yet
+neither of them could work upon me: for I am now--without adulation--as
+warm and sensible of those numerous favours and kind influences received
+sometimes from your Lordship, as I really was at the instant of
+fruition. I have no plot by preambling thus to set any rate upon this
+present address, as if I should presume to value a return of this nature
+equal with your Lordship's deserts, but the design is to let you see
+that this habit I have got of being troublesome flows from two
+excusable principles, gratitude and love. These inward counsellors--I
+know not how discreetly--persuaded me to this attempt and intrusion upon
+your name, which if your Lordship will vouchsafe to own as the genius to
+these papers, you will perfect my hopes, and place me at my full height.
+This was the aim, my Lord, and is the end of this work, which though but
+a _pazzarello_ to the _voluminose insani_, yet as jessamine and the
+violet find room in the bank as well as roses and lilies, so happily may
+this, and--if shined upon by your Lordship--please as much. To whose
+protection, sacred as your name and those eminent honours which have
+always attended upon it through so many generations, I humbly offer it,
+and remain in all numbers of gratitude,
+
+                        My honoured Lord,
+       Your most affectionate, humblest Servant,
+                                      Vaughan.
+Newton by Usk this 17 of Decemb. 1647.
+
+
+
+
+THE PUBLISHER TO THE READER.
+
+
+It was the glorious Maro that referred his legacies to the fire, and
+though princes are seldom executors, yet there came a Caesar to his
+testament, as if the act of a poet could not be repealed but by a king.
+I am not, Reader, _Augustus vindex_: here is no royal rescue, but here
+is a Muse that deserves it. The Author had long ago condemned these
+poems to obscurity, and the consumption of that further fate which
+attends it. This censure gave them a gust of death, and they have partly
+known that oblivion which our best labours must come to at last. I
+present thee then not only with a book, but with a prey, and in this
+kind the first recoveries from corruption. Here is a flame hath been
+sometimes extinguished, thoughts that have been lost and forgot, but now
+they break out again like the Platonic reminiscency. I have not the
+Author's approbation to the fact, but I have law on my side, though
+never a sword. I hold it no man's prerogative to fire his own house.
+Thou seest how saucy I am grown, and it thou dost expect I should
+commend what is published, I must tell thee, I cry no Seville oranges. I
+will not say, Here is fine or cheap: that were an injury to the verse
+itself, and to the effects it can produce. Read on, and thou wilt find
+thy spirit engaged: not by the deserts of what we call tolerable, but by
+the commands of a pen that is above it.
+
+
+
+
+UPON THE MOST INGENIOUS PAIR OF TWINS,
+EUGENIUS PHILALETHES, AND THE AUTHOR OF THESE POEMS.
+
+
+    What planet rul'd your birth? what witty star?
+    That you so like in souls as bodies are!
+    So like in both, that you seem born to free
+    The starry art from vulgar calumny.
+    My doubts are solv'd, from hence my faith begins,
+    Not only your faces but your wits are twins.
+
+    When this bright Gemini shall from Earth ascend,
+    They will new light to dull-ey'd mankind lend,
+    Teach the star-gazers, and delight their eyes,
+    Being fix'd a constellation in the skies.
+
+                                                T. Powell, Oxoniensis.
+
+
+
+
+TO MY FRIEND THE AUTHOR UPON THESE HIS POEMS.
+
+
+    I call'd it once my sloth: in such an age
+    So many volumes deep, I not a page?
+    But I recant, and vow 'twas thrifty care
+    That kept my pen from spending on slight ware,
+    And breath'd it for a prize, whose pow'rful shine
+    Doth both reward the striver, and refine.
+    Such are thy poems, friend: for since th' hast writ,
+    I can't reply to any name, but wit;
+    And lest amidst the throng that make us groan,
+    Mine prove a groundless heresy alone,
+    Thus I dispute, Hath there not rev'rence been
+    Paid to the beard at door, for Lord within?
+    Who notes the spindle-leg or hollow eye
+    Of the thin usher, the fair lady by?
+    Thus I sin freely, neighbour to a hand
+    Which, while I aim to strengthen, gives command
+    For my protection; and thou art to me
+    At once my subject and security.
+
+                                            I. Rowlandson, Oxoniensis.
+
+
+
+
+UPON THE FOLLOWING POEMS.
+
+
+    I write not here, as if thy last in store
+    Of learned friends; 'tis known that thou hast more;
+    Who, were they told of this, would find a way
+    To raise a guard of poets without pay,
+    And bring as many hands to thy edition,
+    As th' City should unto their May'r's petition.
+    But thou wouldst none of this, lest it should be
+    Thy muster rather than our courtesy;
+    Thou wouldst not beg as knights do, and appear
+    Poet by voice and suffrage of the shire;
+    That were enough to make my Muse advance
+    Amongst the crutches; nay, it might enhance
+    Our charity, and we should think it fit
+    The State should build an hospital for wit.
+      But here needs no relief: thy richer verse
+    Creates all poets, that can but rehearse,
+    And they, like tenants better'd by their land,
+    Should pay thee rent for what they understand.
+    Thou art not of that lamentable nation
+    Who make a blessed alms of approbation,
+    Whose fardel-notes are briefs in ev'rything,
+    But, that they are not _Licens'd by the king_.
+    Without such scrape-requests thou dost come forth
+    Arm'd--though I speak it--with thy proper worth,
+    And needest not this noise of friends, for we
+    Write out of love, not thy necessity.
+    And though this sullen age possessed be
+    With some strange desamour to poetry,
+    Yet I suspect--thy fancy so delights--
+    The Puritans will turn thy proselytes,
+    And that thy flame, when once abroad it shines,
+    Will bring thee as many friends as thou hast lines.
+
+                                     Eugenius Philalethes, Oxoniensis.
+
+
+
+
+OLOR ISCANUS.
+
+
+
+
+TO THE RIVER ISCA.
+
+
+    When Daphne's lover here first wore the bays,
+    Eurotas' secret streams heard all his lays,
+    And holy Orpheus, Nature's busy child,
+    By headlong Hebrus his deep hymns compil'd;
+    Soft Petrarch--thaw'd by Laura's flames--did weep
+    On Tiber's banks, when she--proud fair!--could sleep;
+    Mosella boasts Ausonius, and the Thames
+    Doth murmur Sidney's Stella to her streams;
+    While Severn, swoln with joy and sorrow, wears
+    Castara's smiles mix'd with fair Sabrin's tears.
+    Thus poets--like the nymphs, their pleasing themes--
+    Haunted the bubbling springs and gliding streams;
+    And happy banks! whence such fair flow'rs have sprung,
+    But happier those where they have sat and sung!
+    Poets--like angels--where they once appear
+    Hallow the place, and each succeeding year
+    Adds rev'rence to't, such as at length doth give
+    This aged faith, that there their genii live.
+    Hence th' ancients say, that from this sickly air
+    They pass to regions more refin'd and fair,
+    To meadows strew'd with lilies and the rose,
+    And shades whose youthful green no old age knows;
+    Where all in white they walk, discourse, and sing
+    Like bees' soft murmurs, or a chiding spring.
+      But Isca, whensoe'er those shades I see,
+    And thy lov'd arbours must no more know me,
+    When I am laid to rest hard by thy streams,
+    And my sun sets, where first it sprang in beams,
+    I'll leave behind me such a large, kind light,
+    As shall redeem thee from oblivious night,
+    And in these vows which--living yet--I pay,
+    Shed such a previous and enduring ray,
+    As shall from age to age thy fair name lead,
+    'Till rivers leave to run, and men to read.
+        First, may all bards born after me
+        --When I am ashes--sing of thee!
+        May thy green banks or streams,--or none--
+        Be both their hill and Helicon!
+        May vocal groves grow there, and all
+        The shades in them prophetical,
+        Where laid men shall more fair truths see
+        Than fictions were of Thessaly!
+        May thy gentle swains--like flow'rs--
+        Sweetly spend their youthful hours,
+        And thy beauteous nymphs--like doves--
+        Be kind and faithful to their loves!
+        Garlands, and songs, and roundelays,
+        Mild, dewy nights, and sunshine days,
+        The turtle's voice, joy without fear,
+        Dwell on thy bosom all the year!
+        May the evet and the toad
+        Within thy banks have no abode,
+        Nor the wily, winding snake
+        Her voyage through thy waters make!
+        In all thy journey to the main
+        No nitrous clay, nor brimstone-vein
+        Mix with thy streams, but may they pass
+        Fresh on the air, and clear as glass,
+        And where the wand'ring crystal treads
+        Roses shall kiss, and couple heads!
+        The factor-wind from far shall bring
+        The odours of the scatter'd Spring,
+        And loaden with the rich arrear,
+        Spend it in spicy whispers there.
+        No sullen heats, nor flames that are
+        Offensive, and canicular,
+        Shine on thy sands, nor pry to see
+        Thy scaly, shading family,
+        But noons as mild as Hesper's rays,
+        Or the first blushes of fair days!
+        What gifts more Heav'n or Earth can add,
+        With all those blessings be thou clad!
+              Honour, Beauty,
+              Faith and Duty,
+              Delight and Truth,
+              With Love and Youth,
+    Crown all about thee! and whatever Fate
+    Impose elsewhere, whether the graver state
+    Or some toy else, may those loud, anxious cares
+    For dead and dying things--the common wares
+    And shows of Time--ne'er break thy peace, nor make
+    Thy repos'd arms to a new war awake!
+        But freedom, safety, joy and bliss,
+        United in one loving kiss,
+        Surround thee quite, and style thy borders
+        The land redeem'd from all disorders!
+
+
+
+
+THE CHARNEL-HOUSE.
+
+
+    Bless me! what damps are here! how stiff an air!
+    Kelder of mists, a second fiat's care,
+    Front'spiece o' th' grave and darkness, a display
+    Of ruin'd man, and the disease of day,
+    Lean, bloodless shamble, where I can descry
+    Fragments of men, rags of anatomy,
+    Corruption's wardrobe, the transplantive bed
+    Of mankind, and th' exchequer of the dead!
+    How thou arrests my sense! how with the sight
+    My winter'd blood grows stiff to all delight!
+    Torpedo to the eye! whose least glance can
+    Freeze our wild lusts, and rescue headlong man.
+    Eloquent silence! able to immure
+    An atheist's thoughts, and blast an epicure.
+    Were I a Lucian, Nature in this dress
+    Would make me wish a Saviour, and confess.
+      Where are you, shoreless thoughts, vast tenter'd hope,
+    Ambitious dreams, aims of an endless scope,
+    Whose stretch'd excess runs on a string too high,
+    And on the rack of self-extension die?
+    Chameleons of state, air-monging band,
+    Whose breath--like gunpowder--blows up a land,
+    Come see your dissolution, and weigh
+    What a loath'd nothing you shall be one day.
+    As th' elements by circulation pass
+    From one to th' other, and that which first was
+    I so again, so 'tis with you; the grave
+    And Nature but complot; what the one gave
+    The other takes; think, then, that in this bed
+    There sleep the relics of as proud a head,
+    As stern and subtle as your own, that hath
+    Perform'd, or forc'd as much, whose tempest-wrath
+    Hath levell'd kings with slaves, and wisely then
+    Calm these high furies, and descend to men.
+    Thus Cyrus tam'd the Macedon; a tomb
+    Check'd him, who thought the world too straight a room.
+      Have I obey'd the powers of face,
+    A beauty able to undo the race
+    Of easy man? I look but here, and straight
+    I am inform'd, the lovely counterfeit
+    Was but a smoother clay. That famish'd slave
+    Beggar'd by wealth, who starves that he may save,
+    Brings hither but his sheet; nay, th' ostrich-man
+    That feeds on steel and bullet, he that can
+    Outswear his lordship, and reply as tough
+    To a kind word, as if his tongue were buff,
+    Is chap-fall'n here: worms without wit or fear
+    Defy him now; Death hath disarm'd the bear.
+    Thus could I run o'er all the piteous score
+    Of erring men, and having done, meet more,
+    Their shuffled wills, abortive, vain intents,
+    Fantastic humours, perilous ascents,
+    False, empty honours, traitorous delights,
+    And whatsoe'er a blind conceit invites;
+    But these and more which the weak vermins swell,
+    Are couch'd in this accumulative cell,
+    Which I could scatter; but the grudging sun
+    Calls home his beams, and warns me to be gone;
+    Day leaves me in a double night, and I
+    Must bid farewell to my sad library.
+    Yet with these notes--Henceforth with thought of thee
+    I'll season all succeeding jollity,
+    Yet damn not mirth, nor think too much is fit;
+    Excess hath no religion, nor wit;
+    But should wild blood swell to a lawless strain,
+    One check from thee shall channel it again.
+
+
+
+
+IN AMICUM F[OE]NERATOREM.
+
+
+    Thanks, mighty Silver! I rejoice to see
+    How I have spoil'd his thrift, by spending thee.
+    Now thou art gone, he courts my wants with more,
+    His decoy gold, and bribes me to restore.
+    As lesser lode-stones with the North consent,
+    Naturally moving to their element,
+    As bodies swarm to th' centre, and that fire
+    Man stole from heaven, to heav'n doth still aspire,
+    So this vast crying sum draws in a less;
+    And hence this bag more Northward laid I guess,
+    For 'tis of pole-star force, and in this sphere
+    Though th' least of many, rules the master-bear.
+    Prerogative of debts! how he doth dress
+    His messages in chink! not an express
+    Without a fee for reading; and 'tis fit,
+    For gold's the best restorative of wit.
+    Oh how he gilds them o'er! with what delight
+    I read those lines, which angels do indite!
+      But wilt have money, Og? must I dispurse
+    Will nothing serve thee but a poet's curse?
+    Wilt rob an altar thus? and sweep at once
+    What Orpheus-like I forc'd from stocks and stones?
+    'Twill never swell thy bag, nor ring one peal
+    In thy dark chest. Talk not of shreeves, or gaol;
+    I fear them not. I have no land to glut
+    Thy dirty appetite, and make thee strut
+    Nimrod of acres; I'll no speech prepare
+    To court the hopeful cormorant, thine heir.
+    For there's a kingdom at thy beck if thou
+    But kick this dross: Parnassus' flow'ry brow
+    I'll give thee with my Tempe, and to boot
+    That horse which struck a fountain with his foot.
+    A bed of roses I'll provide for thee,
+    And crystal springs shall drop thee melody.
+    The breathing shades we'll haunt, where ev'ry leaf
+    Shall whisper us asleep, though thou art deaf.
+    Those waggish nymphs, too, which none ever yet
+    Durst make love to, we'll teach the loving fit;
+    We'll suck the coral of their lips, and feed
+    Upon their spicy breath, a meal at need:
+    Rove in their amber-tresses, and unfold
+    That glist'ring grove, the curled wood of gold;
+    Then peep for babies, a new puppet play,
+    And riddle what their prattling eyes would say.
+    But here thou must remember to dispurse,
+    For without money all this is a curse.
+    Thou must for more bags call, and so restore
+    This iron age to gold, as once before.
+    This thou must do, and yet this is not all,
+    For thus the poet would be still in thrall,
+    Thou must then--if live thus--my nest of honey
+    Cancel old bonds, and beg to lend more money.
+
+
+
+
+TO HIS FRIEND----
+
+
+    I wonder, James, through the whole history
+    Of ages, such entails of poverty
+    Are laid on poets; lawyers--they say--have found
+    A trick to cut them; would they were but bound
+    To practise on us, though for this thing we
+    Should pay--if possible--their bribes and fee.
+    Search--as thou canst--the old and modern store
+    Of Rome and ours, in all the witty score
+    Thou shalt not find a rich one; take each clime,
+    And run o'er all the pilgrimage of time,
+    Thou'lt meet them poor, and ev'rywhere descry
+    A threadbare, goldless genealogy.
+    Nature--it seems--when she meant us for earth
+    Spent so much of her treasure in the birth
+    As ever after niggards her, and she,
+    Thus stor'd within, beggars us outwardly.
+    Woful profusion! at how dear a rate
+    Are we made up! all hope of thrift and state
+    Lost for a verse. When I by thoughts look back
+    Into the womb of time, and see the rack
+    Stand useless there, until we are produc'd
+    Unto the torture, and our souls infus'd
+    To learn afflictions, I begin to doubt
+    That as some tyrants use from their chain'd rout
+    Of slaves to pick out one whom for their sport
+    They keep afflicted by some ling'ring art;
+    So we are merely thrown upon the stage
+    The mirth of fools and legend of the age.
+    When I see in the ruins of a suit
+    Some nobler breast, and his tongue sadly mute
+    Feed on the vocal silence of his eye,
+    And knowing cannot reach the remedy;
+    When souls of baser stamp shine in their store,
+    And he of all the throng is only poor;
+    When French apes for foreign fashions pay,
+    And English legs are dress'd th' outlandish way,
+    So fine too, that they their own shadows woo,
+    While he walks in the sad and pilgrim shoe;
+    I'm mad at Fate, and angry ev'n to sin,
+    To see deserts and learning clad so thin;
+    To think how th' earthly usurer can brood
+    Upon his bags, and weigh the precious food
+    With palsied hands, as if his soul did fear
+    The scales could rob him of what he laid there.
+    Like devils that on hid treasures sit, or those
+    Whose jealous eyes trust not beyond their nose,
+    They guard the dirt and the bright idol hold
+    Close, and commit adultery with gold.
+    A curse upon their dross! how have we sued
+    For a few scatter'd chips? how oft pursu'd
+    Petitions with a blush, in hope to squeeze
+    For their souls' health, more than our wants, a piece?
+    Their steel-ribb'd chests and purse--rust eat them both!--
+    Have cost us with much paper many an oath,
+    And protestations of such solemn sense,
+    As if our souls were sureties for the pence.
+    Should we a full night's learned cares present,
+    They'll scarce return us one short hour's content.
+    'Las! they're but quibbles, things we poets feign,
+    The short-liv'd squibs and crackers of the brain.
+      But we'll be wiser, knowing 'tis not they
+    That must redeem the hardship of our way.
+    Whether a Higher Power, or that star
+    Which, nearest heav'n, is from the earth most far,
+    Oppress us thus, or angell'd from that sphere
+    By our strict guardians are kept luckless here,
+    It matters not, we shall one day obtain
+    Our native and celestial scope again.
+
+
+
+
+TO HIS RETIRED FRIEND, AN INVITATION TO BRECKNOCK.
+
+
+    Since last we met, thou and thy horse--my dear--
+    Have not so much as drunk, or litter'd here;
+    I wonder, though thyself be thus deceas'd,
+    Thou hast the spite to coffin up thy beast;
+    Or is the palfrey sick, and his rough hide
+    With the penance of one spur mortified?
+    Or taught by thee--like Pythagoras's ox--
+    Is then his master grown more orthodox
+    Whatever 'tis, a sober cause't must be
+    That thus long bars us of thy company.
+    The town believes thee lost, and didst thou see
+    But half her suff'rings, now distress'd for thee,
+    Thou'ldst swear--like Rome--her foul, polluted walls
+    Were sack'd by Brennus and the savage Gauls.
+    Abominable face of things! here's noise
+    Of banged mortars, blue aprons, and boys,
+    Pigs, dogs, and drums, with the hoarse, hellish notes
+    Of politicly-deaf usurers' throats,
+    With new fine Worships, and the old cast team
+    Of Justices vex'd with the cough and phlegm.
+    'Midst these the Cross looks sad, and in the Shire-
+    Hall furs of an old Saxon fox appear,
+    With brotherly ruffs and beards, and a strange sight
+    Of high monumental hats, ta'en at the fight
+    Of 'Eighty-eight; while ev'ry burgess foots
+    The mortal pavement in eternal boots.
+      Hadst thou been bach'lor, I had soon divin'd
+    Thy close retirements, and monastic mind;
+    Perhaps some nymph had been to visit, or
+    The beauteous churl was to be waited for,
+    And like the Greek, ere you the sport would miss,
+    You stay'd, and strok'd the distaff for a kiss.
+    But in this age, when thy cool, settled blood
+    Is ti'd t'one flesh, and thou almost grown good,
+    I know not how to reach the strange device,
+    Except--Domitian-like--thou murder'st flies.
+    Or is't thy piety? for who can tell
+    But thou may'st prove devout, and love a cell,
+    And--like a badger--with attentive looks
+    In the dark hole sit rooting up of books.
+    Quick hermit! what a peaceful change hadst thou,
+    Without the noise of haircloth, whip, or vow!
+    But there is no redemption? must there be
+    No other penance but of liberty?
+    Why, two months hence, if thou continue thus,
+    Thy memory will scarce remain with us,
+    The drawers have forgot thee, and exclaim
+    They have not seen thee here since Charles, his reign,
+    Or if they mention thee, like some old man,
+    That at each word inserts--"Sir, as I can
+    Remember"--so the cyph'rers puzzle me
+    With a dark, cloudy character of thee.
+    That--certs!--I fear thou wilt be lost, and we
+    Must ask the fathers ere't be long for thee.
+      Come! leave this sullen state, and let not wine
+    And precious wit lie dead for want of thine.
+    Shall the dull market-landlord with his rout
+    Of sneaking tenants dirtily swill out
+    This harmless liquor? shall they knock and beat
+    For sack, only to talk of rye and wheat?
+    O let not such prepost'rous tippling be
+    In our metropolis; may I ne'er see
+    Such tavern-sacrilege, nor lend a line
+    To weep the rapes and tragedy of wine!
+    Here lives that chymic, quick fire which betrays
+    Fresh spirits to the blood, and warms our lays.
+    I have reserv'd 'gainst thy approach a cup
+    That were thy Muse stark dead, shall raise her up,
+    And teach her yet more charming words and skill
+    Than ever C[oe]lia, Chloris, Astrophil,
+    Or any of the threadbare names inspir'd
+    Poor rhyming lovers with a mistress fir'd.
+    Come then! and while the slow icicle hangs
+    At the stiff thatch, and Winter's frosty pangs
+    Benumb the year, blithe--as of old--let us
+    'Midst noise and war of peace and mirth discuss.
+    This portion thou wert born for: why should we
+    Vex at the time's ridiculous misery?
+    An age that thus hath fool'd itself, and will
+    --Spite of thy teeth and mine--persist so still.
+    Let's sit then at this fire, and while we steal
+    A revel in the town, let others seal,
+    Purchase or cheat, and who can, let them pay,
+    Till those black deeds bring on the darksome day.
+    Innocent spenders we! a better use
+    Shall wear out our short lease, and leave th' obtuse
+    Rout to their husks; they and their bags at best
+    Have cares in earnest; we care for a jest.
+
+
+
+
+MONSIEUR GOMBAULD.
+
+
+    I've read thy soul's fair nightpiece, and have seen
+    Th' amours and courtship of the silent Queen,
+    Her stoln descents to Earth, and what did move her
+    To juggle first with Heav'n, then with a lover,
+    With Latmos' louder rescue, and--alas!--
+    To find her out a hue and cry in brass;
+    Thy journal of deep mysteries, and sad
+    Nocturnal pilgrimage, with thy dreams clad
+    In fancies darker than thy cave, thy glass
+    Of sleepy draughts; and as thy soul did pass
+    In her calm voyage what discourse she heard
+    Of spirits, what dark groves and ill-shap'd guard
+    Ismena led thee through, with thy proud flight
+    O'er Periardes, and deep, musing night
+    Near fair Eurotas' banks; what solemn green
+    The neighbour shades wear, and what forms are seen
+    In their large bowers, with that sad path and seat
+    Which none but light-heel'd nymphs and fairies beat;[55]
+    Their solitary life, and how exempt
+    From common frailty, the severe contempt
+    They have of man, their privilege to live
+    A tree, or fountain, and in that reprieve
+    What ages they consume, with the sad vale
+    Of Diophania, and the mournful tale,
+    Of th' bleeding vocal myrtle; these and more
+    Thy richer thoughts, we are upon the score
+    To thy rare fancy for, nor dost thou fall
+    From thy first majesty, or ought at all
+    Betray consumption; thy full vig'rous bays
+    Wear the same green, and scorn the lean decays
+    Of style, or matter. Just so have I known
+    Some crystal spring, that from the neighbour down
+    Deriv'd her birth, in gentle murmurs steal
+    To their next vale, and proudly there reveal
+    Her streams in louder accents, adding still
+    More noise and waters to her channel, till
+    At last swoln with increase she glides along
+    The lawns and meadows in a wanton throng
+    Of frothy billows, and in one great name
+    Swallows the tributary brooks' drown'd fame.
+      Nor are they mere inventions, for we
+    In th' same piece find scatter'd philosophy
+    And hidden, dispers'd truths that folded lie
+    In the dark shades of deep allegory;
+    So neatly weav'd, like arras, they descry
+    Fables with truth, fancy with history.
+    So that thou hast in this thy curious mould
+    Cast that commended mixture wish'd of old,
+    Which shall these contemplations render far
+    Less mutable, and lasting as their star,
+    And while there is a people or a sun,
+    Endymion's story with the moon shall run.
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[55] So Grosart, for the _heat_ of the original.
+
+
+
+
+AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF MR. R. W., SLAIN IN THE LATE UNFORTUNATE
+DIFFERENCES AT ROUTON HEATH, NEAR CHESTER, 1645.
+
+
+    I am confirmed, and so much wing is given
+    To my wild thoughts, that they dare strike at heav'n.
+    A full year's grief I struggled with, and stood
+    Still on my sandy hopes' uncertain good,
+    So loth was I to yield; to all those fears
+    I still oppos'd thee, and denied my tears.
+    But thou art gone! and the untimely loss
+    Like that one day hath made all others cross.
+    Have you seen on some river's flow'ry brow
+    A well-built elm or stately cedar grow,
+    Whose curled tops gilt with the morning-ray
+    Beckon'd the sun, and whisper'd to the day,
+    When unexpected from the angry North
+    A fatal sullen whirlwind sallies forth,
+    And with a full-mouth'd blast rends from the ground
+    The shady twins, which rushing scatter round
+    Their sighing leaves, whilst overborn with strength
+    Their trembling heads bow to a prostrate length?
+    So forc'd fell he; so immaturely Death
+    Stifled his able heart and active breath.
+    The world scarce knew him yet, his early soul
+    Had but new-broke her day, and rather stole
+    A sight than gave one; as if subtly she
+    Would learn our stock, but hide his treasury.
+    His years--should Time lay both his wings and glass
+    Unto his charge--could not be summ'd--alas!--
+    To a full score; though in so short a span
+    His riper thoughts had purchas'd more of man
+    Than all those worthless livers, which yet quick
+    Have quite outgone their own arithmetic.
+    He seiz'd perfections, and without a dull
+    And mossy grey possess'd a solid skull;
+    No crooked knowledge neither, nor did he
+    Wear the friend's name for ends and policy,
+    And then lay't by; as those lost youths of th' stage
+    Who only flourish'd for the Play's short age
+    And then retir'd; like jewels, in each part
+    He wore his friends, but chiefly at his heart.
+      Nor was it only in this he did excel,
+    His equal valour could as much, as well.
+    He knew no fear but of his God; yet durst
+    No injury, nor--as some have--e'er purs'd
+    The sweat and tears of others, yet would be
+    More forward in a royal gallantry
+    Than all those vast pretenders, which of late
+    Swell'd in the ruins of their king and State.
+    He weav'd not self-ends and the public good
+    Into one piece, nor with the people's blood
+    Fill'd his own veins; in all the doubtful way
+    Conscience and honour rul'd him. O that day
+    When like the fathers in the fire and cloud
+    I miss'd thy face! I might in ev'ry crowd
+    See arms like thine, and men advance, but none
+    So near to lightning mov'd, nor so fell on.
+    Have you observ'd how soon the nimble eye
+    Brings th' object to conceit, and doth so vie
+    Performance with the soul, that you would swear
+    The act and apprehension both lodg'd there;
+    Just so mov'd he: like shot his active hand
+    Drew blood, ere well the foe could understand.
+    But here I lost him. Whether the last turn
+    Of thy few sands call'd on thy hasty urn,
+    Or some fierce rapid fate--hid from the eye--
+    Hath hurl'd thee pris'ner to some distant sky,
+    I cannot tell, but that I do believe
+    Thy courage such as scorn'd a base reprieve.
+    Whatever 'twas, whether that day thy breath
+    Suffer'd a civil or the common death,
+    Which I do most suspect, and that I have
+    Fail'd in the glories of so known a grave;
+    Though thy lov'd ashes miss me, and mine eyes
+    Had no acquaintance with thy exequies,
+    Nor at the last farewell, torn from thy sight
+    On the cold sheet have fix'd a sad delight,
+    Yet whate'er pious hand--instead of mine--
+    Hath done this office to that dust of thine,
+    And till thou rise again from thy low bed
+    Lent a cheap pillow to thy quiet head,
+    Though but a private turf, it can do more
+    To keep thy name and memory in store
+    Than all those lordly fools which lock their bones
+    In the dumb piles of chested brass, and stones
+    Th'art rich in thy own fame, and needest not
+    These marble-frailties, nor the gilded blot
+    Of posthume honours; there is not one sand
+    Sleeps o'er thy grave, but can outbid that hand
+    And pencil too, so that of force we must
+    Confess their heaps show lesser than thy dust.
+      And--blessed soul!--though this my sorrow can
+    Add nought to thy perfections, yet as man
+    Subject to envy, and the common fate,
+    It may redeem thee to a fairer date.
+    As some blind dial, when the day is done,
+    Can tell us at midnight there was a sun,
+    So these perhaps, though much beneath thy fame,
+    May keep some weak remembrance of thy name,
+    And to the faith of better times commend
+    Thy loyal upright life, and gallant end.
+
+      _Nomen et arma locum servant, te, amice, nequivi_
+      _Conspicere_------------
+
+
+
+
+UPON A CLOAK LENT HIM BY MR. J. RIDSLEY.
+
+
+    Here, take again thy sackcloth! and thank heav'n
+    Thy courtship hath not kill'd me; Is't not even
+    Whether we die by piecemeal, or at once?
+    Since both but ruin, why then for the nonce
+    Didst husband my afflictions, and cast o'er
+    Me this forc'd hurdle to inflame the score?
+    Had I near London in this rug been seen
+    Without doubt I had executed been
+    For some bold Irish spy, and 'cross a sledge
+    Had lain mess'd up for their four gates and bridge.
+    When first I bore it, my oppressed feet
+    Would needs persuade me 'twas some leaden sheet;
+    Such deep impressions, and such dangerous holes
+    Were made, that I began to doubt my soles,
+    And ev'ry step--so near necessity--
+    Devoutly wish'd some honest cobbler by;
+    Besides it was so short, the Jewish rag
+    Seem'd circumcis'd, but had a Gentile shag.
+    Hadst thou been with me on that day, when we
+    Left craggy Biston, and the fatal Dee,
+    When beaten with fresh storms and late mishap
+    It shar'd the office of a cloak, and cap,
+    To see how 'bout my clouded head it stood
+    Like a thick turban, or some lawyer's hood,
+    While the stiff, hollow pleats on ev'ry side
+    Like conduit-pipes rain'd from the bearded hide:
+    I know thou wouldst in spite of that day's fate
+    Let loose thy mirth at my new shape and state,
+    And with a shallow smile or two profess
+    Some Saracen had lost the clouted dress.
+    Didst ever see the good wife--as they say--
+    March in her short cloak on the christ'ning day,
+    With what soft motions she salutes the church,
+    And leaves the bedrid mother in the lurch;
+    Just so jogg'd I, while my dull horse did trudge
+    Like a circuit-beast, plagu'd with a gouty judge.
+      But this was civil. I have since known more
+    And worser pranks: one night--as heretofore
+    Th' hast known--for want of change--a thing which I
+    And Bias us'd before me--I did lie
+    Pure Adamite, and simply for that end
+    Resolv'd, and made this for my bosom-friend.
+    O that thou hadst been there next morn, that I
+    Might teach thee new Micro-cosmo-graphy!
+    Thou wouldst have ta'en me, as I naked stood,
+    For one of the seven pillars before the flood.
+    Such characters and hieroglyphics were
+    In one night worn, that thou mightst justly swear
+    I'd slept in cere-cloth, or at Bedlam, where
+    The madmen lodge in straw. I'll not forbear
+    To tell thee all; his wild impress and tricks
+    Like Speed's old Britons made me look, or Picts;
+    His villanous, biting, wire-embraces
+    Had seal'd in me more strange forms and faces
+    Than children see in dreams, or thou hast read
+    In arras, puppet-plays, and gingerbread,
+    With angled schemes, and crosses that bred fear
+    Of being handled by some conjurer;
+    And nearer, thou wouldst think--such strokes were drawn--
+    I'd been some rough statue of Fetter-lane.
+    Nay, I believe, had I that instant been
+    By surgeons or apothecaries seen,
+    They had condemned my raz'd skin to be
+    Some walking herbal, or anatomy.
+      But--thanks to th' day!--'tis off. I'd now advise
+    Thee, friend, to put this piece to merchandise.
+    The pedlars of our age have business yet,
+    And gladly would against the Fair-day fit
+    Themselves with such a roof, that can secure
+    Their wares from dogs and cats rained in shower.
+    It shall perform; or if this will not do
+    'Twill take the ale-wives sure; 'twill make them two
+    Fine rooms of one, and spread upon a stick
+    Is a partition, without lime or brick.
+    Horn'd obstinacy! how my heart doth fret
+    To think what mouths and elbows it would set
+    In a wet day! have you for twopence ere
+    Seen King Harry's chapel at Westminster,
+    Where in their dusty gowns of brass and stone
+    The judges lie, and mark'd you how each one,
+    In sturdy marble-pleats about the knee,
+    Bears up to show his legs and symmetry?
+    Just so would this, that I think't weav'd upon
+    Some stiffneck'd Brownist's exercising loom.
+    O that thou hadst it when this juggling fate
+    Of soldiery first seiz'd me! at what rate
+    Would I have bought it then; what was there but
+    I would have giv'n for the compendious hut?
+    I do not doubt but--if the weight could please--
+    'Twould guard me better than a Lapland-lease.
+    Or a German shirt with enchanted lint
+    Stuff'd through, and th' devil's beard and face weav'd in't.
+      But I have done. And think not, friend, that I
+    This freedom took to jeer thy courtesy.
+    I thank thee for't, and I believe my Muse
+    So known to thee, thou'lt not suspect abuse.
+    She did this, 'cause--perhaps--thy love paid thus
+    Might with my thanks outlive thy cloak, and us.
+
+
+
+
+UPON MR. FLETCHER'S PLAYS, PUBLISHED 1647.
+
+
+    I knew thee not, nor durst attendance strive,
+    Label to wit, verser remonstrative,
+    And in some suburb-page--scandal to thine--
+    Like Lent before a Christmas scatter mine.
+    This speaks thee not, since at the utmost rate
+    Such remnants from thy piece entreat their date;
+    Nor can I dub the copy, or afford
+    Titles to swell the rear of verse with lord;
+    Nor politicly big, to inch low fame,
+    Stretch in the glories of a stranger's name,
+    And clip those bays I court; weak striver I,
+    But a faint echo unto poetry.
+    I have not clothes t'adopt me, nor must sit
+    For plush and velvet's sake, esquire of wit.
+    Yet modesty these crosses would improve,
+    And rags near thee, some reverence may move.
+      I did believe--great Beaumont being dead--
+    Thy widow'd Muse slept on his flow'ry bed;
+    But I am richly cozen'd, and can see
+    Wit transmigrates: his spirit stay'd with thee;
+    Which, doubly advantag'd by thy single pen,
+    In life and death now treads the stage again.
+    And thus are we freed from that dearth of wit
+    Which starv'd the land, since into schisms split,
+    Wherein th' hast done so much, we must needs guess
+    Wit's last edition is now i' th' press.
+    For thou hast drain'd invention, and he
+    That writes hereafter, doth but pillage thee.
+    But thou hast plots; and will not the Kirk strain
+    At the designs of such a tragic brain?
+    Will they themselves think safe, when they shall see
+    Thy most abominable policy?
+    Will not the Ears assemble, and think't fit
+    Their Synod fast and pray against thy wit?
+    But they'll not tire in such an idle quest;
+    Thou dost but kill, and circumvent in jest;
+    And when thy anger'd Muse swells to a blow
+    'Tis but for Field's, or Swansted's overthrow.
+    Yet shall these conquests of thy bays outlive
+    Their Scottish zeal, and compacts made to grieve
+    The peace of spirits: and when such deeds fail
+    Of their foul ends, a fair name is thy bail.
+    But--happy thou!--ne'er saw'st these storms, our air
+    Teem'd with even in thy time, though seeming fair.
+    Thy gentle soul, meant for the shade and ease,
+    Withdrew betimes into the Land of Peace.
+    So nested in some hospitable shore
+    The hermit-angler, when the mid-seas roar,
+    Packs up his lines, and--ere the tempest raves--
+    Retires, and leaves his station to the waves.
+    Thus thou died'st almost with our peace, and we
+    This breathing time thy last fair issue see,
+    Which I think such--if needless ink not soil
+    So choice a Muse--others are but thy foil.
+    This, or that age may write, but never see
+    A wit that dares run parallel with thee.
+    True, Ben must live! but bate him, and thou hast
+    Undone all future wits, and match'd the past.
+
+
+
+
+UPON THE POEMS AND PLAYS OF THE EVER-MEMORABLE MR. WILLIAM CARTWRIGHT.
+
+
+    I did but see thee! and how vain it is
+    To vex thee for it with remonstrances,
+    Though things in fashion; let those judge, who sit
+    Their twelve pence out, to clap their hands at wit
+    I fear to sin thus near thee; for--great saint!--
+    'Tis known true beauty hath no need of paint.
+      Yet, since a label fix'd to thy fair hearse
+    Is all the mode, and tears put into verse
+    Can teach posterity our present grief
+    And their own loss, but never give relief;
+    I'll tell them--and a truth which needs no pass--
+    That wit in Cartwright at her zenith was.
+    Arts, fancy, language, all conven'd in thee,
+    With those grand miracles which deify
+    The old world's writings, kept yet from the fire
+    Because they force these worst times to admire.
+    Thy matchless genius, in all thou didst write,
+    Like the sun, wrought with such staid heat and light,
+    That not a line--to the most critic he--
+    Offends with flashes, or obscurity.
+      When thou the wild of humours track'st, thy pen
+    So imitates that motley stock in men,
+    As if thou hadst in all their bosoms been,
+    And seen those leopards that lurk within.
+    The am'rous youth steals from thy courtly page
+    His vow'd address, the soldier his brave rage;
+    And those soft beauteous readers whose looks can
+    Make some men poets, and make any man
+    A lover, when thy slave but seems to die,
+    Turn all his mourners, and melt at the eye.
+    Thus thou thy thoughts hast dress'd in such a strain
+    As doth not only speak, but rule and reign;
+    Nor are those bodies they assum'd dark clouds,
+    Or a thick bark, but clear, transparent shrouds,
+    Which who looks on, the rays so strongly beat
+    They'll brush and warm him with a quick'ning heat;
+    So souls shine at the eyes, and pearls display
+    Through the loose crystal-streams a glance of day.
+    But what's all this unto a royal test?
+    Thou art the man whom great Charles so express'd!
+    Then let the crowd refrain their needless hum,
+    When thunder speaks, then squibs and winds are dumb.
+
+
+
+
+TO THE BEST AND MOST ACCOMPLISHED COUPLE----
+
+
+    Blessings as rich and fragrant crown your heads
+        As the mild heav'n on roses sheds,
+        When at their cheeks--like pearls--they wear
+        The clouds that court them in a tear!
+        And may they be fed from above
+        By Him which first ordain'd your love!
+
+    Fresh as the hours may all your pleasures be,
+        And healthful as eternity!
+        Sweet as the flowers' first breath, and close
+        As th' unseen spreadings of the rose,
+        When he unfolds his curtain'd head,
+        And makes his bosom the sun's bed!
+
+    Soft as yourselves run your whole lives, and clear
+        As your own glass, or what shines there!
+        Smooth as heav'n's face, and bright as he
+        When without mask or tiffany!
+        In all your time not one jar meet
+        But peace as silent as his feet!
+
+    Like the day's warmth may all your comforts be,
+        Untoil'd for, and serene as he,
+        Yet free and full as is that sheaf
+        Of sunbeams gilding ev'ry leaf,
+        When now the tyrant-heat expires
+        And his cool'd locks breathe milder fires!
+
+    And as those parcell'd glories he doth shed
+        Are the fair issues of his head,
+        Which, ne'er so distant, are soon known
+        By th' heat and lustre for his own;
+        So may each branch of yours we see
+        Your copies and our wonders be!
+
+    And when no more on earth you must remain,
+        Invited hence to heav'n again,
+        Then may your virtuous, virgin-flames
+        Shine in those heirs of your fair names,
+        And teach the world that mystery,
+        Yourselves in your posterity!
+
+    So you to both worlds shall rich presents bring,
+    And, gather'd up to heav'n, leave here a spring.
+
+
+
+
+AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF MR. R. HALL, SLAIN AT PONTEFRACT, 1648.
+
+
+    I knew it would be thus! and my just fears
+    Of thy great spirit are improv'd to tears.
+    Yet flow these not from any base distrust
+    Of a fair name, or that thy honour must
+    Confin'd to those cold relics sadly sit
+    In the same cell an obscure anchorite.
+    Such low distempers murder; they that must
+    Abuse thee so, weep not, but wound thy dust.
+      But I past such dim mourners can descry
+    Thy fame above all clouds of obloquy,
+    And like the sun with his victorious rays
+    Charge through that darkness to the last of days.
+    'Tis true, fair manhood hath a female eye,
+    And tears are beauteous in a victory,
+    Nor are we so high-proof, but grief will find
+    Through all our guards a way to wound the mind;
+    But in thy fall what adds the brackish sum
+    More than a blot unto thy martyrdom?
+    Which scorns such wretched suffrages, and stands
+    More by thy single worth than our whole bands.
+    Yet could the puling tribute rescue ought
+    In this sad loss, or wert thou to be brought
+    Back here by tears, I would in any wise
+    Pay down the sum, or quite consume my eyes.
+    Thou fell'st our double ruin; and this rent
+    Forc'd in thy life shak'd both the Church and tent.
+    Learning in others steals them from the van,
+    And basely wise emasculates the man,
+    But lodg'd in thy brave soul the bookish feat
+    Serv'd only as the light unto thy heat.
+    Thus when some quitted action, to their shame,
+    And only got a discreet coward's name,
+    Thou with thy blood mad'st purchase of renown,
+    And died'st the glory of the sword and gown.
+    Thy blood hath hallow'd Pomfret, and this blow
+    --Profan'd before--hath church'd the Castle now.
+      Nor is't a common valour we deplore,
+    But such as with fifteen a hundred bore,
+    And lightning-like--not coop'd within a wall--
+    In storms of fire and steel fell on them all.
+    Thou wert no woolsack soldier, nor of those
+    Whose courage lies in winking at their foes,
+    That live at loopholes, and consume their breath
+    On match or pipes, and sometimes peep at death;
+    No, it were sin to number these with thee,
+    But that--thus pois'd--our loss we better see.
+    The fair and open valour was thy shield,
+    And thy known station, the defying field.
+      Yet these in thee I would not virtues call,
+    But that this age must know that thou hadst all.
+    Those richer graces that adorn'd thy mind
+    Like stars of the first magnitude, so shin'd,
+    That if oppos'd unto these lesser lights
+    All we can say is this, they were fair nights.
+    Thy piety and learning did unite,
+    And though with sev'ral beams made up one light,
+    And such thy judgment was, that I dare swear
+    Whole councils might as soon and synods err.
+      But all these now are out! and as some star
+    Hurl'd in diurnal motions from far,
+    And seen to droop at night, is vainly said
+    To fall and find an occidental bed,
+    Though in that other world what we judge West
+    Proves elevation, and a new, fresh East;
+    So though our weaker sense denies us sight,
+    And bodies cannot trace the spirit's flight,
+    We know those graces to be still in thee,
+    But wing'd above us to eternity.
+    Since then--thus flown--thou art so much refin'd
+    That we can only reach thee with the mind,
+    I will not in this dark and narrow glass
+    Let thy scant shadow for perfections pass,
+    But leave thee to be read more high, more quaint,
+    In thy own blood a soldier and a saint.
+
+        ----_Salve aeternum mihi maxime Palla!_
+        _Aeternumque vale!_----
+
+
+
+
+TO MY LEARNED FRIEND, MR. T. POWELL, UPON HIS TRANSLATION OF MALVEZZI'S
+CHRISTIAN POLITICIAN.
+
+
+    We thank you, worthy Sir, that now we see
+    MALVEZZI languag'd like our infancy,
+    And can without suspicion entertain
+    This foreign statesman to our breast or brain;
+    You have enlarg'd his praise, and from your store
+    By this edition made his worth the more.
+    Thus by your learned hand--amidst the coil--
+    Outlandish plants thrive in our thankless soil,
+    And wise men after death, by a strange fate,
+    Lie leiger here, and beg to serve our State.
+    Italy now, though mistress of the bays,
+    Waits on this wreath, proud of a foreign praise;
+    For, wise Malvezzi, thou didst lie before
+    Confin'd within the language of one shore,
+    And like those stars which near the poles do steer
+    Were't but in one part of the globe seen clear.
+    Provence and Naples were the best and most
+    Thou couldst shine in; fix'd to that single coast,
+    Perhaps some cardinal, to be thought wise,
+    And honest too, would ask, what was thy price?
+    Then thou must pack to Rome, where thou mightst lie
+    Ere thou shouldst have new clothes eternally,
+    For though so near the sev'n hills, ne'ertheless
+    Thou cam'st to Antwerp for thy Roman dress.
+    But now thou art come hither, thou mayst run
+    Through any clime as well known as the sun,
+    And in thy sev'ral dresses, like the year,
+    Challenge acquaintance with each peopled sphere.
+      Come then, rare politicians of the time,
+    Brains of some standing, elders in our clime,
+    See here the method. A wise, solid State
+    Is quick in acting, friendly in debate,
+    Joint in advice, in resolutions just,
+    Mild in success, true to the common trust.
+    It cements ruptures, and by gentle hand
+    Allays the heat and burnings of a land;
+    Religion guides it, and in all the tract
+    Designs so twist, that Heav'n confirms the act.
+    If from these lists you wander as you steer,
+    Look back, and catechize your actions here.
+    These are the marks to which true statesmen tend,
+    And greatness here with goodness hath one end.
+
+
+
+
+TO MY WORTHY FRIEND, MASTER T. LEWES.
+
+
+    Sees not my friend, what a deep snow
+    Candies our country's woody brow?
+    The yielding branch his load scarce bears,
+    Oppress'd with snow and frozen tears;
+    While the dumb rivers slowly float,
+    All bound up in an icy coat.
+      Let us meet then! and while this world
+    In wild eccentrics now is hurl'd,
+    Keep we, like nature, the same key,
+    And walk in our forefathers' way.
+    Why any more cast we an eye
+    On what may come, not what is nigh?
+    Why vex ourselves with fear, or hope
+    And cares beyond our horoscope?
+    Who into future times would peer,
+    Looks oft beyond his term set here,
+    And cannot go into those grounds
+    But through a churchyard, which them bounds.
+    Sorrows and sighs and searches spend
+    And draw our bottom to an end,
+    But discreet joys lengthen the lease,
+    Without which life were a disease;
+    And who this age a mourner goes,
+    Doth with his tears but feed his foes
+
+
+
+
+TO THE MOST EXCELLENTLY ACCOMPLISHED MRS. K. PHILIPS.
+
+
+    Say, witty fair one, from what sphere
+    Flow these rich numbers you shed here?
+    For sure such incantations come
+    From thence, which strike your readers dumb.
+    A strain, whose measures gently meet
+    Like virgin-lovers or Time's feet;
+    Where language smiles, and accents rise
+    As quick and pleasing as your eyes;
+    The poem smooth, and in each line
+    Soft as yourself, yet masculine;
+    Where not coarse trifles blot the page
+    With matter borrow'd from the age,
+    But thoughts as innocent and high
+    As angels have, or saints that die.
+      These raptures when I first did see
+    New miracles in poetry,
+    And by a hand their good would miss
+    His bays and fountains but to kiss,
+    My weaker genius--cross to fashion--
+    Slept in a silent admiration:
+    A rescue, by whose grave disguise
+    Pretenders oft have pass'd for wise.
+    And yet as pilgrims humbly touch
+    Those shrines to which they bow so much,
+    And clouds in courtship flock, and run
+    To be the mask unto the sun,
+    So I concluded it was true
+    I might at distance worship you,
+    A Persian votary, and say
+    It was your light show'd me the way.
+    So loadstones guide the duller steel,
+    And high perfections are the wheel
+    Which moves the less, for gifts divine
+    Are strung upon a vital line,
+    Which, touch'd by you, excites in all
+    Affections epidemical.
+    And this made me--a truth most fit--
+    Add my weak echo to your wit;
+    Which pardon, Lady, for assays
+    Obscure as these might blast your bays;
+    As common hands soil flow'rs, and make
+    That dew they wear weep the mistake.
+    But I'll wash off the stain, and vow
+    No laurel grows but for your brow.
+
+
+
+
+AN EPITAPH UPON THE LADY ELIZABETH, SECOND DAUGHTER TO HIS LATE MAJESTY.
+
+
+    Youth, beauty, virtue, innocence,
+    Heav'n's royal and select expense,
+    With virgin-tears and sighs divine
+    Sit here the genii of this shrine;
+    Where now--thy fair soul wing'd away--
+    They guard the casket where she lay.
+      Thou hadst, ere thou the light couldst see,
+    Sorrows laid up and stor'd for thee;
+    Thou suck'dst in woes, and the breasts lent
+    Their milk to thee but to lament;
+    Thy portion here was grief, thy years
+    Distill'd no other rain but tears,
+    Tears without noise, but--understood--
+    As loud and shrill as any blood.
+    Thou seem'st a rosebud born in snow,
+    A flower of purpose sprung to bow
+    To headless tempests, and the rage
+    Of an incensed, stormy age.
+    Others, ere their afflictions grow,
+    Are tim'd and season'd for the blow,
+    But thine, as rheums the tend'rest part,
+    Fell on a young and harmless heart.
+    And yet, as balm-trees gently spend
+    Their tears for those that do them rend,
+    So mild and pious thou wert seen,
+    Though full of suff'rings; free from spleen,
+    Thou didst not murmur, nor revile,
+    But drank'st thy wormwood with a smile.
+      As envious eyes blast and infect,
+    And cause misfortunes by aspect,
+    So thy sad stars dispens'd to thee
+    No influx but calamity;
+    They view'd thee with eclipsed rays,
+    And but the back side of bright days.
+
+           *       *       *       *       *
+
+    These were the comforts she had here,
+    As by an unseen Hand 'tis clear,
+    Which now she reads, and, smiling, wears
+    A crown with Him who wipes off tears.
+
+
+
+
+TO SIR WILLIAM D'AVENANT UPON HIS GONDIBERT.
+
+
+    Well, we are rescued! and by thy rare pen
+    Poets shall live, when princes die like men.
+    Th' hast clear'd the prospect to our harmless hill,
+    Of late years clouded with imputed ill,
+    And the soft, youthful couples there may move,
+    As chaste as stars converse and smile above.
+    Th' hast taught their language and their love to flow
+    Calm as rose-leaves, and cool as virgin-snow,
+    Which doubly feasts us, being so refin'd,
+    They both delight and dignify the mind;
+    Like to the wat'ry music of some spring,
+    Whose pleasant flowings at once wash and sing.
+      And where before heroic poems were
+    Made up of spirits, prodigies, and fear,
+    And show'd--through all the melancholy flight--
+    Like some dark region overcast with night,
+    As if the poet had been quite dismay'd,
+    While only giants and enchantments sway'd;
+    Thou like the sun, whose eye brooks no disguise,
+    Hast chas'd them hence, and with discoveries
+    So rare and learned fill'd the place, that we
+    Those fam'd grandezas find outdone by thee,
+    And underfoot see all those vizards hurl'd
+    Which bred the wonder of the former world.
+    'Twas dull to sit, as our forefathers did,
+    At crumbs and voiders, and because unbid,
+    Refrain wise appetite. This made thy fire
+    Break through the ashes of thy aged sire,
+    To lend the world such a convincing light
+    As shows his fancy darker than his sight.
+    Nor was't alone the bars and length of days
+    --Though those gave strength and stature to his bays--
+    Encounter'd thee, but what's an old complaint
+    And kills the fancy, a forlorn restraint.
+    How couldst thou, mur'd in solitary stones,
+    Dress Birtha's smiles, though well thou mightst her groans?
+    And, strangely eloquent, thyself divide
+    'Twixt sad misfortunes and a bloomy bride?
+    Through all the tenour of thy ample song,
+    Spun from thy own rich store, and shar'd among
+    Those fair adventurers, we plainly see
+    Th' imputed gifts inherent are in thee.
+    Then live for ever--and by high desert--
+    In thy own mirror, matchless Gondibert,
+    And in bright Birtha leave thy love enshrin'd
+    Fresh as her em'rald, and fair as her mind,
+    While all confess thee--as they ought to do--
+    The prince of poets, and of lovers too.
+
+
+
+
+[OVID,] TRISTIUM, LIB. V. ELEG. III.
+
+TO HIS FELLOW-POETS AT ROME, UPON THE BIRTHDAY OF BACCHUS.
+
+
+    This is the day--blithe god of sack--which we,
+    If I mistake not, consecrate to thee,
+    When the soft rose we marry to the bays,
+    And, warm'd with thy own wine, rehearse thy praise;
+    'Mongst whom--while to thy poet fate gave way--
+    I have been held no small part of the day.
+    But now, dull'd with the cold Bear's frozen seat,
+    Sarmatia holds me, and the warlike Gete.
+    My former life, unlike to this my last,
+    With Rome's best wits of thy full cup did taste,
+    Who since have seen the savage Pontic band,
+    And all the choler of the sea and land.
+    Whether sad chance or Heav'n hath this design'd,
+    And at my birth some fatal planet shin'd,
+    Of right thou shouldst the sisters' knots undo,
+    And free thy votary and poet too;
+    Or are you gods--like us--in such a state
+    As cannot alter the decrees of fate?
+    I know with much ado thou didst obtain
+    Thy jovial godhead, and on earth thy pain
+    Was no whit less, for, wand'ring, thou didst run
+    To the Getes too, and snow-weeping Strymon,
+    With Persia, Ganges, and whatever streams
+    The thirsty Moor drinks in the mid-day beams.
+    But thou wert twice-born, and the Fates to thee
+    --To make all sure--doubled thy misery.
+    My sufferings too are many--if it be
+    Held safe for me to boast adversity--
+    Nor was't a common blow, but from above,
+    Like his that died for imitating Jove;
+    Which, when thou heardst, a ruin so divine
+    And mother-like should make thee pity mine,
+    And on this day, which poets unto thee
+    Crown with full bowls, ask what's become of me?
+      Help, buxom god, then! so may thy lov'd vine
+    Swarm with the num'rous grape, and big with wine
+    Load the kind elm, and so thy orgies be
+    With priests' loud shouts and satyrs' kept to thee!
+    So may in death Lycurgus ne'er be blest,
+    Nor Pentheus' wand'ring ghost find any rest!
+    And so for ever bright--thy chief desires--
+    May thy wife's crown outshine the lesser fires!
+    If but now, mindful of my love to thee,
+    Thou wilt, in what thou canst, my helper be.
+    You gods have commerce with yourselves; try then
+    If Caesar will restore me Rome again.
+      And you, my trusty friends--the jolly crew
+    Of careless poets! when, without me, you
+    Perform this day's glad myst'ries, let it be
+    Your first appeal unto his deity,
+    And let one of you--touch'd with my sad name--
+    Mixing his wine with tears, lay down the same,
+    And--sighing--to the rest this thought commend,
+    O! where is Ovid now, our banish'd friend?
+    This do, if in your breasts I e'er deserv'd
+    So large a share, nor spitefully reserv'd,
+    Nor basely sold applause, or with a brow
+    Condemning others, did myself allow.
+    And may your happier wits grow loud with fame
+    As you--my best of friends!--preserve my name.
+
+
+
+
+[OVID, EPISTOLARUM] DE PONTO, LIB. III. [EPIST. VII.].
+
+TO HIS FRIENDS--AFTER HIS MANY SOLICITATIONS--REFUSING TO PETITION CAESAR
+FOR HIS RELEASEMENT.
+
+
+    You have consum'd my language, and my pen,
+    Incens'd with begging, scorns to write again.
+    You grant, you knew my suit: my Muse and I
+    Had taught it you in frequent elegy.
+    That I believe--yet seal'd--you have divin'd
+    Our repetitions, and forestall'd my mind,
+    So that my thronging elegies and I
+    Have made you--more than poets--prophesy.
+      But I am now awak'd; forgive my dream
+    Which made me cross the proverb and the stream,
+    And pardon, friends, that I so long have had
+    Such good thoughts of you; I am not so mad
+    As to continue them. You shall no more
+    Complain of troublesome verse, or write o'er
+    How I endanger you, and vex my wife
+    With the sad legends of a banish'd life.
+    I'll bear these plagues myself: for I have pass'd
+    Through greater ones, and can as well at last
+    These petty crosses. 'Tis for some young beast
+    To kick his bands, or wish his neck releas'd
+    From the sad yoke. Know then, that as for me
+    Whom Fate hath us'd to such calamity,
+    I scorn her spite and yours, and freely dare
+    The highest ills your malice can prepare.
+      'Twas Fortune threw me hither, where I now
+    Rude Getes and Thrace see, with the snowy brow
+    Of cloudy Aemus, and if she decree
+    Her sportive pilgrim's last bed here must be,
+    I am content; nay, more, she cannot do
+    That act which I would not consent unto.
+    I can delight in vain hopes, and desire
+    That state more than her change and smiles; then high'r
+    I hug a strong despair, and think it brave
+    To baffle faith, and give those hopes a grave.
+    Have you not seen cur'd wounds enlarg'd, and he
+    That with the first wave sinks, yielding to th' free
+    Waters, without th' expense of arms or breath,
+    Hath still the easiest and the quickest death.
+    Why nurse I sorrows then? why these desires
+    Of changing Scythia for the sun and fires
+    Of some calm kinder air? what did bewitch
+    My frantic hopes to fly so vain a pitch,
+    And thus outrun myself? Madman! could I
+    Suspect fate had for me a courtesy?
+    These errors grieve: and now I must forget
+    Those pleas'd ideas I did frame and set
+    Unto myself, with many fancied springs
+    And groves, whose only loss new sorrow brings.
+    And yet I would the worst of fate endure,
+    Ere you should be repuls'd, or less secure.
+    But--base, low souls!--you left me not for this,
+    But 'cause you durst not. Caesar could not miss
+    Of such a trifle, for I know that he
+    Scorns the cheap triumphs of my misery.
+      Then since--degen'rate friends--not he, but you
+    Cancel my hopes, and make afflictions new,
+    You shall confess, and fame shall tell you, I
+    At Ister dare as well as Tiber die.
+
+
+
+
+[OVID, EPISTOLARUM] DE PONTO, LIB. IV. EPIST. III.
+
+TO HIS INCONSTANT FRIEND, TRANSLATED FOR THE USE OF ALL THE JUDASES OF
+THIS TOUCHSTONE-AGE.
+
+
+    Shall I complain, or not? or shall I mask
+    Thy hateful name, and in this bitter task
+    Master my just impatience, and write down
+    Thy crime alone, and leave the rest unknown?
+    Or wilt thou the succeeding years should see
+    And teach thy person to posterity?
+    No, hope it not; for know, most wretched man,
+    'Tis not thy base and weak detraction can
+    Buy thee a poem, nor move me to give
+    Thy name the honour in my verse to live.
+      Whilst yet my ship did with no storms dispute,
+    And temp'rate winds fed with a calm salute
+    My prosp'rous sails, thou wert the only man
+    That with me then an equal fortune ran;
+    But now since angry heav'n with clouds and night
+    Stifled those sunbeams, thou hast ta'en thy flight;
+    Thou know'st I want thee, and art merely gone
+    To shun that rescue I reli'd upon;
+    Nay, thou dissemblest too, and dost disclaim
+    Not only my acquaintance, but my name.
+      Yet know--though deaf to this--that I am he
+    Whose years and love had the same infancy
+    With thine, thy deep familiar that did share
+    Souls with thee, and partake thy joys or care;
+    Whom the same roof lodg'd, and my Muse those nights
+    So solemnly endear'd to her delights.
+    But now, perfidious traitor, I am grown
+    The abject of thy breast, not to be known
+    In that false closet more; nay, thou wilt not
+    So much as let me know I am forgot.
+    If thou wilt say thou didst not love me, then
+    Thou didst dissemble: or if love again,
+    Why now inconstant? Came the crime from me
+    That wrought this change? Sure, if no justice be
+    Of my side, thine must have it. Why dost hide
+    Thy reasons then? For me, I did so guide
+    Myself and actions, that I cannot see
+    What could offend thee, but my misery.
+    'Las! if thou wouldst not from thy store allow
+    Some rescue to my wants, at least I know
+    Thou couldst have writ, and with a line or two
+    Reliev'd my famish'd eye, and eas'd me so.
+    I know not what to think! and yet I hear,
+    Not pleas'd with this, th'art witty, and dost jeer.
+    Bad man! thou hast in this those tears kept back
+    I could have shed for thee, shouldst thou but lack.
+    Know'st not that Fortune on a globe doth stand,
+    Whose upper slipp'ry part without command
+    Turns lowest still? the sportive leaves and wind
+    Are but dull emblems of her fickle mind.
+    In the whole world there's nothing I can see
+    Will throughly parallel her ways but thee.
+    All that we hold hangs on a slender twine,
+    And our best states by sudden chance decline.
+    Who hath not heard of Cr[oe]sus' proverb'd gold,
+    Yet knows his foe did him a pris'ner hold?
+    He that once aw'd Sicilia's proud extent
+    By a poor art could famine scarce prevent;
+    And mighty Pompey, ere he made an end,
+    Was glad to beg his slave to be his friend.
+    Nay, he that had so oft Rome's consul been,
+    And forc'd Jugurtha and the Cimbrians in,
+    Great Marius! with much want and more disgrace,
+    In a foul marsh was glad to hide his face.
+    A Divine hand sways all mankind, and we
+    Of one short hour have not the certainty.
+    Hadst thou one day told me the time should be
+    When the Getes' bows, and th' Euxine I should see,
+    I should have check'd thy madness, and have thought
+    Th' hadst need of all Anticyra in a draught.
+    And yet 'tis come to pass! nor, though I might
+    Some things foresee, could I procure a sight
+    Of my whole destiny, and free my state
+    From those eternal, higher ties of fate.
+    Leave then thy pride, and though now brave and high,
+    Think thou mayst be as poor and low as I.
+
+
+
+
+[OVID,] TRISTIUM, LIB. III. ELEG. III.
+
+TO HIS WIFE AT ROME, WHEN HE WAS SICK.
+
+
+    Dearest! if you those fair eyes--wond'ring--stick
+    On this strange character, know I am sick;
+    Sick in the skirts of the lost world, where I
+    Breathe hopeless of all comforts, but to die.
+    What heart--think'st thou?--have I in this sad seat,
+    Tormented 'twixt the Sauromate and Gete?
+    Nor air nor water please: their very sky
+    Looks strange and unaccustom'd to my eye;
+    I scarce dare breathe it, and, I know not how,
+    The earth that bears me shows unpleasant now.
+    Nor diet here's, nor lodging for my ease,
+    Nor any one that studies a disease;
+    No friend to comfort me, none to defray
+    With smooth discourse the charges of the day.
+    All tir'd alone I lie, and--thus--whate'er
+    Is absent, and at Rome, I fancy here.
+    But when thou com'st, I blot the airy scroll,
+    And give thee full possession of my soul.
+    Thee--absent--I embrace, thee only voice.
+    And night and day belie a husband's joys.
+    Nay, of thy name so oft I mention make
+    That I am thought distracted for thy sake.
+    When my tir'd spirits fail, and my sick heart
+    Draws in that fire which actuates each part,
+    If any say, th'art come! I force my pain,
+    And hope to see thee gives me life again.
+    Thus I for thee, whilst thou--perhaps--more blest,
+    Careless of me dost breathe all peace and rest,
+    Which yet I think not, for--dear soul!--too well
+    Know I thy grief, since my first woes befell.
+    But if strict Heav'n my stock of days hath spun,
+    And with my life my error will be gone,
+    How easy then--O Caesar!--were't for thee
+    To pardon one, that now doth cease to be?
+    That I might yield my native air this breath,
+    And banish not my ashes after death.
+    Would thou hadst either spar'd me until dead,
+    Or with my blood redeem'd my absent head!
+    Thou shouldst have had both freely, but O! thou
+    Wouldst have me live to die an exile now.
+    And must I then from Rome so far meet death,
+    And double by the place my loss of breath?
+    Nor in my last of hours on my own bed
+    --In the sad conflict--rest my dying head?
+    Nor my soul's whispers--the last pledge of life,--
+    Mix with the tears and kisses of a wife?
+    My last words none must treasure, none will rise
+    And--with a tear--seal up my vanquish'd eyes;
+    Without these rites I die, distress'd in all
+    The splendid sorrows of a funeral;
+    Unpitied, and unmourn'd for, my sad head
+    In a strange land goes friendless to the dead.
+    When thou hear'st this, O! how thy faithful soul
+    Will sink, whilst grief doth ev'ry part control!
+    How often wilt thou look this way, and cry,
+    O! where is't yonder that my love doth lie?
+    Yet spare these tears, and mourn not thou for me,
+    Long since--dear heart!--have I been dead to thee.
+    Think then I died, when thee and Rome I lost,
+    That death to me more grief than this hath cost.
+    Now, if thou canst--but thou canst not--best wife,
+    Rejoice, my cares are ended with my life.
+    At least, yield not to sorrows, frequent use
+    Should make these miseries to thee no news.
+    And here I wish my soul died with my breath,
+    And that no part of me were free from death;
+    For, if it be immortal, and outlives
+    The body, as Pythagoras believes,
+    Betwixt these Sarmates' ghosts, a Roman I
+    Shall wander, vex'd to all eternity.
+      But thou--for after death I shall be free--
+    Fetch home these bones, and what is left of me;
+    A few flow'rs give them, with some balm, and lay
+    Them in some suburb grave, hard by the way;
+    And to inform posterity, who's there,
+    This sad inscription let my marble wear;
+    "Here lies the soft-soul'd lecturer of love,
+    Whose envi'd wit did his own ruin prove.
+    But thou,--whoe'er thou be'st, that, passing by,
+    Lend'st to this sudden stone a hasty eye,
+    If e'er thou knew'st of love the sweet disease,
+    Grudge not to say, May Ovid rest in peace!"
+    This for my tomb: but in my books they'll see
+    More strong and lasting monuments of me,
+    Which I believe--though fatal--will afford
+    An endless name unto their ruin'd lord.
+      And now thus gone, it rests, for love of me,
+    Thou show'st some sorrow to my memory;
+    Thy funeral off'rings to my ashes bear,
+    With wreaths of cypress bath'd in many a tear.
+    Though nothing there but dust of me remain,
+    Yet shall that dust perceive thy pious pain.
+    But I have done, and my tir'd, sickly head,
+    Though I would fain write more, desires the bed;
+    Take then this word--perhaps my last--to tell,
+    Which though I want, I wish it thee, farewell!
+
+
+
+
+AUSONII. IDYLL VI.
+
+CUPIDO [CRUCI AFFIXUS].
+
+
+    In those bless'd fields of everlasting air
+    --Where to a myrtle grove the souls repair
+    Of deceas'd lovers--the sad, thoughtful ghosts
+    Of injur'd ladies meet, where each accosts
+    The other with a sigh, whose very breath
+    Would break a heart, and--kind souls--love in death.
+    A thick wood clouds their walks, where day scarce peeps,
+    And on each hand cypress and poppy sleeps;
+    The drowsy rivers slumber, and springs there
+    Blab not, but softly melt into a tear;
+    A sickly dull air fans them, which can have,
+    When most in force, scarce breath to build a wave.
+    On either bank through the still shades appear
+    A scene of pensive flow'rs, whose bosoms wear
+    Drops of a lover's blood, the emblem'd truths
+    Of deep despair, and love-slain kings and youths.
+    The Hyacinth, and self-enamour'd boy
+    Narcissus flourish there, with Venus' joy,
+    The spruce Adonis, and that prince whose flow'r
+    Hath sorrow languag'd on him to this hour;
+    All sad with love they hang their heads, and grieve
+    As if their passions in each leaf did live;
+    And here--alas!--these soft-soul'd ladies stray,
+    And--O! too late!--treason in love betray.
+      Her blasted birth sad Semele repeats,
+    And with her tears would quench the thund'rer's heats,
+    Then shakes her bosom, as if fir'd again,
+    And fears another lightning's flaming train.
+    The lovely Procris here bleeds, sighs, and swoons,
+    Then wakes, and kisses him that gave her wounds.
+    Sad Hero holds a torch forth, and doth light
+    Her lost Leander through the waves and night,
+    Her boatman desp'rate Sappho still admires,
+    And nothing but the sea can quench her fires.
+    Distracted Phaedra with a restless eye
+    Her disdain'd letters reads, then casts them by.
+    Rare, faithful Thisbe--sequest'red from these--
+    A silent, unseen sorrow doth best please;
+    For her love's sake and last good-night poor she
+    Walks in the shadow of a mulberry.
+    Near her young Canace with Dido sits,
+    A lovely couple, but of desp'rate wits;
+    Both di'd alike, both pierc'd their tender breasts,
+    This with her father's sword, that with her guest's.
+    Within the thickest textures of the grove
+    Diana in her silver beams doth rove;
+    Her crown of stars the pitchy air invades,
+    And with a faint light gilds the silent shades,
+    Whilst her sad thoughts, fix'd on her sleepy lover,
+    To Latmos hill and his retirements move her.
+    A thousand more through the wide, darksome wood
+    Feast on their cares, the maudlin lover's food;
+    For grief and absence do but edge desire,
+    And death is fuel to a lover's fire.
+      To see these trophies of his wanton bow,
+    Cupid comes in, and all in triumph now--
+    Rash unadvised boy!--disperseth round
+    The sleepy mists; his wings and quiver wound
+    With noise the quiet air. This sudden stir
+    Betrays his godship, and as we from far
+    A clouded, sickly moon observe, so they
+    Through the false mists his eclips'd torch betray.
+    A hot pursuit they make, and, though with care
+    And a slow wing, he softly stems the air,
+    Yet they--as subtle now as he--surround
+    His silenc'd course, and with the thick night bound
+    Surprise the wag. As in a dream we strive
+    To voice our thoughts, and vainly would revive
+    Our entranc'd tongues, but cannot speech enlarge,
+    'Till the soul wakes and reassumes her charge;
+    So, joyous of their prize, they flock about
+    And vainly swell with an imagin'd shout.
+      Far in these shades and melancholy coasts
+    A myrtle grows, well known to all the ghosts,
+    Whose stretch'd top--like a great man rais'd by Fate--
+    Looks big, and scorns his neighbour's low estate;
+    His leafy arms into a green cloud twist,
+    And on each branch doth sit a lazy mist,
+    A fatal tree, and luckless to the gods,
+    Where for disdain in life--Love's worst of odds--
+    The queen of shades, fair Proserpine, did rack
+    The sad Adonis: hither now they pack
+    This little god, where, first disarm'd, they bind
+    His skittish wings, then both his hands behind
+    His back they tie, and thus secur'd at last,
+    The peevish wanton to the tree make fast.
+    Here at adventure, without judge or jury,
+    He is condemn'd, while with united fury
+    They all assail him. As a thief at bar
+    Left to the law, and mercy of his star,
+    Hath bills heap'd on him, and is question'd there
+    By all the men that have been robb'd that year;
+    So now whatever Fate or their own will
+    Scor'd up in life, Cupid must pay the bill.
+    Their servant's falsehood, jealousy, disdain,
+    And all the plagues that abus'd maids can feign,
+    Are laid on him, and then to heighten spleen,
+    Their own deaths crown the sum. Press'd thus between
+    His fair accusers, 'tis at last decreed
+    He by those weapons, that they died, should bleed.
+    One grasps an airy sword, a second holds
+    Illusive fire, and in vain wanton folds
+    Belies a flame; others, less kind, appear
+    To let him blood, and from the purple tear
+    Create a rose. But Sappho all this while
+    Harvests the air, and from a thicken'd pile
+    Of clouds like Leucas top spreads underneath
+    A sea of mists; the peaceful billows breathe
+    Without all noise, yet so exactly move
+    They seem to chide, but distant from above
+    Reach not the ear, and--thus prepar'd--at once
+    She doth o'erwhelm him with the airy sconce.
+    Amidst these tumults, and as fierce as they,
+    Venus steps in, and without thought or stay
+    Invades her son; her old disgrace is cast
+    Into the bill, when Mars and she made fast
+    In their embraces were expos'd to all
+    The scene of gods, stark naked in their fall.
+    Nor serves a verbal penance, but with haste
+    From her fair brow--O happy flow'rs so plac'd!--
+    She tears a rosy garland, and with this
+    Whips the untoward boy; they gently kiss
+    His snowy skin, but she with angry haste
+    Doubles her strength, until bedew'd at last
+    With a thin bloody sweat, their innate red,
+    --As if griev'd with the act--grew pale and dead.
+    This laid their spleen; and now--kind souls--no more
+    They'll punish him; the torture that he bore
+    Seems greater than his crime; with joint consent
+    Fate is made guilty, and he innocent.
+    As in a dream with dangers we contest,
+    And fictious pains seem to afflict our rest,
+    So, frighted only in these shades of night,
+    Cupid--got loose--stole to the upper light,
+    Where ever since--for malice unto these--
+    The spiteful ape doth either sex displease.
+    But O! that had these ladies been so wise
+    To keep his arms, and give him but his eyes!
+
+
+
+
+BOET[HIUS, DE CONSOLATIONE]
+
+LIB. I. METRUM I.
+
+
+    I whose first year flourish'd with youthful verse,
+    In slow, sad numbers now my grief rehearse.
+    A broken style my sickly lines afford,
+    And only tears give weight unto my words.
+    Yet neither fate nor force my Muse could fright,
+    The only faithful consort of my flight.
+    Thus what was once my green years' greatest glory,
+    Is now my comfort, grown decay'd and hoary;
+    For killing cares th' effects of age spurr'd on,
+    That grief might find a fitting mansion;
+    O'er my young head runs an untimely grey,
+    And my loose skin shrinks at my blood's decay.
+    Happy the man, whose death in prosp'rous years
+    Strikes not, nor shuns him in his age and tears!
+    But O! how deaf is she to hear the cry
+    Of th' oppress'd soul, or shut the weeping eye!
+    While treach'rous Fortune with slight honours fed
+    My first estate, she almost drown'd my head,
+    And now since--clouded thus--she hides those rays,
+    Life adds unwelcom'd length unto my days.
+    Why then, my friends, judg'd you my state so good?
+    He that may fall once, never firmly stood.
+
+
+
+
+METRUM II.
+
+
+    O in what haste, with clouds and night
+    Eclips'd, and having lost her light,
+    The dull soul whom distraction rends
+    Into outward darkness tends!
+    How often--by these mists made blind--
+    Have earthly cares oppress'd the mind!
+      This soul, sometimes wont to survey
+    The spangled Zodiac's fiery way,
+    Saw th' early sun in roses dress'd,
+    With the cool moon's unstable crest,
+    And whatsoever wanton star,
+    In various courses near or far,
+    Pierc'd through the orbs, he could full well
+    Track all her journey, and would tell
+    Her mansions, turnings, rise and fall,
+    By curious calculation all.
+    Of sudden winds the hidden cause,
+    And why the calm sea's quiet face
+    With impetuous waves is curl'd,
+    What spirit wheels th' harmonious world,
+    Or why a star dropp'd in the west
+    Is seen to rise again by east,
+    Who gives the warm Spring temp'rate hours,
+    Decking the Earth with spicy flow'rs,
+    Or how it comes--for man's recruit--
+    That Autumn yields both grape and fruit,
+    With many other secrets, he
+    Could show the cause and mystery.
+      But now that light is almost out,
+    And the brave soul lies chain'd about
+    With outward cares, whose pensive weight
+    Sinks down her eyes from their first height.
+    And clean contrary to her birth
+    Pores on this vile and foolish Earth.
+
+
+
+
+METRUM IV.
+
+
+    Whose calm soul in a settled state
+    Kicks under foot the frowns of Fate,
+    And in his fortunes, bad or good,
+    Keeps the same temper in his blood;
+    Not him the flaming clouds above,
+    Nor Aetna's fiery tempests move;
+    No fretting seas from shore to shore,
+    Boiling with indignation o'er,
+    Nor burning thunderbolt that can
+    A mountain shake, can stir this man.
+    Dull cowards then! why should we start
+    To see these tyrants act their part?
+    Nor hope, nor fear what may befall,
+    And you disarm their malice all.
+    But who doth faintly fear or wish,
+    And sets no law to what is his,
+    Hath lost the buckler, and--poor elf!--
+    Makes up a chain to bind himself.
+
+
+
+
+METRUM V.
+
+
+    O Thou great builder of this starry frame,
+    Who fix'd in Thy eternal throne doth tame
+    The rapid spheres, and lest they jar
+    Hast giv'n a law to ev'ry star.
+    Thou art the cause that now the moon
+    With fall orb dulls the stars, and soon
+    Again grows dark, her light being done,
+    The nearer still she's to the sun.
+    Thou in the early hours of night
+    Mak'st the cool evening-star shine bright,
+    And at sun-rising--'cause the least--
+    Look pale and sleepy in the east.
+    Thou, when the leaves in winter stray,
+    Appoint'st the sun a shorter way,
+    And in the pleasant summer light,
+    With nimble hours dost wing the night.
+    Thy hand the various year quite through
+    Discreetly tempers, that what now
+    The north-wind tears from ev'ry tree
+    In spring again restor'd we see.
+    Then what the winter stars between
+    The furrows in mere seed have seen,
+    The dog-star since--grown up and born--
+    Hath burnt in stately, full-ear'd corn.
+      Thus by creation's law controll'd
+    All things their proper stations hold,
+    Observing--as Thou didst intend--
+    Why they were made, and for what end.
+    Only human actions Thou
+    Hast no care of, but to the flow
+    And ebb of Fortune leav'st them all.
+    Hence th' innocent endures that thrall
+    Due to the wicked; whilst alone
+    They sit possessors of his throne.
+    The just are kill'd, and virtue lies
+    Buried in obscurities;
+    And--which of all things is most sad--
+    The good man suffers by the bad.
+    No perjuries, nor damn'd pretence
+    Colour'd with holy, lying sense
+    Can them annoy, but when they mind
+    To try their force, which most men find,
+    They from the highest sway of things
+    Can pull down great and pious kings.
+      O then at length, thus loosely hurl'd,
+    Look on this miserable world,
+    Whoe'er Thou art, that from above
+    Dost in such order all things move!
+    And let not man--of divine art
+    Not the least, nor vilest part--
+    By casual evils thus bandied, be
+    The sport of Fate's obliquity.
+    But with that faith Thou guid'st the heaven
+    Settle this earth, and make them even.
+
+
+
+
+METRUM VI.
+
+
+    When the Crab's fierce constellation
+    Burns with the beams of the bright sun,
+    Then he that will go out to sow,
+    Shall never reap, where he did plough,
+    But instead of corn may rather
+    The old world's diet, acorns, gather.
+    Who the violet doth love,
+    Must seek her in the flow'ry grove,
+    But never when the North's cold wind
+    The russet fields with frost doth bind.
+    If in the spring-time--to no end--
+    The tender vine for grapes we bend,
+    We shall find none, for only--still--
+    Autumn doth the wine-press fill.
+      Thus for all things--in the world's prime--
+    The wise God seal'd their proper time,
+    Nor will permit those seasons, He
+    Ordain'd by turns, should mingled be;
+    Then whose wild actions out of season
+    Cross to Nature, and her reason,
+    Would by new ways old orders rend,
+    Shall never find a happy end.
+
+
+
+
+METRUM VII.
+
+
+    Curtain'd with clouds in a dark night,
+    The stars cannot send forth their light.
+    And if a sudden southern blast
+    The sea in rolling waves doth cast,
+    That angry element doth boil,
+    And from the deep with stormy coil
+    Spews up the sands, which in short space
+    Scatter, and puddle his curl'd face.
+    Then those calm waters, which but now
+    Stood clear as heaven's unclouded brow,
+    And like transparent glass did lie
+    Open to ev'ry searcher's eye,
+    Look foully stirr'd and--though desir'd--
+    Resist the sight, because bemir'd.
+    So often from a high hill's brow
+    Some pilgrim-spring is seen to flow,
+    And in a straight line keep her course,
+    'Till from a rock with headlong force
+    Some broken piece blocks up the way,
+    And forceth all her streams astray.
+      Then thou that with enlighten'd rays
+    Wouldst see the truth, and in her ways
+    Keep without error; neither fear
+    The future, nor too much give ear
+    To present joys; and give no scope
+    To grief, nor much to flatt'ring hope.
+    For when these rebels reign, the mind
+    Is both a pris'ner, and stark blind.
+
+
+
+
+LIB. II. METRUM I.
+
+
+    Fortune--when with rash hands she quite turmoils
+    The state of things, and in tempestuous foils
+    Comes whirling like Euripus--beats quite down
+    With headlong force the highest monarch's crown,
+    And in his place, unto the throne doth fetch
+    The despis'd looks of some mechanic wretch:
+    So jests at tears and miseries, is proud,
+    And laughs to hear her vassals groan aloud.
+    These are her sports, thus she her wheel doth drive,
+    And plagues man with her blind prerogative;
+    Nor is't a favour of inferior strain,
+    If once kick'd down, she lets him rise again.
+
+
+
+
+METRUM II.
+
+
+        If with an open, bounteous hand
+        --Wholly left at man's command--
+        Fortune should in one rich flow
+        As many heaps on him bestow
+        Of massy gold, as there be sands
+        Toss'd by the waves and winds rude bands,
+        Or bright stars in a winter night
+        Decking their silent orbs with light;
+        Yet would his lust know no restraints,
+        Nor cease to weep in sad complaints.
+        Though Heaven should his vows regard,
+        And in a prodigal reward
+        Return him all he could implore,
+        Adding new honours to his store,
+        Yet all were nothing. Goods in sight
+        Are scorn'd, and lust in greedy flight
+        Lays out for more; what measure then
+        Can tame these wild desires of men?
+        Since all we give both last and first
+        Doth but inflame, and feed their thirst.
+    For how can he be rich, who 'midst his store
+    Sits sadly pining, and believes he's poor.
+
+
+
+
+METRUM III.
+
+
+        When the sun from his rosy bed
+        The dawning light begins to shed,
+        The drowsy sky uncurtains round,
+        And the--but now bright--stars all drown'd
+        In one great light look dull and tame,
+        And homage his victorious flame.
+        Thus, when the warm Etesian wind
+        The Earth's seal'd bosom doth unbind,
+        Straight she her various store discloses,
+        And purples every grove with roses;
+        But if the South's tempestuous breath
+        Breaks forth, those blushes pine to death.
+        Oft in a quiet sky the deep
+        With unmov'd waves seems fast asleep,
+        And oft again the blust'ring North
+        In angry heaps provokes them forth.
+          If then this world, which holds all nations,
+        Suffers itself such alterations,
+        That not this mighty massy frame,
+        Nor any part of it can claim
+        One certain course, why should man prate,
+        Or censure the designs of Fate?
+        Why from frail honours, and goods lent
+        Should he expect things permanent?
+    Since 'tis enacted by Divine decree
+    That nothing mortal shall eternal be.
+
+
+
+
+METRUM IV.
+
+
+    Who wisely would for his retreat
+    Build a secure and lasting seat,
+    Where stov'd in silence he may sleep
+    Beneath the wind, above the deep;
+    Let him th' high hills leave on one hand,
+    And on the other the false sand.
+    The first to winds lies plain and even,
+    From all the blust'ring points of heaven;
+    The other, hollow and unsure,
+    No weight of building will endure.
+    Avoiding then the envied state
+    Of buildings bravely situate,
+    Remember thou thyself to lock
+    Within some low neglected rock.
+    There when fierce heaven in thunder chides,
+    And winds and waves rage on all sides,
+    Thou happy in the quiet sense
+    Of thy poor cell, with small expense
+    Shall lead a life serene and fair,
+    And scorn the anger of the air.
+
+
+
+
+METRUM V.
+
+
+    Happy that first white age! when we
+    Lived by the Earth's mere charity.
+    No soft luxurious diet then
+    Had effeminated men,
+    No other meat, nor wine had any
+    Than the coarse mast, or simple honey,
+    And by the parents' care laid up
+    Cheap berries did the children sup.
+    No pompous wear was in those days
+    Of gummy silks, or scarlet baize,
+    Their beds were on some flow'ry brink,
+    And clear spring-water was their drink.
+    The shady pine in the sun's heat
+    Was their cool and known retreat,
+    For then 'twas not cut down, but stood
+    The youth and glory of the wood.
+    The daring sailor with his slaves
+    Then had not cut the swelling waves,
+    Nor for desire of foreign store
+    Seen any but his native shore.
+    No stirring drum had scarr'd that age,
+    Nor the shrill trumpet's active rage,
+    No wounds by bitter hatred made
+    With warm blood soil'd the shining blade;
+    For how could hostile madness arm
+    An age of love, to public harm?
+    When common justice none withstood,
+    Nor sought rewards for spilling blood.
+      O that at length our age would raise
+    Into the temper of those days!
+    But--worse than Aetna's fires!--debate
+    And avarice inflame our State.
+    Alas! who was it that first found
+    Gold, hid of purpose under ground,
+    That sought our pearls, and div'd to find
+    Such precious perils for mankind!
+
+
+
+
+METRUM VII.
+
+
+    He that thirsts for glory's prize,
+        Thinking that the top of all,
+    Let him view th' expansed skies,
+        And the earth's contracted ball;
+    'Twill shame him then: the name he wan
+    Fills not the short walk of one man.
+
+
+2.
+
+    O why vainly strive you then
+        To shake off the bands of Fate,
+    Though Fame through the world of men
+        Should in all tongues your names relate,
+    And with proud titles swell that story:
+    The dark grave scorns your brightest glory.
+
+
+3.
+
+    There with nobles beggars sway,
+        And kings with commons share one dust.
+    What news of Brutus at this day,
+        Or Fabricius the just?
+    Some rude verse, cut in stone, or lead,
+        Keeps up the names, but they are dead.
+
+
+4.
+
+    So shall you one day--past reprieve--
+        Lie--perhaps--without a name.
+    But if dead you think to live
+        By this air of human fame,
+    Know, when Time stops that posthume breath,
+    You must endure a second death.
+
+
+
+
+METRUM VIII.
+
+
+    That the world in constant force
+    Varies her concordant course;
+    That seeds jarring hot and cold
+    Do the breed perpetual hold;
+    That in his golden coach the sun
+    Brings the rosy day still on;
+    That the moon sways all those lights
+    Which Hesper ushers to dark nights;
+    That alternate tides be found
+    The sea's ambitious waves to bound,
+    Lest o'er the wide earth without end
+    Their fluid empire should extend;
+    All this frame of things that be,
+    Love which rules heaven, land, and sea,
+    Chains, keeps, orders as we see.
+    This, if the reins he once cast by,
+    All things that now by turns comply
+    Would fall to discord, and this frame
+    Which now by social faith they tame,
+    And comely orders, in that fight
+    And jar of things would perish quite.
+    This in a holy league of peace
+    Keeps king and people with increase;
+    And in the sacred nuptial bands
+    Ties up chaste hearts with willing hands;
+    And this keeps firm without all doubt
+    Friends by his bright instinct found out.
+      O happy nation then were you,
+    If love, which doth all things subdue,
+    That rules the spacious heav'n, and brings
+    Plenty and peace upon his wings,
+    Might rule you too! and without guile
+    Settle once more this floating isle!
+
+
+
+
+CASIMIRUS, [LYRICORUM] LIB. IV. ODE XXVIII.
+
+
+    Almighty Spirit! Thou that by
+    Set turns and changes from Thy high
+    And glorious throne dost here below
+    Rule all, and all things dost foreknow!
+    Can those blind plots we here discuss
+    Please Thee, as Thy wise counsels us?
+    When Thou Thy blessings here doth strow,
+    And pour on earth, we flock and flow,
+    With joyous strife and eager care,
+    Struggling which shall have the best share
+    In Thy rich gifts, just as we see
+    Children about nuts disagree.
+    Some that a crown have got and foil'd
+    Break it; another sees it spoil'd
+    Ere it is gotten. Thus the world
+    Is all to piecemeals cut, and hurl'd
+    By factious hands. It is a ball
+    Which Fate and force divide 'twixt all
+    The sons of men. But, O good God!
+    While these for dust fight, and a clod,
+    Grant that poor I may smile, and be
+    At rest and perfect peace with Thee!
+
+
+
+
+CASIMIRUS, [LYRICORUM] LIB. II. ODE VII.
+
+
+    It would less vex distressed man
+    If Fortune in the same pace ran
+    To ruin him, as he did rise.
+    But highest States fall in a trice;
+    No great success held ever long;
+    A restless fate afflicts the throng
+    Of kings and commons, and less days
+    Serve to destroy them than to raise.
+    Good luck smiles once an age, but bad
+    Makes kingdoms in a minute sad,
+    And ev'ry hour of life we drive,
+    Hath o'er us a prerogative.
+      Then leave--by wild impatience driv'n,
+    And rash resents--to rail at heav'n;
+    Leave an unmanly, weak complaint
+    That death and fate have no restraint.
+    In the same hour that gave thee breath,
+    Thou hadst ordain'd thy hour of death,
+    But he lives most who here will buy,
+    With a few tears, eternity.
+
+
+
+
+CASIMIRUS, [LYRICORUM] LIB. III. ODE XXII.
+
+
+    Let not thy youth and false delights
+    Cheat thee of life; those heady flights
+    But waste thy time, which posts away
+    Like winds unseen, and swift as they.
+    Beauty is but mere paint, whose dye
+    With Time's breath will dissolve and fly;
+    'Tis wax, 'tis water, 'tis a glass,
+    It melts, breaks, and away doth pass.
+    'Tis like a rose which in the dawn
+    The air with gentle breath doth fawn
+    And whisper to, but in the hours
+    Of night is sullied with smart showers.
+    Life spent is wish'd for but in vain,
+    Nor can past years come back again.
+      Happy the man, who in this vale
+    Redeems his time, shutting out all
+    Thoughts of the world, whose longing eyes
+    Are ever pilgrims in the skies,
+    That views his bright home, and desires
+    To shine amongst those glorious fires!
+
+
+
+
+CASIMIRUS, LYRIC[ORUM] LIB. III. ODE XXIII.
+
+
+    'Tis not rich furniture and gems,
+    With cedar roofs and ancient stems,
+    Nor yet a plenteous, lasting flood
+    Of gold, that makes man truly good.
+    Leave to inquire in what fair fields
+    A river runs which much gold yields;
+    Virtue alone is the rich prize
+    Can purchase stars, and buy the skies.
+    Let others build with adamant,
+    Or pillars of carv'd marble plant,
+    Which rude and rough sometimes did dwell
+    Far under earth, and near to hell.
+    But richer much--from death releas'd--
+    Shines in the fresh groves of the East
+    The ph[oe]nix, or those fish that dwell
+    With silver'd scales in Hiddekel.
+    Let others with rare, various pearls
+    Their garments dress, and in forc'd curls
+    Bind up their locks, look big and high,
+    And shine in robes of scarlet dye.
+    But in my thoughts more glorious far
+    Those native stars and speckles are
+    Which birds wear, or the spots which we
+    In leopards dispersed see.
+    The harmless sheep with her warm fleece
+    Clothes man, but who his dark heart sees
+    Shall find a wolf or fox within,
+    That kills the castor for his skin.
+    Virtue alone, and nought else can
+    A diff'rence make 'twixt beasts and man;
+    And on her wings above the spheres
+    To the true light his spirit bears.
+
+
+
+
+CASIMIRUS, [LYRICORUM] LIB. IV. ODE XV.
+
+
+    Nothing on earth, nothing at all
+    Can be exempted from the thrall
+    Of peevish weariness! The sun,
+    Which our forefathers judg'd to run
+    Clear and unspotted, in our days
+    Is tax'd with sullen eclips'd rays.
+    Whatever in the glorious sky
+    Man sees, his rash audacious eye
+    Dares censure it, and in mere spite
+    At distance will condemn the light.
+    The wholesome mornings, whose beams clear
+    Those hills our fathers walk'd on here,
+    We fancy not; nor the moon's light
+    Which through their windows shin'd at night
+    We change the air each year, and scorn
+    Those seats in which we first were born.
+    Some nice, affected wand'rers love
+    Belgia's mild winters, others remove,
+    For want of health and honesty,
+    To summer it in Italy;
+    But to no end; the disease still
+    Sticks to his lord, and kindly will
+    To Venice in a barge repair,
+    Or coach it to Vienna's air;
+    And then--too late with home content--
+    They leave this wilful banishment.
+      But he, whose constancy makes sure
+    His mind and mansion, lives secure
+    From such vain tasks, can dine and sup
+    Where his old parents bred him up.
+    Content--no doubt!--most times doth dwell
+    In country shades, or to some cell
+    Confines itself; and can alone
+    Make simple straw a royal throne.
+
+
+
+
+CASIMIRUS, [LYRICORUM] LIB. IV. ODE XIII.
+
+
+    If weeping eyes could wash away
+    Those evils they mourn for night and day,
+    Then gladly I to cure my fears
+    With my best jewels would buy tears.
+    But as dew feeds the growing corn,
+    So crosses that are grown forlorn
+    Increase with grief, tears make tears' way,
+    And cares kept up keep cares in pay.
+    That wretch whom Fortune finds to fear,
+    And melting still into a tear,
+    She strikes more boldly, but a face
+    Silent and dry doth her amaze.
+    Then leave thy tears, and tedious tale
+    Of what thou dost misfortunes call.
+    What thou by weeping think'st to ease,
+    Doth by that passion but increase;
+    Hard things to soft will never yield,
+    'Tis the dry eye that wins the field;
+    A noble patience quells the spite
+    Of Fortune, and disarms her quite.
+
+
+
+
+THE PRAISE OF A RELIGIOUS LIFE BY MATHIAS CASIMIRUS. [EPODON ODE III.]
+IN ANSWER TO THAT ODE OF HORACE, BEATUS ILLE QUI PROCUL NEGOTIIS, &c.
+
+
+    Flaccus, not so! that worldly he
+    Whom in the country's shade we see
+    Ploughing his own fields, seldom can
+    Be justly styl'd the blessed man.
+      That title only fits a saint,
+    Whose free thoughts, far above restraint
+    And weighty cares, can gladly part
+    With house and lands, and leave the smart,
+    Litigious troubles and loud strife
+    Of this world for a better life.
+    He fears no cold nor heat to blast
+    His corn, for his accounts are cast;
+    He sues no man, nor stands in awe
+    Of the devouring courts of law;
+    But all his time he spends in tears
+    For the sins of his youthful years;
+    Or having tasted those rich joys
+    Of a conscience without noise,
+    Sits in some fair shade, and doth give
+    To his wild thoughts rules how to live.
+      He in the evening, when on high
+    The stars shine in the silent sky,
+    Beholds th' eternal flames with mirth,
+    And globes of light more large than Earth;
+    Then weeps for joy, and through his tears
+    Looks on the fire-enamell'd spheres,
+    Where with his Saviour he would be
+    Lifted above mortality.
+    Meanwhile the golden stars do set,
+    And the slow pilgrim leave all wet
+    With his own tears, which flow so fast
+    They make his sleeps light, and soon past.
+    By this, the sun o'er night deceas'd
+    Breaks in fresh blushes from the East,
+    When, mindful of his former falls,
+    With strong cries to his God he calls,
+    And with such deep-drawn sighs doth move
+    That He turns anger into love.
+      In the calm Spring, when the Earth bears,
+    And feeds on April's breath and tears,
+    His eyes, accustom'd to the skies,
+    Find here fresh objects, and like spies
+    Or busy bees, search the soft flow'rs,
+    Contemplate the green fields and bow'rs,
+    Where he in veils and shades doth see
+    The back parts of the Deity.
+    Then sadly sighing says, "O! how
+    These flow'rs with hasty, stretch'd heads grow
+    And strive for heav'n, but rooted here
+    Lament the distance with a tear!
+    The honeysuckles clad in white,
+    The rose in red, point to the light;
+    And the lilies, hollow and bleak,
+    Look as if they would something speak;
+    They sigh at night to each soft gale,
+    And at the day-spring weep it all.
+    Shall I then only--wretched I!--
+    Oppress'd with earth, on earth still lie?"
+    Thus speaks he to the neighbour trees,
+    And many sad soliloquies
+    To springs and fountains doth impart,
+    Seeking God with a longing heart.
+      But if to ease his busy breast
+    He thinks of home, and taking rest,
+    A rural cot and common fare
+    Are all his cordials against care.
+    There at the door of his low cell,
+    Under some shade, or near some well
+    Where the cool poplar grows, his plate
+    Of common earth without more state
+    Expect their lord. Salt in a shell,
+    Green cheese, thin beer, draughts that will tell
+    No tales, a hospitable cup,
+    With some fresh berries, do make up
+    His healthful feast; nor doth he wish
+    For the fat carp, or a rare dish
+    Of Lucrine oysters; the swift quist
+    Or pigeon sometimes--if he list--
+    With the slow goose that loves the stream,
+    Fresh, various salads, and the bean
+    By curious palates never sought,
+    And, to close with, some cheap unbought
+    Dish for digestion, are the most
+    And choicest dainties he can boast.
+      Thus feasted, to the flow'ry groves
+    Or pleasant rivers he removes,
+    Where near some fair oak, hung with mast,
+    He shuns the South's infectious blast.
+    On shady banks sometimes he lies,
+    Sometimes the open current tries,
+    Where with his line and feather'd fly
+    He sports, and takes the scaly fry.
+    Meanwhile each hollow wood and hill
+    Doth ring with lowings long and shrill,
+    And shady lakes with rivers deep
+    Echo the bleating of the sheep;
+    The blackbird with the pleasant thrush
+    And nightingale in ev'ry bush
+    Choice music give, and shepherds play
+    Unto their flock some loving lay!
+    The thirsty reapers, in thick throngs,
+    Return home from the field with songs,
+    And the carts, laden with ripe corn,
+    Come groaning to the well-stor'd barn.
+      Nor pass we by, as the least good,
+    A peaceful, loving neighbourhood,
+    Whose honest wit, and chaste discourse
+    Make none--by hearing it--the worse,
+    But innocent and merry, may
+    Help--without sin--to spend the day.
+    Could now the tyrant usurer,
+    Who plots to be a purchaser
+    Of his poor neighbour's seat, but taste
+    These true delights, O! with what haste
+    And hatred of his ways, would he
+    Renounce his Jewish cruelty,
+    And those curs'd sums, which poor men borrow
+    On use to-day, remit to-morrow!
+
+
+
+
+AD FLUVIUM ISCAM.
+
+
+    Isca parens florum, placido qui spumeus ore
+            Lambis lapillos aureos;
+    Qui maestos hyacinthos, et picti [Greek: anthea] tophi
+            Mulces susurris humidis;
+    Dumque novas pergunt menses consumere lunas
+            C[oe]lumque mortales terit,
+    Accumulas cum sole dies, aevumque per omne
+            Fidelis induras latex;
+    O quis inaccessos et quali murmure lucos
+            Mutumque solaris nemus!
+    Per te discerpti credo Thracis ire querelas
+            Plectrumque divini senis.
+
+
+
+
+VENERABILI VIRO PRAECEPTORI SUO OLIM ET SEMPER COLENDISSIMO MAGISTRO
+MATHAEO HERBERT.
+
+
+    Quod vixi, Mathaee, dedit pater, haec tamen olim
+      Vita fluat, nec erit fas meminisse datam.
+    Ultra curasti solers, perituraque mecum
+      Nomina post cineres das resonare meos.
+    Divide discipulum: brevis haec et lubrica nostri
+      Pars vertat patri, posthuma vita tibi.
+
+
+
+
+PRAESTANTISSIMO VIRO THOMAE POELLO IN SUUM DE ELEMENTIS OPTICAE
+LIBELLUM.[56]
+
+
+    Vivaces oculorum ignes et lumina dia
+      Fixit in angusto maximus orbe Deus;
+    Ille explorantes radios dedit, et vaga lustra
+      In quibus intuitus lexque, modusque latent.
+    Hos tacitos jactus, lususque, volubilis orbis
+      Pingis in exiguo, magne[57] Poelle, libro,
+    Excursusque situsque ut Lynceus opticus, edis,
+      Quotque modis fallunt, quotque adhibenda fides.
+    Aemula Naturae manus! et mens conscia c[oe]li.
+      Ilia videre dedit, vestra videre docet.
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[56] The version in _Elementa Opticae_ has _Eximio viro, et amicorum
+longe optimo, T. P. in hunc suum de Elementis Opticae libellum_.
+
+[57] _El. Opt._ has _docte_.
+
+
+
+
+
+AD ECHUM.
+
+
+    O quae frondosae per am[oe]na cubilia silvae
+    Nympha volas, lucoque loquax spatiaris in alto,
+    Annosi numen nemoris, saltusque verendi
+    Effatum, cui sola placent postrema relatus!
+    Te per Narcissi morientis verba, precesque
+    Per pueri lassatam animam, et conamina vitae
+    Ultima, palantisque precor suspiria linguae.
+    Da quo secretae haec incaedua devia silvae,
+    Anfractusque loci dubios, et lustra repandam.
+    Sic tibi perpetua--meritoque--haec regna juventa
+    Luxurient, dabiturque tuis, sine fine, viretis
+    Intactas lunae lachrymas, et lambere rorem
+    Virgineum, c[oe]lique animas haurire tepentis.
+    Nec cedant aevo stellis, sed lucida semper
+    Et satiata sacro aeterni medicamine veris
+    Ostendant longe vegetos, ut sidera, vultus!
+    Sic spiret muscata comas, et cinnama passim!
+    Diffundat levis umbra, in funere qualia spargit
+    Ph[oe]nicis rogus aut Pancheae nubila flammae!
+
+
+             THALIA REDIVIVA.
+
+                   1678.
+
+
+
+
+TO THE MOST HONOURABLE AND TRULY NOBLE HENRY, LORD MARQUIS AND EARL OF
+WORCESTER, &c.
+
+My Lord,
+
+Though dedications are now become a kind of tyranny over the peace and
+repose of great men; yet I have confidence I shall so manage the present
+address as to entertain your lordship without much disturbance; and
+because my purposes are governed by deep respect and veneration, I hope
+to find your Lordship more facile and accessible. And I am already
+absolved from a great part of that fulsome and designing guilt, being
+sufficiently removed from the causes of it: for I consider, my Lord,
+that you are already so well known to the world in your several
+characters and advantages of honour--it was yours by traduction, and the
+adjunct of your nativity; you were swaddled and rocked in't, bred up and
+grew in't, to your now wonderful height and eminence--that for me under
+pretence of the inscription, to give you the heraldry of your family, or
+to carry your person through the famed topics of mind, body, or estate,
+were all one as to persuade the world that fire and light were very
+bright bodies, or that the luminaries themselves had glory. In point of
+protection I beg to fall in with the common wont, and to be satisfied by
+the reasonableness of the thing, and abundant worthy precedents; and
+although I should have secret prophecy and assurance that the ensuing
+verse would live eternally, yet would I, as I now do, humbly crave it
+might be fortified with your patronage; for so the sextile aspects and
+influences are watched for, and applied to the actions of life, thereby
+to make the scheme and good auguries of the birth pass into Fate, and a
+success infallible.
+
+My Lord, by a happy obliging intercession, and your own consequent
+indulgence, I have now recourse to your Lordship, hoping I shall not
+much displease by putting these twin poets into your hands. The minion
+and vertical planet of the Roman lustre and bravery, was never better
+pleased than when he had a whole constellation about him: not his
+finishing five several wars to the promoting of his own interest, nor
+particularly the prodigious success at Actium where he held in chase the
+wealth, beauty and prowess of the East; not the triumphs and absolute
+dominions which followed: all this gave him not half that serene pride
+and satisfaction of spirit as when he retired himself to umpire the
+different excellencies of his insipid friends, and to distribute laurels
+among his poetic heroes. If now upon the authority of this and several
+such examples, I had the ability and opportunity of drawing the value
+and strange worth of a poet, and withal of applying some of the
+lineaments to the following pieces, I should then do myself a real
+service, and atone in a great measure for the present insolence. But
+best of all will it serve my defence and interest, to appeal to your
+Lordship's own conceptions and image of genuine verse; with which so
+just, so regular original, if these copies shall hold proportion and
+resemblance, then am I advanced very far in your Lordship's pardon: the
+rest will entirely be supplied me by your Lordship's goodness, and my
+own awful zeal of being, my Lord,
+
+  Your Lordship's most obedient,
+      most humbly devoted servant,
+
+                                                                 J. W.
+
+
+
+
+TO THE READER.
+
+
+The Nation of Poets above all Writers has ever challenged perpetuity of
+name, or as they please by their charter of liberty to call it,
+Immortality. Nor has the World much disputed their claim, either easily
+resigning a patrimony in itself not very substantial; or, it may be, out
+of despair to control the authority of inspiration and oracle. Howsoever
+the price as now quarrelled for among the poets themselves is no such
+rich bargain: it is only a vanishing interest in the lees and dregs of
+Time, in the rear of those Fathers and Worthies in the art, who if they
+know anything of the heats and fury of their successors, must extremely
+pity them.
+
+I am to assure, that the Author has no portion of that airy happiness to
+lose, by any injury or unkindness which may be done to his Verse: his
+reputation is better built in the sentiment of several judicious
+persons, who know him very well able to give himself a lasting monument,
+by undertaking any argument of note in the whole circle of learning.
+
+But even these his Diversions have been valuable with the matchless
+Orinda; and since they deserved her esteem and commendations, who so
+thinks them not worth the publishing, will put himself in the opposite
+scale, where his own arrogance will blow him up.
+
+                                                                 I. W.
+
+
+
+
+TO MR. HENRY VAUGHAN THE SILURIST: UPON THESE AND HIS FORMER POEMS.[58]
+
+
+    Had I ador'd the multitude, and thence
+    Got an antipathy to wit and sense,
+    And hugg'd that fate, in hope the world would grant
+    'Twas good affection to be ignorant;[59]
+    Yet the least ray of thy bright fancy seen,
+    I had converted, or excuseless been.
+    For each birth of thy Muse to after-times
+    Shall expiate for all this Age's crimes.
+    First shines thy Amoret, twice crown'd by thee,
+    Once by thy love, next by thy poetry;
+    Where thou the best of unions dost dispense,
+    Truth cloth'd in wit, and Love in innocence;
+    So that the muddy lover may learn here,
+    No fountains can be sweet that are not clear.
+    There Juvenal, by thee reviv'd, declares
+    How flat man's joys are, and how mean his cares;
+    And wisely doth upbraid[60] the world, that they
+    Should such a value for their ruin pay.
+      But when thy sacred Muse diverts her quil
+    The landscape to design of Sion's hill,[61]
+    As nothing else was worthy her, or thee,
+    So we admire almost t' idolatry.
+    What savage breast would not be rapt to find
+    Such jewels in such cabinets enshrin'd?
+    Thou fill'd with joys--too great to see or count--
+    Descend'st from thence, like Moses from the Mount,
+    And with a candid, yet unquestion'd awe
+    Restor'st the Golden Age, when Verse was Law.
+    Instructing us, thou so secur'st[62] thy fame,
+    That nothing can disturb it but my name:
+    Nay, I have hopes that standing so near thine
+    'Twill lose its dross, and by degrees refine.
+    Live! till the disabused world consent
+    All truths of use, of strength or ornament,
+    Are with such harmony by thee display'd
+    As the whole world was first by number made,
+    And from the charming rigour thy Muse brings
+    Learn, there's no pleasure but in serious things!
+
+                                                               Orinda.
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[58] 1664-1667 have To _Mr. Henry Vaughan, Silurist, on his Poems_.
+
+[59] So 1664-1667. _Thalia Rediviva_ has _the ignorant_.
+
+[60] 1664 has _generally upbraids_; 1667, _generously upbraids_
+
+[61] 1664-1667 have _Leon's hill_.
+
+[62] 1664 has _thou who securest_.
+
+
+
+
+UPON THE INGENIOUS POEMS OF HIS LEARNED FRIEND, MR. HENRY VAUGHAN, THE
+SILURIST.
+
+
+    Fairly design'd! to charm our civil rage
+    With verse, and plant bays in an iron age!
+    But hath steel'd Mars so ductible a soul,
+    That love and poesy may it control?
+    Yes! brave Tyrtaeus, as we read of old,
+    The Grecian armies as he pleas'd could mould;
+    They march'd to his high numbers, and did fight
+    With that instinct and rage, which he did write.
+    When he fell lower, they would straight retreat,
+    Grow soft and calm, and temper their bold heat.
+    Such magic is in Virtue! See here a young
+    Tyrtaeus too, whose sweet persuasive song
+    Can lead our spirits any way, and move
+    To all adventures, either war or love.
+    Then veil the bright Etesia, that choice she,
+    Lest Mars--Timander's friend--his rival be.
+    So fair a nymph, dress'd by a Muse so neat,
+    Might warm the North, and thaw the frozen Gete.
+
+                                                     Tho. Powell, D.D.
+
+
+
+
+TO THE INGENIOUS AUTHOR OF THALIA REDIVIVA.
+
+
+ODE I.
+
+    Where reverend bards of old have sate
+    And sung the pleasant interludes of Fate,
+        Thou takest the hereditary shade
+        Which Nature's homely art had made,
+    And thence thou giv'st thy Muse her swing, and she
+            Advances to the galaxy;
+    There with the sparkling Cowley she above
+    Does hand in hand in graceful measures move.
+        We grovelling mortals gaze below,
+          And long in vain to know
+        Her wondrous paths, her wondrous flight:
+          In vain, alas! we grope,[63]
+            In vain we use our earthly telescope,
+          We're blinded by an intermedial night.
+            Thine eagle-Muse can only face
+            The fiery coursers in their race,
+        While with unequal paces we do try
+    To bear her train aloft, and keep her company.
+
+
+II.
+
+        The loud harmonious Mantuan
+    Once charm'd the world; and here's the Uscan swan
+        In his declining years does chime,
+    And challenges the last remains of Time.
+        Ages run on, and soon give o'er,
+        They have their graves as well as we;
+        Time swallows all that's past and more,
+        Yet time is swallow'd in eternity:
+        This is the only profits poets see.
+    There thy triumphant Muse shall ride in state
+        And lead in chains devouring Fate;
+        Claudian's bright Ph[oe]nix she shall bring
+        Thee an immortal offering;
+    Nor shall my humble tributary Muse
+    Her homage and attendance too refuse;
+        She thrusts herself among the crowd,
+    And joining in th' applause she strives to clap aloud
+
+
+III.
+
+    Tell me no more that Nature is severe,
+        Thou great philosopher!
+    Lo! she has laid her vast exchequer here.
+        Tell me no more that she has sent
+        So much already, she is spent;
+    Here is a vast America behind
+    Which none but the great Silurist could find.
+        Nature her last edition was the best,
+        As big, as rich as all the rest:
+          So will we here admit
+          Another world of wit.
+    No rude or savage fancy here shall stay
+        The travelling reader in his way,
+    But every coast is clear: go where he will,
+    Virtue's the road Thalia leads him still.
+    Long may she live, and wreath thy sacred head
+    For this her happy resurrection from the dead.
+
+                                              N. W., Jes. Coll., Oxon.
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[63] The original has _flight In raine; alas! we grope_.
+
+
+
+
+
+TO MY WORTHY FRIEND, MR. HENRY VAUGHAN THE SILURIST.
+
+
+    See what thou wert! by what Platonic round
+    Art thou in thy first youth and glories found?
+    Or from thy Muse does this retrieve accrue?
+    Does she which once inspir'd thee, now renew,
+    Bringing thee back those golden years which Time
+    Smooth'd to thy lays, and polish'd with thy rhyme?
+    Nor is't to thee alone she does convey
+    Such happy change, but bountiful as day,
+    On whatsoever reader she does shine,
+    She makes him like thee, and for ever thine.
+
+    And first thy manual op'ning gives to see
+    Eclipse and suff'rings burnish majesty,
+    Where thou so artfully the draught hast made
+    That we best read the lustre in the shade,
+    And find our sov'reign greater in that shroud:
+    So lightning dazzles from its night and cloud,
+    So the First Light Himself has for His throne
+    Blackness, and darkness his pavilion.
+
+    Who can refuse thee company, or stay,
+    By thy next charming summons forc'd away,
+    If that be force which we can so resent,
+    That only in its joys 'tis violent:
+    Upward thy Eagle bears us ere aware,
+    Till above storms and all tempestuous air
+    We radiant worlds with their bright people meet,
+    Leaving this little all beneath our feet.
+    But now the pleasure is too great to tell,
+    Nor have we other bus'ness than to dwell,
+    As on the hallow'd Mount th' Apostles meant
+    To build and fix their glorious banishment.
+    Yet we must know and find thy skilful vein
+    Shall gently bear us to our homes again;
+    By which descent thy former flight's impli'd
+    To be thy ecstacy and not thy pride.
+    And here how well does the wise Muse demean
+    Herself, and fit her song to ev'ry scene!
+    Riot of courts, the bloody wreaths of war,
+    Cheats of the mart, and clamours of the bar,
+    Nay, life itself thou dost so well express,
+    Its hollow joys, and real emptiness,
+    That Dorian minstrel never did excite,
+    Or raise for dying so much appetite.
+
+    Nor does thy other softer magic move
+    Us less thy fam'd Etesia to love;
+    Where such a character thou giv'st, that shame
+    Nor envy dare approach the vestal dame:
+    So at bright prime ideas none repine,
+    They safely in th' eternal poet shine.
+
+    Gladly th' Assyrian ph[oe]nix now resumes
+    From thee this last reprisal of his plumes;
+    He seems another more miraculous thing,
+    Brighter of crest, and stronger of his wing,
+    Proof against Fate in spicy urns to come,
+    Immortal past all risk of martyrdom.
+
+    Nor be concern'd, nor fancy thou art rude
+    T' adventure from thy Cambrian solitude:
+    Best from those lofty cliffs thy Muse does spring
+    Upwards, and boldly spreads her cherub wing.
+
+    So when the sage of Memphis would converse
+    With boding skies, and th' azure universe,
+    He climbs his starry pyramid, and thence
+    Freely sucks clean prophetic influence,
+    And all serene, and rapt and gay he pries
+    Through the ethereal volume's mysteries,
+    Loth to come down, or ever to know more
+    The Nile's luxurious, but dull foggy shore.
+
+                                                     I. W., A.M. Oxon.
+
+          CHOICE POEMS ON SEVERAL OCCASIONS.
+
+
+
+
+TO HIS LEARNED FRIEND AND LOYAL FELLOW-PRISONER, THOMAS POWEL OF
+CANT[REFF], DOCTOR OF DIVINITY.
+
+
+    If sever'd friends by sympathy can join,
+    And absent kings be honour'd in their coin;
+    May they do both, who are so curb'd? but we
+    Whom no such abstracts torture, that can see
+    And pay each other a full self-return,
+    May laugh, though all such metaphysics burn.
+      'Tis a kind soul in magnets, that atones
+    Such two hard things as iron are and stones,
+    And in their dumb compliance we learn more
+    Of love, than ever books could speak before.
+    For though attraction hath got all the name,
+    As if that power but from one side came,
+    Which both unites; yet, where there is no sense
+    There is no passion, nor intelligence:
+    And so by consequence we cannot state
+    A commerce, unless both we animate.
+    For senseless things, though ne'er so called upon,
+    Are deaf, and feel no invitation,
+    But such as at the last day shall be shed
+    By the great Lord of life into the dead.
+    'Tis then no heresy to end the strife
+    With such rare doctrine as gives iron life.
+      For were it otherwise--which cannot be,
+    And do thou judge my bold philosophy--
+    Then it would follow that if I were dead,
+    Thy love, as now in life, would in that bed
+    Of earth and darkness warm me, and dispense
+    Effectual informing influence.
+    Since then 'tis clear, that friendship is nought else
+    But a joint, kind propension, and excess
+    In none, but such whose equal, easy hearts
+    Comply and meet both in their whole and parts,
+    And when they cannot meet, do not forget
+    To mingle souls, but secretly reflect
+    And some third place their centre make, where they
+    Silently mix, and make an unseen stay:
+    Let me not say--though poets may be bold--
+    Thou art more hard than steel, than stones more cold,
+    But as the marigold in feasts of dew
+    And early sunbeams, though but thin and few,
+    Unfolds itself, then from the Earth's cold breast
+    Heaves gently, and salutes the hopeful East:
+    So from thy quiet cell, the retir'd throne
+    Of thy fair thoughts, which silently bemoan
+    Our sad distractions, come! and richly dress'd
+    With reverend mirth and manners, check the rest
+    Of loose, loath'd men! Why should I longer be
+    Rack'd 'twixt two evils? I see and cannot see.
+
+
+
+
+THE KING DISGUISED.
+
+_Written about the same time that Mr. John Cleveland wrote his._
+
+
+    A king and no king! Is he gone from us,
+    And stoln alive into his coffin thus?
+    This was to ravish death, and so prevent
+    The rebels' treason and their punishment.
+    He would not have them damn'd, and therefore he
+    Himself deposed his own majesty.
+    Wolves did pursue him, and to fly the ill
+    He wanders--royal saint!--in sheepskin still.
+    Poor, obscure shelter, if that shelter be
+    Obscure, which harbours so much majesty.
+    Hence, profane eyes! the mystery's so deep,
+    Like Esdras books, the vulgar must not see't.
+      Thou flying roll, written with tears and woe,
+    Not for thy royal self, but for thy foe!
+    Thy grief is prophecy, and doth portend,
+    Like sad Ezekiel's sighs, the rebel's end.
+    Thy robes forc'd off, like Samuel's when rent,
+    Do figure out another's punishment.
+    Nor grieve thou hast put off thyself awhile,
+    To serve as prophet to this sinful isle;
+    These are our days of Purim, which oppress
+    The Church, and force thee to the wilderness.
+    But all these clouds cannot thy light confine,
+    The sun in storms and after them, will shine.
+    Thy day of life cannot be yet complete,
+    'Tis early, sure, thy shadow is so great.
+      But I am vex'd, that we at all can guess
+    This change, and trust great Charles to such a dress.
+    When he was first obscur'd with this coarse thing,
+    He grac'd plebeians, but profan'd the king:
+    Like some fair church, which zeal to charcoals burn'd,
+    Or his own court now to an alehouse turn'd.
+      But full as well may we blame night, and chide
+    His wisdom, Who doth light with darkness hide,
+    Or deny curtains to thy royal bed,
+    As take this sacred cov'ring from thy head.
+    Secrets of State are points we must not know;
+    This vizard is thy privy-council now,
+    Thou royal riddle, and in everything
+    The true white prince, our hieroglyphic king!
+    Ride safely in His shade, Who gives thee light,
+    And can with blindness thy pursuers smite.
+    O! may they wander all from thee as far
+    As they from peace are, and thyself from war!
+    And wheresoe'er thou dost design to be
+    With thy--now spotted--spotless majesty,
+    Be sure to look no sanctuary there,
+    Nor hope for safety in a temple, where
+    Buyers and sellers trade: O! strengthen not
+    With too much trust the treason of a Scot!
+
+
+
+
+THE EAGLE.
+
+
+    Tis madness sure; and I am in the fit,
+    To dare an eagle with my unfledg'd wit.
+    For what did ever Rome or Athens sing
+    In all their lines, as lofty as his wing?
+    He that an eagle's powers would rehearse
+    Should with his plumes first feather all his verse.
+      I know not, when into thee I would pry,
+    Which to admire, thy wing first, or thine eye;
+    Or whether Nature at thy birth design'd
+    More of her fire for thee, or of her wind.
+    When thou in the clear heights and upmost air
+    Dost face the sun and his dispersed hair,
+    Ev'n from that distance thou the sea dost spy
+    And sporting in its deep, wide lap, the fry.
+    Not the least minnow there but thou canst see:
+    Whole seas are narrow spectacles to thee.
+      Nor is this element of water here
+    Below of all thy miracles the sphere.
+    If poets ought may add unto thy store,
+    Thou hast in heav'n of wonders many more.
+    For when just Jove to earth his thunder bends,
+    And from that bright, eternal fortress sends
+    His louder volleys, straight this bird doth fly
+    To Aetna, where his magazine doth lie,
+    And in his active talons brings him more
+    Of ammunition, and recruits his store.
+    Nor is't a low or easy lift. He soars
+    'Bove wind and fire; gets to the moon, and pores
+    With scorn upon her duller face; for she
+    Gives him but shadows and obscurity.
+    Here much displeas'd, that anything like night
+    Should meet him in his proud and lofty flight,
+    That such dull tinctures should advance so far,
+    And rival in the glories of a star,
+    Resolv'd he is a nobler course to try,
+    And measures out his voyage with his eye.
+    Then with such fury he begins his flight,
+    As if his wings contended with his sight.
+    Leaving the moon, whose humble light doth trade
+    With spots, and deals most in the dark and shade,
+    To the day's royal planet he doth pass
+    With daring eyes, and makes the sun his glass.
+    Here doth he plume and dress himself, the beams
+    Rushing upon him like so many streams;
+    While with direct looks he doth entertain
+    The thronging flames, and shoots them back again.
+    And thus from star to star he doth repair,
+    And wantons in that pure and peaceful air.
+    Sometimes he frights the starry swan, and now
+    Orion's fearful hare, and then the crow.
+    Then with the orb itself he moves, to see
+    Which is more swift, th' intelligence or he.
+    Thus with his wings his body he hath brought
+    Where man can travel only in a thought.
+      I will not seek, rare bird, what spirit 'tis
+    That mounts thee thus; I'll be content with this,
+    To think that Nature made thee to express
+    Our soul's bold heights in a material dress.
+
+
+
+
+TO MR. M. L. UPON HIS REDUCTION OF THE PSALMS INTO METHOD.
+
+
+    Sir,
+
+    You have oblig'd the patriarch, and 'tis known
+    He is your debtor now, though for his own.
+    What he wrote is a medley: we can see
+    Confusion trespass on his piety.
+    Misfortunes did not only strike at him,
+    They charged further, and oppress'd his pen;
+    For he wrote as his crosses came, and went
+    By no safe rule, but by his punishment.
+    His quill mov'd by the rod; his wits and he
+    Did know no method, but their misery.
+      You brought his Psalms now into tune. Nay all
+    His measures thus are more than musical;
+    Your method and his airs are justly sweet,
+    And--what's church music right--like anthems meet.
+    You did so much in this, that I believe
+    He gave the matter, you the form did give.
+    And yet I wish you were not understood,
+    For now 'tis a misfortune to be good!
+      Why then you'll say, all I would have, is this:
+    None must be good, because the time's amiss.
+    For since wise Nature did ordain the night,
+    I would not have the sun to give us light.
+    Whereas this doth not take the use away,
+    But urgeth the necessity of day.
+    Proceed to make your pious work as free,
+    Stop not your seasonable charity.
+    Good works despis'd or censur'd by bad times
+    Should be sent out to aggravate their crimes.
+    They should first share and then reject our store,
+    Abuse our good, to make their guilt the more.
+    'Tis war strikes at our sins, but it must be
+    A persecution wounds our piety.
+
+
+
+
+TO THE PIOUS MEMORY OF C[HARLES] W[ALBEOFFE] ESQUIRE, WHO FINISHED HIS
+COURSE HERE, AND MADE HIS ENTRANCE INTO IMMORTALITY UPON THE 13 OF
+SEPTEMBER, IN THE YEAR OF REDEMPTION, 1653.
+
+
+      Now that the public sorrow doth subside,
+    And those slight tears which custom springs are dried;
+    While all the rich and outside mourners pass
+    Home from thy dust, to empty their own glass;
+    I--who the throng affect not, nor their state--
+    Steal to thy grave undress'd, to meditate
+    On our sad loss, accompanied by none,
+    An obscure mourner that would weep alone.
+      So, when the world's great luminary sets,
+    Some scarce known star into the zenith gets,
+    Twinkles and curls, a weak but willing spark,
+    As glow-worms here do glitter in the dark.
+    Yet, since the dimmest flame that kindles there
+    An humble love unto the light doth bear,
+    And true devotion from an hermit's cell
+    Will Heav'n's kind King as soon reach and as well,
+    As that which from rich shrines and altars flies,
+    Led by ascending incense to the skies:
+    'Tis no malicious rudeness, if the might
+    Of love makes dark things wait upon the bright,
+    And from my sad retirements calls me forth,
+    The just recorder of thy death and worth.
+      Long didst thou live--if length be measured by
+    The tedious reign of our calamity--
+    And counter to all storms and changes still
+    Kept'st the same temper, and the selfsame will.
+    Though trials came as duly as the day,
+    And in such mists, that none could see his way,
+    Yet thee I found still virtuous, and saw
+    The sun give clouds, and Charles give both the law.
+    When private interest did all hearts bend,
+    And wild dissents the public peace did rend,
+    Thou, neither won, nor worn, wert still thyself,
+    Not aw'd by force, nor basely brib'd with pelf.
+      What the insuperable stream of times
+    Did dash thee with, those suff'rings were, not crimes.
+    So the bright sun eclipses bears; and we,
+    Because then passive, blame him not. Should he
+    For enforc'd shades, and the moon's ruder veil
+    Much nearer us than him, be judg'd to fail?
+    Who traduce thee, so err. As poisons by
+    Correction are made antidotes, so thy
+    Just soul did turn ev'n hurtful things to good,
+    Us'd bad laws so they drew not tears, nor blood.
+    Heav'n was thy aim, and thy great, rare design
+    Was not to lord it here, but there to shine.
+    Earth nothing had, could tempt thee. All that e'er
+    Thou pray'd'st for here was peace, and glory there.
+    For though thy course in Time's long progress fell
+    On a sad age, when war and open'd hell
+    Licens'd all arts and sects, and made it free
+    To thrive by fraud, and blood, and blasphemy:
+    Yet thou thy just inheritance didst by
+    No sacrilege, nor pillage multiply.
+    No rapine swell'd thy state, no bribes, nor fees,
+    Our new oppressors' best annuities.
+    Such clean pure hands hadst thou! and for thy heart,
+    Man's secret region, and his noblest part;
+    Since I was privy to't, and had the key
+    Of that fair room, where thy bright spirit lay,
+    I must affirm it did as much surpass
+    Most I have known, as the clear sky doth glass.
+    Constant and kind, and plain, and meek, and mild
+    It was, and with no new conceits defil'd.
+    Busy, but sacred thoughts--like bees--did still
+    Within it stir, and strive unto that hill
+    Where redeem'd spirits, evermore alive,
+    After their work is done, ascend and hive.
+    No outward tumults reach'd this inward place:
+    'Twas holy ground, where peace, and love, and grace
+    Kept house, where the immortal restless life,
+    In a most dutiful and pious strife,
+    Like a fix'd watch, mov'd all in order still;
+    The will serv'd God, and ev'ry sense the will!
+      In this safe state Death met thee, Death, which is
+    But a kind usher of the good to bliss,
+    Therefore to weep because thy course is run,
+    Or droop like flow'rs, which lately lost the sun,
+    I cannot yield, since Faith will not permit
+    A tenure got by conquest to the pit.
+    For the great Victor fought for us, and He
+    Counts ev'ry dust that is laid up of thee.
+    Besides, Death now grows decrepit, and hath
+    Spent the most part both of its time and wrath.
+    That thick, black night, which mankind fear'd, is torn
+    By troops of stars, and the bright day's forlorn.
+    The next glad news--most glad unto the just!--
+    Will be the trumpet's summons from the dust.
+    Then I'll not grieve; nay, more, I'll not allow
+    My soul should think thee absent from me now.
+    Some bid their dead "Good night!" but I will say
+    "Good morrow to dear Charles!" for it is day.
+
+
+
+
+IN ZODIACUM MARCELLI PALINGENII.
+
+
+    It is perform'd! and thy great name doth run
+    Through ev'ry sign, an everlasting sun,
+    Not planet-like, but fixed; and we can see
+    Thy genius stand still in his apogee.
+    For how canst thou an aux eternal miss,
+    Where ev'ry house thy exaltation is?
+    Here's no ecliptic threatens thee with night,
+    Although the wiser few take in thy light.
+    They are not at that glorious pitch, to be
+    In a conjunction with divinity.
+    Could we partake some oblique ray of thine,
+    Salute thee in a sextile, or a trine,
+    It were enough; but thou art flown so high,
+    The telescope is turn'd a common eye.
+    Had the grave Chaldee liv'd thy book to see,
+    He had known no astrology but thee;
+    Nay, more--for I believe't--thou shouldst have been
+    Tutor to all his planets, and to him.
+    Thus, whosoever reads thee, his charm'd sense
+    Proves captive to thy zodiac's influence.
+    Were it not foul to err so, I should look
+    Here for the Rabbins' universal book:
+    And say, their fancies did but dream of thee,
+    When first they doted on that mystery.
+    Each line's a _via lactea_, where we may
+    See thy fair steps, and tread that happy way
+    Thy genius led thee in. Still I will be
+    Lodg'd in some sign, some face, and some degree
+    Of thy bright zodiac; thus I'll teach my sense
+    To move by that, and thee th' intelligence.
+
+
+
+
+TO LYSIMACHUS, THE AUTHOR BEING WITH HIM IN LONDON.
+
+
+    Saw not, Lysimachus, last day, when we
+    Took the pure air in its simplicity,
+    And our own too, how the trimm'd gallants went
+    Cringing, and pass'd each step some compliment?
+    What strange, fantastic diagrams they drew
+    With legs and arms; the like we never knew
+    In Euclid, Archimede, nor all of those
+    Whose learned lines are neither verse nor prose?
+    What store of lace was there? how did the gold
+    Run in rich traces, but withal made bold
+    To measure the proud things, and so deride
+    The fops with that, which was part of their pride?
+    How did they point at us, and boldly call,
+    As if we had been vassals to them all,
+    Their poor men-mules, sent thither by hard fate
+    To yoke ourselves for their sedans, and state?
+    Of all ambitions, this was not the least,
+    Whose drift translated man into a beast.
+    What blind discourse the heroes did afford!
+    This lady was their friend, and such a lord.
+    How much of blood was in it! one could tell
+    He came from Bevis and his Arundel;
+    Morglay was yet with him, and he could do
+    More feats with it than his old grandsire too.
+      Wonders my friend at this? what is't to thee,
+    Who canst produce a nobler pedigree,
+    And in mere truth affirm thy soul of kin
+    To some bright star, or to a cherubin?
+    When these in their profuse moods spend the night,
+    With the same sins they drive away the light.
+    Thy learned thrift puts her to use, while she
+    Reveals her fiery volume unto thee;
+    And looking on the separated skies,
+    And their clear lamps, with careful thoughts and eyes,
+    Thou break'st through Nature's upmost rooms and bars
+    To heav'n, and there conversest with the stars.
+      Well fare such harmless, happy nights, that be
+    Obscur'd with nothing but their privacy,
+    And missing but the false world's glories do
+    Miss all those vices which attend them too!
+    Fret not to hear their ill-got, ill-giv'n praise;
+    Thy darkest nights outshine their brightest days.
+
+
+
+
+ON SIR THOMAS BODLEY'S LIBRARY, THE AUTHOR BEING THEN IN OXFORD.
+
+
+    Boast not, proud Golgotha, that thou canst show
+    The ruins of mankind, and let us know
+    How frail a thing is flesh! though we see there
+    But empty skulls, the Rabbins still live here.
+    They are not dead, but full of blood again;
+    I mean the sense, and ev'ry line a vein.
+    Triumph not o'er their dust; whoever looks
+    In here, shall find their brains all in their books.
+      Nor is't old Palestine alone survives;
+    Athens lives here, more than in Plutarch's Lives.
+    The stones, which sometimes danc'd unto the strain
+    Of Orpheus, here do lodge his Muse again.
+    And you, the Roman spirits, learning has
+    Made your lives longer than your empire was.
+    Caesar had perish'd from the world of men
+    Had not his sword been rescu'd by his pen.
+    Rare Seneca, how lasting is thy breath!
+    Though Nero did, thou couldst not bleed to death.
+    How dull the expert tyrant was, to look
+    For that in thee which lived in thy book!
+    Afflictions turn our blood to ink, and we
+    Commence, when writing, our eternity.
+    Lucilius here I can behold, and see
+    His counsels and his life proceed from thee.
+    But what care I to whom thy Letters be?
+    I change the name, and thou dost write to me;
+    And in this age, as sad almost as thine,
+    Thy stately Consolations are mine.
+    Poor earth! what though thy viler dust enrolls
+    The frail enclosures of these mighty souls?
+    Their graves are all upon record; not one
+    But is as bright and open as the sun.
+    And though some part of them obscurely fell,
+    And perish'd in an unknown, private cell,
+    Yet in their books they found a glorious way
+    To live unto the Resurrection-day!
+      Most noble Bodley! we are bound to thee
+    For no small part of our eternity.
+    Thy treasure was not spent on horse and hound,
+    Nor that new mode which doth old states confound.
+    Thy legacies another way did go:
+    Nor were they left to those would spend them so.
+    Thy safe, discreet expense on us did flow;
+    Walsam is in the midst of Oxford now.
+    Th' hast made us all thine heirs; whatever we
+    Hereafter write, 'tis thy posterity.
+    This is thy monument! here thou shalt stand
+    Till the times fail in their last grain of sand.
+    And wheresoe'er thy silent relics keep,
+    This tomb will never let thine honour sleep,
+    Still we shall think upon thee; all our fame
+    Meets here to speak one letter of thy name.
+    Thou canst not die! here thou art more than safe,
+    Where every book is thy large epitaph.
+
+
+
+
+THE IMPORTUNATE FORTUNE, WRITTEN TO DR. POWEL, OF CANTRE[FF].
+
+
+    For shame desist, why shouldst thou seek my fall?
+    It cannot make thee more monarchical.
+    Leave off; thy empire is already built;
+    To ruin me were to enlarge thy guilt,
+    Not thy prerogative. I am not he
+    Must be the measure to thy victory.
+    The Fates hatch more for thee; 'twere a disgrace
+    If in thy annals I should make a clause.
+    The future ages will disclose such men
+    Shall be the glory, and the end of them.
+    Nor do I flatter. So long as there be
+    Descents in Nature, or posterity,
+    There must be fortunes; whether they be good,
+    As swimming in thy tide and plenteous flood,
+    Or stuck fast in the shallow ebb, when we
+    Miss to deserve thy gorgeous charity.
+    Thus, Fortune, the great world thy period is;
+    Nature and you are parallels in this.
+    But thou wilt urge me still. Away, be gone,
+    I am resolv'd, I will not be undone.
+    I scorn thy trash, and thee: nay, more, I do
+    Despise myself, because thy subject too.
+    Name me heir to thy malice, and I'll be;
+    Thy hate's the best inheritance for me.
+    I care not for your wondrous hat and purse,
+    Make me a Fortunatus with thy curse.
+    How careful of myself then should I be,
+    Were I neglected by the world and thee?
+    Why dost thou tempt me with thy dirty ore,
+    And with thy riches make my soul so poor?
+    My fancy's pris'ner to thy gold and thee,
+    Thy favours rob me of my liberty.
+    I'll to my speculations. Is't best
+    To be confin'd to some dark, narrow chest
+    And idolize thy stamps, when I may be
+    Lord of all Nature, and not slave to thee?
+    The world's my palace. I'll contemplate there,
+    And make my progress into ev'ry sphere.
+    The chambers of the air are mine; those three
+    Well-furnish'd stories my possession be.
+    I hold them all _in capite_, and stand
+    Propp'd by my fancy there. I scorn your land,
+    It lies so far below me. Here I see
+    How all the sacred stars do circle me.
+    Thou to the great giv'st rich food, and I do
+    Want no content; I feed on manna too.
+    They have their tapers; I gaze without fear
+    On flying lamps and flaming comets here.
+    Their wanton flesh in silks and purple shrouds,
+    And fancy wraps me in a robe of clouds.
+    There some delicious beauty they may woo,
+    And I have Nature for my mistress too.
+      But these are mean; the archetype I can see,
+    And humbly touch the hem of majesty.
+    The power of my soul is such, I can
+    Expire, and so analyze all that's man.
+    First my dull clay I give unto the Earth,
+    Our common mother, which gives all their birth.
+    My growing faculties I send as soon,
+    Whence first I took them, to the humid moon.
+    All subtleties and every cunning art
+    To witty Mercury I do impart.
+    Those fond affections which made me a slave
+    To handsome faces, Venus, thou shalt have.
+    And saucy pride--if there was aught in me--
+    Sol, I return it to thy royalty.
+    My daring rashness and presumptions be
+    To Mars himself an equal legacy.
+    My ill-plac'd avarice--sure 'tis but small--
+    Jove, to thy flames I do bequeath it all.
+    And my false magic, which I did believe,
+    And mystic lies, to Saturn I do give.
+    My dark imaginations rest you there,
+    This is your grave and superstitious sphere.
+      Get up, my disentangled soul, thy fire
+    Is now refin'd, and nothing left to tire
+    Or clog thy wings. Now my auspicious flight
+    Hath brought me to the empyrean light.
+    I am a sep'rate essence, and can see
+    The emanations of the Deity,
+    And how they pass the seraphims, and run
+    Through ev'ry throne and domination.
+    So rushing through the guard the sacred streams
+    Flow to the neighbour stars, and in their beams
+    --A glorious cataract!--descend to earth,
+    And give impressions unto ev'ry birth.
+    With angels now and spirits I do dwell,
+    And here it is my nature to do well.
+    Thus, though my body you confined see,
+    My boundless thoughts have their ubiquity.
+    And shall I then forsake the stars and signs,
+    To dote upon thy dark and cursed mines?
+    Unhappy, sad exchange! what, must I buy
+    Guiana with the loss of all the sky?
+    Intelligences shall I leave, and be
+    Familiar only with mortality?
+    Must I know nought, but thy exchequer? shall
+    My purse and fancy be symmetrical?
+    Are there no objects left but one? must we
+    In gaining that, lose our variety?
+      Fortune, this is the reason I refuse
+    Thy wealth; it puts my books all out of use.
+    'Tis poverty that makes me wise; my mind
+    Is big with speculation, when I find
+    My purse as Randolph's was, and I confess
+    There is no blessing to an emptiness!
+    The species of all things to me resort
+    And dwell then in my breast, as in their port.
+    Then leave to court me with thy hated store;
+    Thou giv'st me that, to rob my soul of more.
+
+
+
+
+TO I. MORGAN OF WHITEHALL, ESQ., UPON HIS SUDDEN JOURNEY AND SUCCEEDING
+MARRIAGE.
+
+
+    So from our cold, rude world, which all things tires,
+    To his warm Indies the bright sun retires.
+    Where, in those provinces of gold and spice,
+    Perfumes his progress, pleasures fill his eyes,
+    Which, so refresh'd, in their return convey
+    Fire into rubies, into crystals, day;
+    And prove, that light in kinder climates can
+    Work more on senseless stones, than here on man.
+      But you, like one ordain'd to shine, take in
+    Both light and heat, can love and wisdom spin
+    Into one thread, and with that firmly tie
+    The same bright blessings on posterity:
+    Which so entail'd, like jewels of the crown,
+    Shall, with your name, descend still to your own.
+      When I am dead, and malice or neglect
+    The worst they can upon my dust reflect;
+    --For poets yet have left no names, but such
+    As men have envied or despis'd too much--
+    You above both--and what state more excels,
+    Since a just fame like health, nor wants, nor swells?--
+    To after ages shall remain entire,
+    And shine still spotless, like your planet's fire.
+    No single lustre neither; the access
+    Of your fair love will yours adorn and bless;
+    Till, from that bright conjunction, men may view
+    A constellation circling her and you.
+      So two sweet rose-buds from their virgin-beds
+    First peep and blush, then kiss and couple heads,
+    Till yearly blessings so increase their store,
+    Those two can number two-and-twenty more,
+    And the fair bank--by Heav'n's free bounty crown'd--
+    With choice of sweets and beauties doth abound,
+    Till Time, which families, like flowers, far spreads,
+    Gives them for garlands to the best of heads.
+    Then late posterity--if chance, or some
+    Weak echo, almost quite expir'd and dumb,
+    Shall tell them who the poet was, and how
+    He liv'd and lov'd thee too, which thou dost know--
+    Straight to my grave will flowers and spices bring,
+    With lights and hymns, and for an offering
+    There vow this truth, that love--which in old times
+    Was censur'd blind, and will contract worse crimes
+    If hearts mend not--did for thy sake in me
+    Find both his eyes, and all foretell and see.
+
+
+
+
+FIDA; OR, THE COUNTRY BEAUTY. TO LYSIMACHUS.
+
+
+    Now I have seen her; and by Cupid
+    The young Medusa made me stupid!
+    A face, that hath no lovers slain,
+    Wants forces, and is near disdain.
+    For every fop will freely peep
+    At majesty that is asleep.
+    But she--fair tyrant!--hates to be
+    Gaz'd on with such impunity.
+    Whose prudent rigour bravely bears
+    And scorns the trick of whining tears,
+    Or sighs, those false alarms of grief,
+    Which kill not, but afford relief.
+    Nor is it thy hard fate to be
+    Alone in this calamity,
+    Since I who came but to be gone,
+    Am plagu'd for merely looking on.
+      Mark from her forehead to her foot
+    What charming sweets are there to do't.
+    A head adorn'd with all those glories
+    That wit hath shadow'd in quaint stories,
+    Or pencil with rich colours drew
+    In imitation of the true.
+      Her hair, laid out in curious sets
+    And twists, doth show like silken nets,
+    Where--since he play'd at hit or miss--
+    The god of Love her pris'ner is,
+    And fluttering with his skittish wings
+    Puts all her locks in curls and rings.
+      Like twinkling stars her eyes invite
+    All gazers to so sweet a light,
+    But then two arched clouds of brown
+    Stand o'er, and guard them with a frown.
+      Beneath these rays of her bright eyes,
+    Beauty's rich bed of blushes lies.
+    Blushes which lightning-like come on,
+    Yet stay not to be gaz'd upon;
+    But leave the lilies of her skin
+    As fair as ever, and run in,
+    Like swift salutes--which dull paint scorn--
+    'Twixt a white noon and crimson morn.
+      What coral can her lips resemble?
+    For hers are warm, swell, melt, and tremble:
+    And if you dare contend for red,
+    This is alive, the other dead.
+      Her equal teeth--above, below--
+    All of a size and smoothness grow.
+    Where under close restraint and awe
+    --Which is the maiden tyrant law--
+    Like a cag'd, sullen linnet, dwells
+    Her tongue, the key to potent spells.
+      Her skin, like heav'n when calm and bright,
+    Shows a rich azure under white,
+    With touch more soft than heart supposes,
+    And breath as sweet as new-blown roses.
+      Betwixt this headland and the main,
+    Which is a rich and flow'ry plain,
+    Lies her fair neck, so fine and slender,
+    That gently how you please 'twill bend her.
+      This leads you to her heart, which ta'en,
+    Pants under sheets of whitest lawn,
+    And at the first seems much distress'd,
+    But, nobly treated, lies at rest.
+      Here, like two balls of new fall'n snow,
+    Her breasts, Love's native pillows, grow;
+    And out of each a rose-bud peeps,
+    Which infant Beauty sucking sleeps.
+      Say now, my Stoic, that mak'st sour faces
+    At all the beauties and the graces,
+    That criest, unclean! though known thyself
+    To ev'ry coarse and dirty shelf:
+    Couldst thou but see a piece like this,
+    A piece so full of sweets and bliss,
+    In shape so rare, in soul so rich,
+    Wouldst thou not swear she is a witch?
+
+
+
+
+FIDA FORSAKEN.
+
+
+    Fool that I was! to believe blood,
+    While swoll'n with greatness, then most good;
+    And the false thing, forgetful man,
+    To trust more than our true god, Pan.
+    Such swellings to a dropsy tend,
+    And meanest things such great ones bend.
+
+    Then live deceived! and, Fida, by
+    That life destroy fidelity.
+    For living wrongs will make some wise,
+    While Death chokes loudest injuries:
+    And screens the faulty, making blinds
+    To hide the most unworthy minds.
+
+    And yet do what thou can'st to hide,
+    A bad tree's fruit will be describ'd.
+    For that foul guilt which first took place
+    In his dark heart, now damns his face;
+    And makes those eyes, where life should dwell,
+    Look like the pits of Death and Hell.
+
+    Blood, whose rich purple shows and seals
+    Their faith in Moors, in him reveals
+    A blackness at the heart, and is
+    Turn'd ink to write his faithlessness.
+    Only his lips with blood look red,
+    As if asham'd of what they fed.
+
+    Then, since he wears in a dark skin
+    The shadows of his hell within,
+    Expose him no more to the light,
+    But thine own epitaph thus write
+    "Here burst, and dead and unregarded
+    Lies Fida's heart! O well rewarded!"
+
+
+
+
+TO THE EDITOR OF THE MATCHLESS ORINDA.
+
+
+    Long since great wits have left the stage
+    Unto the drollers of the age,
+    And noble numbers with good sense
+    Are, like good works, grown an offence.
+    While much of verse--worse than old story--
+    Speaks but Jack-Pudding or John-Dory.
+    Such trash-admirers made us poor,
+    And pies turn'd poets out of door;
+    For the nice spirit of rich verse
+    Which scorns absurd and low commerce,
+    Although a flame from heav'n, if shed
+    On rooks or daws warms no such head.
+    Or else the poet, like bad priest,
+    Is seldom good, but when oppress'd;
+    And wit as well as piety
+    Doth thrive best in adversity
+    For since the thunder left our air
+    Their laurels look not half so fair.
+      However 'tis, 'twere worse than rude,
+    Not to profess our gratitude
+    And debts to thee, who at so low
+    An ebb dost make us thus to flow;
+    And when we did a famine fear,
+    Hast bless'd us with a fruitful year.
+    So while the world his absence mourns,
+    The glorious sun at last returns,
+    And with his kind and vital looks
+    Warms the cold earth and frozen brooks,
+    Puts drowsy Nature into play,
+    And rids impediments away,
+    Till flow'rs and fruits and spices through
+    Her pregnant lap get up and grow.
+    But if among those sweet things, we
+    A miracle like that could see
+    Which Nature brought but once to pass,
+    A Muse, such as Orinda was,
+    Ph[oe]bus himself won by these charms
+    Would give her up into thy arms;
+    And recondemn'd to kiss his tree,
+    Yield the young goddess unto thee.
+
+
+
+
+UPON SUDDEN NEWS OF THE MUCH LAMENTED DEATH OF JUDGE TREVERS.
+
+
+    Learning and Law, your day is done,
+    And your work too; you may be gone
+    Trever, that lov'd you, hence is fled:
+    And Right, which long lay sick, is dead.
+    Trever! whose rare and envied part
+    Was both a wise and winning heart,
+    Whose sweet civilities could move
+    Tartars and Goths to noblest love.
+      Bold vice and blindness now dare act,
+    And--like the grey groat--pass, though crack'd;
+    While those sage lips lie dumb and cold,
+    Whose words are well-weigh'd and tried gold.
+    O, how much to discreet desires
+    Differs pure light from foolish fires!
+    But nasty dregs outlast the wine,
+    And after sunset glow-worms shine.
+
+
+
+
+TO ETESIA (FOR TIMANDER); THE FIRST SIGHT.
+
+
+    What smiling star in that fair night
+    Which gave you birth gave me this sight,
+    And with a kind aspect tho' keen
+    Made me the subject, you the queen?
+    That sparkling planet is got now
+    Into your eyes, and shines below,
+    Where nearer force and more acute
+    It doth dispense, without dispute;
+    For I who yesterday did know
+    Love's fire no more than doth cool snow,
+    With one bright look am since undone,
+    Yet must adore and seek my sun.
+      Before I walk'd free as the wind
+    And if but stay'd--like it--unkind;
+    I could like daring eagles gaze
+    And not be blinded by a face;
+    For what I saw till I saw thee,
+    Was only not deformity.
+    Such shapes appear--compar'd with thine--
+    In arras, or a tavern-sign,
+    And do but mind me to explore
+    A fairer piece, that is in store.
+    So some hang ivy to their wine,
+    To signify there is a vine.
+      Those princely flow'rs--by no storms vex'd--
+    Which smile one day, and droop the next,
+    The gallant tulip and the rose,
+    Emblems which some use to disclose
+    Bodied ideas--their weak grace
+    Is mere imposture to thy face.
+    For Nature in all things, but thee,
+    Did practise only sophistry;
+    Or else she made them to express
+    How she could vary in her dress:
+    But thou wert form'd, that we might see
+    Perfection, not variety.
+      Have you observ'd how the day-star
+    Sparkles and smiles and shines from far;
+    Then to the gazer doth convey
+    A silent but a piercing ray?
+    So wounds my love, but that her eyes
+    Are in effects the better skies.
+    A brisk bright agent from them streams
+    Arm'd with no arrows, but their beams,
+    And with such stillness smites our hearts,
+    No noise betrays him, nor his darts.
+    He, working on my easy soul,
+    Did soon persuade, and then control;
+    And now he flies--and I conspire--
+    Through all my blood with wings of fire,
+    And when I would--which will be never--
+    With cold despair allay the fever,
+    The spiteful thing Etesia names,
+    And that new-fuels all my flames.
+
+
+
+
+THE CHARACTER, TO ETESIA.
+
+
+    Go catch the ph[oe]nix, and then bring
+    A quill drawn for me from his wing.
+    Give me a maiden beauty's blood,
+    A pure, rich crimson, without mud,
+    In whose sweet blushes that may live,
+    Which a dull verse can never give.
+    Now for an untouch'd, spotless white,
+    For blackest things on paper write,
+    Etesia, at thine own expense
+    Give me the robes of innocence.
+      Could we but see a spring to run
+    Pure milk, as sometimes springs have done,
+    And in the snow-white streams it sheds,
+    Carnations wash their bloody heads,
+    While ev'ry eddy that came down
+    Did--as thou dost--both smile and frown.
+    Such objects, and so fresh would be
+    But dull resemblances of thee.
+      Thou art the dark world's morning-star,
+    Seen only, and seen but from far;
+    Where, like astronomers, we gaze
+    Upon the glories of thy face,
+    But no acquaintance more can have,
+    Though all our lives we watch and crave.
+    Thou art a world thyself alone,
+    Yea, three great worlds refin'd to one;
+    Which shows all those, and in thine eyes
+    The shining East and Paradise.
+      Thy soul--a spark of the first fire--
+    Is like the sun, the world's desire;
+    And with a nobler influence
+    Works upon all, that claim to sense;
+    But in summers hath no fever,
+    And in frosts is cheerful ever.
+      As flow'rs besides their curious dress
+    Rich odours have, and sweetnesses,
+    Which tacitly infuse desire,
+    And ev'n oblige us to admire:
+    Such, and so full of innocence
+    Are all the charms, thou dost dispense;
+    And like fair Nature without arts
+    At once they seize, and please our hearts.
+    O, thou art such, that I could be
+    A lover to idolatry!
+    I could, and should from heav'n stray,
+    But that thy life shows mine the way,
+    And leave a while the Deity
+    To serve His image here in thee.
+
+
+
+
+TO ETESIA LOOKING FROM HER CASEMENT AT THE FULL MOON.
+
+
+    See you that beauteous queen, which no age tames?
+    Her train is azure, set with golden flames:
+    My brighter fair, fix on the East your eyes,
+    And view that bed of clouds, whence she doth rise.
+    Above all others in that one short hour
+    Which most concern'd me,[64] she had greatest pow'r.
+    This made my fortunes humorous as wind,
+    But fix'd affections to my constant mind.
+    She fed me with the tears of stars, and thence
+    I suck'd in sorrows with their influence.
+    To some in smiles, and store of light she broke,
+    To me in sad eclipses still she spoke.
+    She bent me with the motion of her sphere,
+    And made me feel what first I did but fear.
+      But when I came to age, and had o'ergrown
+    Her rules, and saw my freedom was my own,
+    I did reply unto the laws of Fate,
+    And made my reason my great advocate:
+    I labour'd to inherit my just right;
+    But then--O, hear Etesia!--lest I might
+    Redeem myself, my unkind starry mother
+    Took my poor heart, and gave it to another.
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[64] The original has _concerned in_.
+
+
+
+
+TO ETESIA PARTED FROM HIM, AND LOOKING BACK.
+
+
+    O, subtle Love! thy peace is war,
+    It wounds and kills without a scar,
+    It works unknown to any sense,
+    Like the decrees of Providence,
+    And with strange silence shoots me through,
+    The fire of Love doth fell like snow.
+      Hath she no quiver, but my heart?
+    Must all her arrows hit that part?
+    Beauties like heav'n their gifts should deal
+    Not to destroy us, but to heal.
+      Strange art of Love! that can make sound,
+    And yet exasperates the wound:
+    That look she lent to ease my heart,
+    Hath pierc'd it, and improv'd the smart.
+
+
+
+
+IN ETESIAM LACHRYMANTEM.
+
+
+    O Dulcis Iuctus, risuque potentior omni!
+      Quem decorant lachrimis sidera tanta suis.
+    Quam tacitae spirant aurae! vultusque nitentes
+      Contristant veneres, collachrimantque suae!
+    Ornat gutta genas, oculisque simillima gemma:
+      Et tepido vivas irrigat imbre rosas.
+    Dicite Chaldaei! quae me fortuna fatigat,
+      [C?D?]um formosa dies et sine nube perit[65]?
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[65] The original has _peruit_.
+
+
+
+
+
+TO ETESIA GOING BEYOND SEA.
+
+
+    Go, if you must! but stay--and know
+    And mind before you go, my vow.
+    To ev'ry thing, but heav'n and you,
+    With all my heart I bid adieu!
+    Now to those happy shades I'll go
+    Where first I saw my beauteous foe!
+    I'll seek each silent path where we
+    Did walk; and where you sat with me
+    I'll sit again, and never rest
+    Till I can find some flow'r you press'd.
+    That near my dying heart I'll keep,
+    And when it wants dew I will weep:
+    Sadly I will repeat past joys
+    And words, which you did sometimes voice
+    I'll listen to the woods, and hear
+    The echo answer for you there.
+    But famish'd with long absence I,
+    Like infants left, at last shall cry,
+    And tears--as they do milk--will sup
+    Until you come, and take me up.
+
+
+
+
+ETESIA ABSENT.
+
+
+    Love, the world's life! what a sad death
+    Thy absence is! to lose our breath
+    At once and die, is but to live
+    Enlarg'd, without the scant reprieve
+    Of pulse and air; whose dull returns
+    And narrow circles the soul mourns.
+      But to be dead alive, and still
+    To wish, but never have our will,
+    To be possess'd, and yet to miss,
+    To wed a true but absent bliss,
+    Are ling'ring tortures, and their smart
+    Dissects and racks and grinds the heart!
+    As soul and body in that state
+    Which unto us, seems separate,
+    Cannot be said to live, until
+    Reunion; which days fulfil
+    And slow-pac'd seasons; so in vain
+    Through hours and minutes--Time's long train--
+    I look for thee, and from thy sight,
+    As from my soul, for life and light.
+    For till thine eyes shine so on me,
+    Mine are fast-clos'd and will not see.
+
+
+
+
+                      TRANSLATIONS.
+
+        SOME ODES OF THE EXCELLENT AND KNOWING
+  [ANICIUS MANLIUS] SEVERINUS [BOETHIUS], ENGLISHED.
+
+
+
+
+[DE CONSOLATIONE] LIB. III. METRUM XII.
+
+
+    Happy is he, that with fix'd eyes
+    The fountain of all goodness spies!
+    Happy is he that can break through
+    Those bonds which tie him here below!
+      The Thracian poet long ago,
+    Kind Orpheus, full of tears and woe,
+    Did for his lov'd Eurydice
+    In such sad numbers mourn, that he
+    Made the trees run in to his moan,
+    And streams stand still to hear him groan.
+    The does came fearless in one throng
+    With lions to his mournful song,
+    And charmed by the harmonious sound,
+    The hare stay'd by the quiet hound.
+      But when Love height'n'd by despair
+    And deep reflections on his fair
+    Had swell'd his heart, and made it rise
+    And run in tears out at his eyes,
+    And those sweet airs, which did appease
+    Wild beasts, could give their lord no ease;
+    Then, vex'd that so much grief and love
+    Mov'd not at all the gods above,
+    With desperate thoughts and bold intent,
+    Towards the shades below he went;
+    For thither his fair love was fled,
+    And he must have her from the dead.
+    There in such lines, as did well suit
+    With sad airs and a lover's lute,
+    And in the richest language dress'd
+    That could be thought on or express'd,
+    Did he complain; whatever grief
+    Or art or love--which is the chief,
+    And all ennobles--could lay out,
+    In well-tun'd woes he dealt about.
+    And humbly bowing to the prince
+    Of ghosts begg'd some intelligence
+    Of his Eurydice, and where
+    His beauteous saint resided there.
+    Then to his lute's instructed groans
+    He sigh'd out new melodious moans;
+    And in a melting, charming strain
+    Begg'd his dear love to life again.
+      The music flowing through the shade
+    And darkness did with ease invade
+    The silent and attentive ghosts;
+    And Cerberus, which guards those coasts
+    With his loud barkings, overcome
+    By the sweet notes, was now struck dumb.
+    The Furies, us'd to rave and howl
+    And prosecute each guilty soul,
+    Had lost their rage, and in a deep
+    Transport, did most profusely weep.
+    Ixion's wheel stopp'd, and the curs'd
+    Tantalus, almost kill'd with thirst,
+    Though the streams now did make no haste,
+    But wait'd for him, none would taste.
+    That vulture, which fed still upon
+    Tityus his liver, now was gone
+    To feed on air, and would not stay,
+    Though almost famish'd, with her prey.
+      Won with these wonders, their fierce prince
+    At last cried out, "We yield! and since
+    Thy merits claim no less, take hence
+    Thy consort for thy recompense:
+    But Orpheus, to this law we bind
+    Our grant: you must not look behind,
+    Nor of your fair love have one sight,
+    Till out of our dominions quite."
+      Alas! what laws can lovers awe?
+    Love is itself the greatest law!
+    Or who can such hard bondage brook
+    To be in love, and not to look?
+    Poor Orpheus almost in the light
+    Lost his dear love for one short sight;
+    And by those eyes, which Love did guide,
+    What he most lov'd unkindly died!
+      This tale of Orpheus and his love
+    Was meant for you, who ever move
+    Upwards, and tend into that light,
+    Which is not seen by mortal sight.
+    For if, while you strive to ascend,
+    You droop, and towards Earth once bend
+    Your seduc'd eyes, down you will fall
+    Ev'n while you look, and forfeit all.
+
+
+
+
+LIB. III. METRUM II.
+
+
+    What fix'd affections, and lov'd laws
+    --Which are the hid, magnetic cause--
+    Wise Nature governs with, and by
+    What fast, inviolable tie
+    The whole creation to her ends
+    For ever provident she bends:
+    All this I purpose to rehearse
+    In the sweet airs of solemn verse.
+      Although the Libyan lions should
+    Be bound in chains of purest gold,
+    And duly fed were taught to know
+    Their keeper's voice, and fear his blow:
+    Yet, if they chance to taste of blood,
+    Their rage which slept, stirr'd by that food
+    In furious roaring will awake,
+    And fiercely for their freedom make.
+    No chains nor bars their fury brooks,
+    But with enrag'd and bloody looks
+    They will break through, and dull'd with fear
+    Their keeper all to pieces tear.
+      The bird, which on the wood's tall boughs
+    Sings sweetly, if you cage or house,
+    And out of kindest care should think
+    To give her honey with her drink,
+    And get her store of pleasant meat,
+    Ev'n such as she delights to eat:
+    Yet, if from her close prison she
+    The shady groves doth chance to see,
+    Straightway she loathes her pleasant food,
+    And with sad looks longs for the wood.
+    The wood, the wood alone she loves!
+    And towards it she looks and moves:
+    And in sweet notes--though distant from--
+    Sings to her first and happy home!
+      That plant, which of itself doth grow
+    Upwards, if forc'd, will downwards bow;
+    But give it freedom, and it will
+    Get up, and grow erectly still.
+      The sun, which by his prone descent
+    Seems westward in the evening bent,
+    Doth nightly by an unseen way
+    Haste to the East, and bring up day.
+      Thus all things long for their first state,
+    And gladly to't return, though late.
+    Nor is there here to anything
+    A course allow'd, but in a ring:
+    Which, where it first began, must end,
+    And to that point directly tend.
+
+
+
+
+LIB. IV. METRUM VI.
+
+
+    Who would unclouded see the laws
+    Of the supreme, eternal Cause,
+    Let him with careful thoughts and eyes
+    Observe the high and spacious skies.
+    There in one league of love the stars
+    Keep their old peace, and show our wars.
+    The sun, though flaming still and hot,
+    The cold, pale moon annoyeth not.
+    Arcturus with his sons--though they
+    See other stars go a far way,
+    And out of sight--yet still are found
+    Near the North Pole, their noted bound.
+    Bright Hesper--at set times--delights
+    To usher in the dusky nights:
+    And in the East again attends
+    To warn us, when the day ascends.
+    So alternate Love supplies
+    Eternal courses still, and vies
+    Mutual kindness; that no jars
+    Nor discord can disturb the stars.
+
+      The same sweet concord here below
+    Makes the fierce elements to flow
+    And circle without quarrel still,
+    Though temper'd diversely; thus will
+    The hot assist the cold; the dry
+    Is a friend to humidity:
+    And by the law of kindness they
+    The like relief to them repay.
+    The fire, which active is and bright,
+    Tends upward, and from thence gives light.
+    The earth allows it all that space
+    And makes choice of the lower place;
+    For things of weight haste to the centre,
+    A fall to them is no adventure.
+
+      From these kind turns and circulation
+    Seasons proceed, and generation.
+    This makes the Spring to yield us flow'rs,
+    And melts the clouds to gentle show'rs.
+    The Summer thus matures all seeds
+    And ripens both the corn and weeds.
+    This brings on Autumn, which recruits
+    Our old, spent store, with new fresh fruits.
+    And the cold Winter's blust'ring season
+    Hath snow and storms for the same reason.
+    This temper and wise mixture breed
+    And bring forth ev'ry living seed.
+    And when their strength and substance spend
+    --For while they live, they drive and tend
+    Still to a change--it takes them hence
+    And shifts their dress! and to our sense
+    Their course is over, as their birth:
+    And hid from us they turn to earth.
+
+      But all this while the Prince of life
+    Sits without loss, or change, or strife:
+    Holding the reins, by which all move
+    --And those His wisdom, power, love
+    And justice are--and still what He
+    The first life bids, that needs must be,
+    And live on for a time; that done
+    He calls it back, merely to shun
+    The mischief, which His creature might
+    Run into by a further flight.
+    For if this dear and tender sense
+    Of His preventing providence,
+    Did not restrain and call things back,
+    Both heav'n and earth would go to rack,
+    And from their great Preserver part;
+    As blood let out forsakes the heart
+    And perisheth, but what returns
+    With fresh and brighter spirits burns.
+
+      This is the cause why ev'ry living
+    Creature affects an endless being.
+    A grain of this bright love each thing
+    Had giv'n at first by their great King;
+    And still they creep--drawn on by this--
+    And look back towards their first bliss.
+    For, otherwise, it is most sure,
+    Nothing that liveth could endure:
+    Unless its love turn'd retrograde
+    Sought that First Life, which all things made.
+
+
+
+
+LIB. IV. METRUM III.
+
+
+    If old tradition hath not fail'd,
+    Ulysses, when from Troy he sail'd
+    Was by a tempest forc'd to land
+    Where beauteous Circe did command.
+    Circe, the daughter of the sun,
+    Which had with charms and herbs undone
+    Many poor strangers, and could then
+    Turn into beasts the bravest men.
+    Such magic in her potions lay,
+    That whosoever passed that way
+    And drank, his shape was quickly lost.
+    Some into swine she turn'd, but most
+    To lions arm'd with teeth and claws;
+    Others like wolves with open jaws
+    Did howl; but some--more savage--took
+    The tiger's dreadful shape and look.
+      But wise Ulysses, by the aid
+    Of Hermes, had to him convey'd
+    A flow'r, whose virtue did suppress
+    The force of charms, and their success:
+    While his mates drank so deep, that they
+    Were turn'd to swine, which fed all day
+    On mast, and human food had left,
+    Of shape and voice at once bereft;
+    Only the mind--above all charms--
+    Unchang'd did mourn those monstrous harms.
+      O, worthless herbs, and weaker arts,
+    To change their limbs, but not their hearts!
+    Man's life and vigour keep within,
+    Lodg'd in the centre, not the skin.
+    Those piercing charms and poisons, which
+    His inward parts taint and bewitch,
+    More fatal are, than such, which can
+    Outwardly only spoil the man.
+    Those change his shape and make it foul,
+    But these deform and kill his soul.
+
+
+
+
+LIB. III. METRUM VI.
+
+
+    All sorts of men, that live on Earth,
+    Have one beginning and one birth.
+    For all things there is one Father,
+    Who lays out all, and all doth gather.
+    He the warm sun with rays adorns,
+    And fills with brightness the moon's horns.
+    The azur'd heav'ns with stars He burnish'd,
+    And the round world with creatures furnish'd.
+    But men--made to inherit all--
+    His own sons He was pleas'd to call,
+    And that they might be so indeed,
+    He gave them souls of divine seed.
+    A noble offspring surely then
+    Without distinction are all men.
+      O, why so vainly do some boast
+    Their birth and blood and a great host
+    Of ancestors, whose coats and crests
+    Are some rav'nous birds or beasts!
+    If extraction they look for,
+    And God, the great Progenitor,
+    No man, though of the meanest state,
+    Is base, or can degenerate,
+    Unless, to vice and lewdness bent,
+    He leaves and taints his true descent.
+
+
+
+
+THE OLD MAN OF VERONA OUT OF CLAUDIAN, [EPIGRAMMA II.]
+
+    _Felix, qui propriis avum transegit in arvis,
+    Una domus puerum, &c._
+
+    Most happy man! who in his own sweet fields
+    Spent all his time; to whom one cottage yields
+    In age and youth a lodging; who, grown old,
+    Walks with his staff on the same soil and mould
+    Where he did creep an infant, and can tell
+    Many fair years spent in one quiet cell!
+    No toils of fate made him from home far known,
+    Nor foreign waters drank, driv'n from his own.
+    No loss by sea, no wild land's wasteful war
+    Vex'd him, not the brib'd coil of gowns at bar.
+    Exempt from cares, in cities never seen,
+    The fresh field-air he loves, and rural green.
+    The year's set turns by fruits, not consuls, knows;
+    Autumn by apples, May by blossom'd boughs.
+    Within one hedge his sun doth set and rise,
+    The world's wide day his short demesnes comprise;
+    Where he observes some known, concrescent twig
+    Now grown an oak, and old, like him, and big.
+    Verona he doth for the Indies take,
+    And as the Red Sea counts Benacus' Lake.
+    Yet are his limbs and strength untir'd, and he,
+    A lusty grandsire, three descents doth see.
+    Travel and sail who will, search sea or shore;
+    This man hath liv'd, and that hath wander'd more.
+
+
+
+
+THE SPHERE OF ARCHIMEDES OUT OF CLAUDIAN, [EPIGRAMMA XVIII.]
+
+    _Jupiter in parvo cum cerneret aethera vitro_
+                  _Risit, et ad superos, &c._
+
+    When Jove a heav'n of small glass did behold,
+    He smil'd, and to the gods these words he told.
+    "Comes then the power of man's art to this?
+    In a frail orb my work new acted is,
+    The poles' decrees, the fate of things, God's laws,
+    Down by his art old Archimedes draws.
+    Spirits inclos'd the sev'ral stars attend,
+    And orderly the living work they bend.
+    A feigned Zodiac measures out the year,
+    Ev'ry new month a false moon doth appear.
+    And now bold industry is proud, it can
+    Wheel round its world, and rule the stars by man.
+    Why at Salmoneus' thunder do I stand?
+    Nature is rivall'd by a single hand."
+
+
+
+
+THE PH[OE]NIX OUT OF CLAUDIAN, [IDYLL I.]
+
+    _Oceani summo circumfluus aequore lucus_
+    _Trans Indos, Eurumque viret, &c._
+
+    A grove there grows, round with the sea confin'd,
+    Beyond the Indies and the Eastern wind,
+    Which, as the sun breaks forth in his first beam,
+    Salutes his steeds, and hears him whip his team;
+    When with his dewy coach the Eastern bay
+    Crackles, whence blusheth the approaching Day,
+    And blasted with his burnish'd wheels the Night
+    In a pale dress doth vanish from the light.
+      This the bless'd Ph[oe]nix' empire is, here he,
+    Alone exempted from mortality,
+    Enjoys a land, where no diseases reign,
+    And ne'er afflicted like our world with pain.
+    A bird most equal to the gods, which vies
+    For length of life and durance with the skies,
+    And with renew'd limbs tires ev'ry age
+    His appetite he never doth assuage
+    With common food. Nor doth he use to drink
+    When thirsty on some river's muddy brink.
+    A purer, vital heat shot from the sun
+    Doth nourish him, and airy sweets that come
+    From Tethys lap he tasteth at his need;
+    On such abstracted diet doth he feed.
+    A secret light there streams from both his eyes,
+    A fiery hue about his cheeks doth rise.
+    His crest grows up into a glorious star
+    Giv'n t' adorn his head, and shines so far,
+    That piercing through the bosom of the night
+    It rends the darkness with a gladsome light.
+    His thighs like Tyrian scarlet, and his wings
+    --More swift than winds are--have sky-colour'd rings
+    Flow'ry and rich: and round about enroll'd
+    Their utmost borders glister all with gold.
+    He's not conceiv'd, nor springs he from the Earth,
+    But is himself the parent, and the birth.
+    None him begets; his fruitful death reprieves
+    Old age, and by his funerals he lives.
+    For when the tedious Summer's gone about
+    A thousand times: so many Winters out,
+    So many Springs: and May doth still restore
+    Those leaves, which Autumn had blown off before;
+    Then press'd with years his vigour doth decline,
+    Foil'd with the number; as a stately pine
+    Tir'd out with storms bends from the top and height
+    Of Caucasus, and falls with its own weight,
+    Whose part is torn with daily blasts, with rain
+    Part is consum'd, and part with age again;
+    So now his eyes grown dusky, fail to see
+    Far off, and drops of colder rheums there be
+    Fall'n slow and dreggy from them; such in sight
+    The cloudy moon is, having spent her light.
+    And now his wings, which used to contend
+    With tempests, scarce from the low earth ascend.
+    He knows his time is out! and doth provide
+    New principles of life; herbs he brings dried
+    From the hot hills, and with rich spices frames
+    A pile, shall burn, and hatch him with its flames.
+    On this the weakling sits; salutes the sun
+    With pleasant noise, and prays and begs for some
+    Of his own fire, that quickly may restore
+    The youth and vigour, which he had before.
+    Whom, soon as Ph[oe]bus spies, stopping his reins,
+    He makes a stand and thus allays his pains.
+    O thou that buriest old age in thy grave,
+    And art by seeming funerals to have
+    A new return of life, whose custom 'tis
+    To rise by ruin, and by death to miss
+    Ev'n death itself, a new beginning take,
+    And that thy wither'd body now forsake!
+    Better thyself by this thy change! This said
+    He shakes his locks, and from his golden head
+    Shoots one bright beam, which smites with vital fire
+    The willing bird; to burn is his desire,
+    That he may live again: he's proud in death,
+    And goes in haste to gain a better breath.
+    The spicy heap fir'd with celestial rays
+    Doth burn the aged Ph[oe]nix, when straight stays
+    The chariot of th' amazed moon; the pole
+    Resists the wheeling swift orbs, and the whole
+    Fabric of Nature at a stand remains,
+    Till the old bird a new young being gains.
+    All stop and charge the faithful flames, that they
+    Suffer not Nature's glory to decay.
+      By this time, life which in the ashes lurks
+    Hath fram'd the heart, and taught new blood new works;
+    The whole heap stirs, and ev'ry part assumes
+    Due vigour; th' embers too are turn'd to plumes;
+    The parent in the issue now revives,
+    But young and brisk; the bounds of both these lives,
+    With very little space between the same,
+    Were parted only by the middle flame.
+      To Nilus straight he goes to consecrate
+    His parent's ghost; his mind is to translate
+    His dust to Egypt. Now he hastes away
+    Into a distant land, and doth convey
+    The ashes in a turf. Birds do attend
+    His journey without number, and defend
+    His pious flight, like to a guard; the sky
+    Is clouded with the army, as they fly.
+    Nor is there one of all those thousands dares
+    Affront his leader: they with solemn cares
+    Attend the progress of their youthful king;
+    Not the rude hawk, nor th' eagle that doth bring
+    Arms up to Jove, fight now, lest they displease;
+    The miracle enacts a common peace.
+    So doth the Parthian lead from Tigris' side
+    His barbarous troops, full of a lavish pride
+    In pearls and habit; he adorns his head
+    With royal tires: his steed with gold is led;
+    His robes, for which the scarlet fish is sought,
+    With rare Assyrian needle-work are wrought;
+    And proudly reigning o'er his rascal bands,
+    He raves and triumphs in his large commands.
+      A city of Egypt, famous in all lands
+    For rites, adores the sun; his temple stands
+    There on a hundred pillars by account,
+    Digg'd from the quarries of the Theban mount.
+    Here, as the custom did require--they say--
+    His happy parent's dust down he doth lay;
+    Then to the image of his lord he bends
+    And to the flames his burden straight commends.
+    Unto the altars thus he destinates
+    His own remains; the light doth gild the gates;
+    Perfumes divine the censers up do send:
+    While th' Indian odour doth itself extend
+    To the Pelusian fens, and filleth all
+    The men it meets with the sweet storm. A gale,
+    To which compar'd nectar itself is vile,
+    Fills the sev'n channels of the misty Nile.
+      O happy bird! sole heir to thy own dust!
+    Death, to whose force all other creatures must
+    Submit, saves thee. Thy ashes make thee rise;
+    'Tis not thy nature, but thy age that dies.
+    Thou hast seen all! and to the times that run
+    Thou art as great a witness as the sun.
+    Thou saw'st the deluge, when the sea outvied
+    The land, and drown'd the mountains with the tide.
+    What year the straggling Phaeton did fire
+    The world, thou know'st. And no plagues can conspire
+    Against thy life; alone thou dost arise
+    Above mortality; the destinies
+    Spin not thy days out with their fatal clue;
+    They have no law, to which thy life is due.
+
+
+
+
+            PIOUS THOUGHTS AND EJACULATIONS.
+
+
+
+
+TO HIS BOOKS.
+
+
+    Bright books! the perspectives to our weak sights,
+    The clear projections of discerning lights,
+    Burning and shining thoughts, man's posthume day,
+    The track of fled souls, and their Milky Way,
+    The dead alive and busy, the still voice
+    Of enlarg'd spirits, kind Heav'n's white decoys!
+    Who lives with you, lives like those knowing flow'rs,
+    Which in commerce with light spend all their hours:
+    Which shut to clouds, and shadows nicely shun,
+    But with glad haste unveil to kiss the sun.
+    Beneath you, all is dark, and a dead night,
+    Which whoso lives in, wants both health and sight.
+      By sucking you, the wise--like bees--do grow
+    Healing and rich, though this they do most slow,
+    Because most choicely; for as great a store
+    Have we of books, as bees of herbs, or more:
+    And the great task, to try, then know, the good.
+    To discern weeds, and judge of wholesome food,
+    Is a rare, scant performance: for man dies
+    Oft ere 'tis done, while the bee feeds and flies.
+    But you were all choice flow'rs, all set and drest
+    By old sage florists, who well knew the best:
+    And I amidst you all am turned a weed!
+    Not wanting knowledge, but for want of heed.
+    Then thank thyself, wild fool, that wouldst not be
+    Content to know--what was too much for thee!
+
+
+
+
+LOOKING BACK.
+
+
+    Fair shining mountains of my pilgrimage
+      And flowery vales, whose flow'rs were stars,
+    The days and nights of my first happy age;
+      An age without distaste and wars!
+    When I by thoughts ascend your sunny heads,
+      And mind those sacred midnight lights
+    By which I walk'd, when curtain'd rooms and beds
+      Confin'd or seal'd up others' sights:
+      O then, how bright,
+      And quick a light
+    Doth brush my heart and scatter night;
+      Chasing that shade,
+      Which my sins made,
+    While I so spring, as if I could not fade!
+    How brave a prospect is a bright back-side!
+      Where flow'rs and palms refresh the eye!
+    And days well spent like the glad East abide,
+      Whose morning-glories cannot die!
+
+
+
+
+THE SHOWER.
+
+
+    Waters above! eternal springs!
+    The dew that silvers the Dove's wings!
+    O welcome, welcome to the sad!
+    Give dry dust drink; drink that makes glad!
+    Many fair ev'nings, many flow'rs
+    Sweeten'd with rich and gentle showers,
+    Have I enjoy'd, and down have run
+    Many a fine and shining sun;
+    But never, till this happy hour,
+    Was blest with such an evening-shower!
+
+
+
+
+DISCIPLINE.
+
+
+    Fair Prince of Light! Light's living Well
+    Who hast the keys of death and Hell!
+    If the mole[66] man despise Thy day,
+    Put chains of darkness in his way.
+    Teach him how deep, how various are
+    The counsels of Thy love and care.
+    When acts of grace and a long peace,
+    Breed but rebellion, and displease,
+    Then give him his own way and will,
+    Where lawless he may run, until
+    His own choice hurts him, and the sting
+    Of his foul sins full sorrows bring.
+    If Heaven and angels, hopes and mirth,
+    Please not the mole so much as earth:
+    Give him his mine to dig, or dwell,
+    And one sad scheme of hideous Hell.
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[66] The original edition has _mule_.
+
+
+
+
+THE ECLIPSE.
+
+
+    Whither, O whither didst thou fly
+    When I did grieve Thine holy eye?
+    When Thou didst mourn to see me lost,
+    And all Thy care and counsels cross'd.
+    O do not grieve, where'er Thou art!
+    Thy grief is an undoing smart,
+    Which doth not only pain, but break
+    My heart, and makes me blush to speak.
+    Thy anger I could kiss, and will;
+    But O Thy grief, Thy grief, doth kill.
+
+
+
+
+AFFLICTION.
+
+
+    O come, and welcome! come, refine!
+    For Moors, if wash'd by Thee, will shine.
+    Man blossoms at Thy touch; and he,
+    When Thou draw'st blood is Thy rose-tree.
+    Crosses make straight his crooked ways,
+    And clouds but cool his dog-star days;
+    Diseases too, when by Thee blest,
+    Are both restoratives and rest.
+      Flow'rs that in sunshines riot still,
+    Die scorch'd and sapless; though storms kill,
+    The fall is fair, e'en to desire,
+    Where in their sweetness all expire.
+    O come, pour on! what calms can be
+    So fair as storms, that appease Thee?
+
+
+
+
+RETIREMENT.
+
+
+    Fresh fields and woods! the Earth's fair face!
+    God's footstool! and man's dwelling-place!
+    I ask not why the first believer
+    Did love to be a country liver?
+    Who, to secure pious content,
+    Did pitch by groves and wells his tent;
+    Where he might view the boundless sky,
+    And all those glorious lights on high,
+    With flying meteors, mists, and show'rs,
+    Subjected hills, trees, meads, and flow'rs,
+    And ev'ry minute bless the King
+    And wise Creator of each thing.
+
+      I ask not why he did remove
+    To happy Mamre's holy grove,
+    Leaving the cities of the plain
+    To Lot and his successless train?
+    All various lusts in cities still
+    Are found; they are the thrones of ill,
+    The dismal sinks, where blood is spill'd,
+    Cages with much uncleanness fill'd:
+    But rural shades are the sweet sense
+    Of piety and innocence;
+    They are the meek's calm region, where
+    Angels descend and rule the sphere;
+    Where Heaven lies leiguer, and the Dove
+    Duly as dew comes from above.
+    If Eden be on Earth at all,
+    'Tis that which we the country call.
+
+
+
+
+THE REVIVAL.
+
+
+    Unfold! unfold! Take in His light,
+    Who makes thy cares more short than night.
+    The joys which with His day-star rise
+    He deals to all but drowsy eyes;
+    And, what the men of this world miss,
+    Some drops and dews of future bliss.
+
+      Hark! how His winds have chang'd their note!
+    And with warm whispers call thee out;
+    The frosts are past, the storms are gone,
+    And backward life at last comes on.
+    The lofty groves in express joys
+    Reply unto the turtle's voice;
+    And here in dust and dirt, O here
+    The lilies of His love appear!
+
+
+
+
+THE DAY SPRING.
+
+
+    Early, while yet the dark was gay
+    And gilt with stars, more trim than day,
+    Heav'n's Lily, and the Earth's chaste Rose,
+    The green immortal Branch arose;           }
+    And in a solitary place                    } S. Mark,
+    Bow'd to His Father His blest face.        } c. 1, v. 35-
+      If this calm season pleased my Prince,
+    Whose fulness no need could evince,
+    Why should not I, poor silly sheep,
+    His hours, as well as practice, keep?
+    Not that His hand is tied to these,
+    From whom Time holds his transient lease
+    But mornings new creations are,
+    When men, all night sav'd by His care,
+    Are still reviv'd; and well He may
+    Expect them grateful with the day.
+    So for that first draught of His hand,     }
+    Which finish'd heav'n, and sea, and land,  } Job, c. 38,
+    The sons of God their thanks did bring,    } v. 7-
+    And all the morning stars did sing.        }
+    Besides, as His part heretofore
+    The firstlings were of all that bore
+    So now each day from all He saves
+    Their soul's first thoughts and fruits He craves.
+    This makes Him daily shed and show'r
+    His graces at this early hour;
+    Which both His care and kindness show,
+    Cheering the good, quickening the slow.
+    As holy friends mourn at delay,
+    And think each minute an hour's stay,
+    So His Divine and loving Dove
+    With longing throes[67] doth heave and move,
+    And soar about us while we sleep;
+    Sometimes quite through that lock doth peep,
+    And shine, but always without fail,
+    Before the slow sun can unveil,
+    In new compassions breaks, like light,
+    And morning-looks, which scatter night.
+      And wilt Thou let Thy creature be,
+    When Thou hast watch'd, asleep to Thee?
+    Why to unwelcome loath'd surprises
+    Dost leave him, having left his vices?
+    Since these, if suffer'd, may again
+    Lead back the living to the slain.
+    O, change this scourge; or, if as yet
+    None less will my transgressions fit,
+    Dissolve, dissolve! Death cannot do
+    What I would not submit unto.
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[67] The original has _throws_.
+
+
+
+
+THE RECOVERY.
+
+
+I.
+
+    Fair vessel of our daily light, whose proud
+    And previous glories gild that blushing cloud;
+    Whose lively fires in swift projections glance
+    From hill to hill, and by refracted chance
+    Burnish some neighbour-rock, or tree, and then
+    Fly off in coy and winged flames again:
+                    If thou this day
+                    Hold on thy way,
+    Know, I have got a greater light than thine;
+    A light, whose shade and back-parts make thee shine.
+      Then get thee down! then get thee down!
+      I have a Sun now of my own.
+
+
+II.
+
+    Those nicer livers, who without thy rays
+    Stir not abroad, those may thy lustre praise;
+    And wanting light--light, which no wants doth know--
+    To thee--weak shiner!--like blind Persians bow.
+    But where that Sun, which tramples on thy head,
+    From His own bright eternal eye doth shed
+                    One living ray,
+                    There thy dead day
+    Is needless, and man to a light made free,
+    Which shows that thou canst neither show nor see.
+      Then get thee down! then get thee down!
+      I have a Sun now of my own.
+
+
+
+
+THE NATIVITY.
+
+Written in the year 1656.
+
+
+    Peace? and to all the world? Sure One,
+    And He the Prince of Peace, hath none!
+    He travels to be born, and then
+    Is born to travel more again.
+    Poor Galilee! thou canst not be
+    The place for His Nativity.
+    His restless mother's call'd away,
+    And not deliver'd till she pay.
+
+      A tax? 'tis so still! we can see
+    The Church thrive in her misery,
+    And, like her Head at Beth'lem, rise,
+    When she, oppress'd with troubles, lies.
+    Rise?--should all fall, we cannot be
+    In more extremities than He.
+    Great Type of passions! Come what will,
+    Thy grief exceeds all copies still.
+    Thou cam'st from Heav'n to Earth, that we
+    Might go from Earth to Heav'n with Thee:
+    And though Thou found'st no welcome here,
+    Thou didst provide us mansions there.
+    A stable was Thy Court, and when
+    Men turn'd to beasts, beasts would be men:
+    They were Thy courtiers; others none;
+    And their poor manger was Thy throne.
+    No swaddling silks Thy limbs did fold,
+    Though Thou couldst turn Thy rays to gold.
+    No rockers waited on Thy birth,
+    No cradles stirr'd, nor songs of mirth;
+    But her chaste lap and sacred breast,
+    Which lodg'd Thee first, did give Thee rest.
+
+      But stay: what light is that doth stream
+    And drop here in a gilded beam?
+    It is Thy star runs page, and brings
+    Thy tributary Eastern kings.
+    Lord! grant some light to us, that we
+    May with them find the way to Thee!
+    Behold what mists eclipse the day!
+    How dark it is! Shed down one ray,
+    To guide us out of this dark night,
+    And say once more, "Let there be light!"
+
+
+
+
+THE TRUE CHRISTMAS.
+
+
+    So, stick up ivy and the bays,
+    And then restore the heathen ways.
+    Green will remind you of the spring,
+    Though this great day denies the thing;
+    And mortifies the earth, and all
+    But your wild revels, and loose hall.
+    Could you wear flow'rs, and roses strow
+    Blushing upon your breasts' warm snow,
+    That very dress your lightness will
+    Rebuke, and wither at the ill.
+    The brightness of this day we owe
+    Not unto music, masque, nor show,
+    Nor gallant furniture, nor plate,
+    But to the manger's mean estate.
+    His life while here, as well as birth,
+    Was but a check to pomp and mirth;
+    And all man's greatness you may see
+    Condemned by His humility.
+
+      Then leave your open house and noise,
+    To welcome Him with holy joys,
+    And the poor shepherds' watchfulness,
+    Whom light and hymns from Heav'n did bless.
+    What you abound with, cast abroad
+    To those that want, and ease your load.
+    Who empties thus, will bring more in;
+    But riot is both loss and sin.
+    Dress finely what comes not in sight,
+    And then you keep your Christmas right.
+
+
+
+
+THE REQUEST.
+
+
+    O thou who didst deny to me
+    This world's ador'd felicity,
+    And ev'ry big imperious lust,
+    Which fools admire in sinful dust,
+    With those fine subtle twists, that tie
+    Their bundles of foul gallantry--
+    Keep still my weak eyes from the shine
+    Of those gay things which are not Thine!
+    And shut my ears against the noise
+    Of wicked, though applauded, joys!
+    For Thou in any land hast store
+    Of shades and coverts for Thy poor;
+    Where from the busy dust and heat,
+    As well as storms, they may retreat.
+    A rock or bush are downy beds,
+    When Thou art there, crowning their heads
+    With secret blessings, or a tire
+    Made of the Comforter's live fire.
+    And when Thy goodness in the dress
+    Of anger will not seem to bless,
+    Yet dost Thou give them that rich rain,
+    Which, as it drops, clears all again.
+      O what kind visits daily pass
+    'Twixt Thy great self and such poor grass:
+    With what sweet looks doth Thy love shine
+    On those low violets of Thine,
+    While the tall tulip is accurst,
+    And crowns imperial die with thirst!
+    O give me still those secret meals,
+    Those rare repasts which Thy love deals!
+    Give me that joy, which none can grieve,
+    And which in all griefs doth relieve!
+    This is the portion Thy child begs;
+    Not that of rust, and rags, and dregs.
+
+
+
+
+JORDANIS.
+
+
+    Quid celebras auratam undam, et combusta pyropis
+      Flumina, vel medio quae serit aethra salo?
+    Aeternum refluis si pernoctaret in undis
+      Ph[oe]bus, et incertam sidera suda Tethyn
+    Si colerent, tantae gemmae! nil caerula librem:
+      Sorderet rubro in littore dives Eos.
+    Pactoli mea lympha macras ditabit arenas,
+      Atque universum gutta minuta Tagum.
+    O caram caput! O cincinnos unda beatos
+      Libata! O Domini balnea sancta mei!
+    Quod fortunatum voluit spectare canalem,
+      Hoc erat in laudes area parva tuas.
+    Jordanis in medio perfusus flumine lavit,
+      Divinoque tuas ore beavit aquas.
+    Ah! Solyma infelix rivis obsessa prophanis!
+      Amisit genium porta Bethesda suum.
+    Hic Orientis aquae currunt, et apostata Parphar,
+      Atque Abana immundo turbidus amne fluit,
+    Ethnica te totam cum f[oe]davere fluenta,
+      Mansit Christicola Jordanis unus aqua.
+
+
+
+
+SERVILII FATUM, SIVE VINDICTA DIVINA.
+
+
+    Et sic in cithara, sic in dulcedine vitae
+      Et facti et luctus regnat amarities.
+    Quam subito in fastum extensos atque esseda[68] vultus
+      Ultrici oppressit vilis arena sinu!
+    Si violae, spiransque crocus: si lilium [Greek: aeinon]
+      Non nisi justorum nascitur e cinere:
+    Spinarum, tribulique atque infelicis avenae
+      Quantus in hoc tumulo et qualis acervus erit?
+    Dii superi! damnosa piis sub sidera longum
+      Mansuris stabilem conciliate fidem!
+    Sic olim in c[oe]lum post nimbos clarius ibunt,
+      Supremo occidui tot velut astra die.
+    Quippe ruunt horae, qualisque in corpore vixit,
+      Talis it in tenebras bis moriturus homo.
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[68] The original edition misprints _essera_.
+
+
+
+
+DE SALMONE
+
+_Ad virum optimum, et sibi familiarius notum: D. Thomam Poellum
+      Cantrevensem: S. S. Theologiae Doctorem._
+
+
+    Accipe praerapido salmonem in gurgite captum,
+      Ex imo in summas cum penetrasset aquas,
+    Mentitae culicis quem forma elusit inanis:
+      Picta coloratis plumea musca notis.
+    Dum captat, capitur; vorat inscius, ipse vorandus;
+      Fitque cibi raptor grata rapina mali.
+    Alma quies! miserae merces ditissima vitae,
+      Quam tuto in tacitis hic latuisset aquis!
+    Qui dum spumosi fremitus et murmura rivi
+      Quaeritat, hamato sit cita praeda cibo,
+    Quam grave magnarum specimen dant ludicra rerum?
+      Gurges est mundus: salmo, homo: pluma, dolus.
+
+
+
+
+THE WORLD.
+
+
+    Can any tell me what it is? Can you
+    That wind your thoughts into a clue
+    To guide out others, while yourselves stay in,
+              And hug the sin?
+      I, who so long have in it liv'd,
+              That, if I might,
+      In truth I would not be repriev'd,
+              Have neither sight
+              Nor sense that knows
+              These ebbs and flows:
+      But since of all all may be said,
+      And likeliness doth but upbraid
+      And mock the truth, which still is lost
+    In fine conceits, like streams in a sharp frost;
+      I will not strive, nor the rule break,
+      Which doth give losers leave to speak.
+    Then false and foul world, and unknown
+              Ev'n to thy own,
+      Here I renounce thee, and resign
+      Whatever thou canst say is thine.
+
+        Thou art not Truth! for he that tries
+      Shall find thee all deceit and lies,
+    Thou art not Friendship! for in thee
+    'Tis but the bait of policy;
+    Which like a viper lodg'd in flow'rs,
+    Its venom through that sweetness pours;
+    And when not so, then always 'tis
+    A fading paint, the short-liv'd bliss
+    Of air and humour; out and in,
+    Like colours in a dolphin's skin;
+    But must not live beyond one day,
+    Or convenience; then away.
+    Thou art not Riches! for that trash,
+    Which one age hoards, the next doth wash
+    And so severely sweep away,
+    That few remember where it lay.
+    So rapid streams the wealthy land
+    About them have at their command;
+    And shifting channels here restore,
+    There break down, what they bank'd before.
+    Thou art not Honour! for those gay
+    Feathers will wear and drop away;
+    And princes to some upstart line
+    Gives new ones, that are full as fine.
+    Thou art not Pleasure! for thy rose
+    Upon a thorn doth still repose;
+    Which, if not cropp'd, will quickly shed,
+    But soon as cropp'd, grows dull and dead.
+      Thou art the sand, which fills one glass,
+    And then doth to another pass;
+    And could I put thee to a stay,
+    Thou art but dust! Then go thy way,
+    And leave me clean and bright, though poor;
+    Who stops thee doth but daub his floor;
+    And, swallow-like, when he hath done,
+    To unknown dwellings must be gone!
+      Welcome, pure thoughts, and peaceful hours,
+    Enrich'd with sunshine and with show'rs;
+    Welcome fair hopes, and holy cares,
+    The not to be repented shares
+    Of time and business; the sure road
+    Unto my last and lov'd abode!
+                  O supreme Bliss!
+    The Circle, Centre, and Abyss
+    Of blessings, never let me miss
+    Nor leave that path which leads to Thee,
+    Who art alone all things to me!
+    I hear, I see, all the long day
+    The noise and pomp of the broad way.
+    I note their coarse and proud approaches,
+    Their silks, perfumes, and glittering coaches.
+    But in the narrow way to Thee
+    I observe only poverty,
+    And despis'd things; and all along
+    The ragged, mean, and humble throng
+    Are still on foot; and as they go
+    They sigh, and say, their Lord went so.
+      Give me my staff then, as it stood
+    When green and growing in the wood;
+    --Those stones, which for the altar serv'd,
+    Might not be smooth'd, nor finely carv'd--
+    With this poor stick I'll pass the ford,
+    As Jacob did; and Thy dear word,
+    As Thou hast dress'd it, not as wit
+    And deprav'd tastes have poison'd it,
+    Shall in the passage be my meat,
+    And none else will Thy servant eat.
+    Thus, thus, and in no other sort,
+    Will I set forth, though laugh'd at for't;
+    And leaving the wise world their way,
+    Go through, though judg'd to go astray.
+
+
+
+
+THE BEE.
+
+
+    From fruitful beds and flow'ry borders,
+    Parcell'd to wasteful ranks and orders,
+    Where State grasps more than plain Truth needs,
+    And wholesome herbs are starv'd by weeds,
+    To the wild woods I will be gone,
+    And the coarse meals of great Saint John.
+
+      When truth and piety are miss'd
+    Both in the rulers and the priest;
+    When pity is not cold, but dead,
+    And the rich eat the poor like bread;
+    While factious heads with open coil
+    And force, first make, then share, the spoil;
+    To Horeb then Elias goes,
+    And in the desert grows the rose.
+      Hail crystal fountains and fresh shades,
+    Where no proud look invades,
+    No busy worldling hunts away
+    The sad retirer all the day!
+    Hail, happy, harmless solitude!
+    Our sanctuary from the rude
+    And scornful world; the calm recess
+    Of faith, and hope, and holiness!
+    Here something still like Eden looks;
+    Honey in woods, juleps in brooks,
+    And flow'rs, whose rich, unrifled sweets
+    With a chaste kiss the cool dew greets,
+    When the toils of the day are done,
+    And the tir'd world sets with the sun.
+    Here flying winds and flowing wells
+    Are the wise, watchful hermit's bells;
+    Their busy murmurs all the night
+    To praise or prayer do invite,
+    And with an awful sound arrest,
+    And piously employ his breast.
+
+      When in the East the dawn doth blush,
+    Here cool, fresh spirits the air brush;
+    Herbs straight get up, flow'rs peep and spread,
+    Trees whisper praise, and bow the head:
+    Birds, from the shades of night releas'd,
+    Look round about, then quit the nest,
+    And with united gladness sing
+    The glory of the morning's King.
+    The hermit hears, and with meek voice
+    Offers his own up, and their joys:
+    Then prays that all the world may be
+    Bless'd with as sweet an unity.
+
+      If sudden storms the day invade,
+    They flock about him to the shade:
+    Where wisely they expect the end,
+    Giving the tempest time to spend;
+    And hard by shelters on some bough
+    Hilarion's servant, the sage crow.
+
+      O purer years of light and grace!
+    The diff'rence is great as the space
+    'Twixt you and us, who blindly run
+    After false fires, and leave the sun.
+    Is not fair Nature of herself
+    Much richer than dull paint or pelf?
+    And are not streams at the spring-head
+    More sweet than in carv'd stone or lead?
+    But fancy and some artist's tools
+    Frame a religion for fools.
+
+      The truth, which once was plainly taught,
+    With thorns and briars now is fraught.
+    Some part is with bold fables spotted,
+    Some by strange comments wildly blotted;
+    And Discord--old Corruption's crest--
+    With blood and blame hath stain'd the rest.
+    So snow, which in its first descents
+    A whiteness, like pure Heav'n, presents,
+    When touch'd by man is quickly soil'd,
+    And after, trodden down and spoil'd.
+
+      O lead me, where I may be free
+    In truth and spirit to serve Thee!
+    Where undisturb'd I may converse
+    With Thy great Self; and there rehearse
+    Thy gifts with thanks; and from Thy store,
+    Who art all blessings, beg much more.
+    Give me the wisdom of the bee,
+    And her unwearied industry!
+    That from the wild gourds of these days,
+    I may extract health, and Thy praise,
+    Who canst turn darkness into light,
+    And in my weakness show Thy might.
+
+      Suffer me not in any want
+    To seek refreshment from a plant
+    Thou didst not set; since all must be
+    Pluck'd up, whose growth is not from Thee.
+    'Tis not the garden, and the bow'rs,
+    Nor sense and forms, that give to flow'rs
+    Their wholesomeness, but Thy good will,
+    Which truth and pureness purchase still.
+
+      Then since corrupt man hath driv'n hence
+    Thy kind and saving influence,
+    And balm is no more to be had
+    In all the coasts of Gilead;
+    Go with me to the shade and cell,
+    Where Thy best servants once did dwell.
+    There let me know Thy will, and see
+    Exil'd Religion own'd by Thee;
+    For Thou canst turn dark grots to halls,
+    And make hills blossom like the vales;
+    Decking their untill'd heads with flow'rs,
+    And fresh delights for all sad hours;
+    Till from them, like a laden bee,
+    I may fly home, and hive with Thee
+
+
+
+
+TO CHRISTIAN RELIGION.
+
+
+    Farewell, thou true and tried reflection
+    Of the still poor, and meek election:
+    Farewell, soul's joy, the quick'ning health
+    Of spirits, and their secret wealth!
+    Farewell, my morning-star, the bright
+    And dawning looks of the True Light!
+    O blessed shiner, tell me whither
+    Thou wilt be gone, when night comes hither!
+    A seer that observ'd thee in
+    Thy course, and watch'd the growth of sin,
+    Hath giv'n his judgment, and foretold,
+    That westward hence thy course will hold;
+    And when the day with us is done,
+    There fix, and shine a glorious sun.
+    O hated shades and darkness! when
+    You have got here the sway again,
+    And like unwholesome fogs withstood
+    The light, and blasted all that's good,
+    Who shall the happy shepherds be,
+    To watch the next nativity
+    Of truth and brightness, and make way
+    For the returning, rising day?
+    O what year will bring back our bliss?
+    Or who shall live, when God doth this?
+      Thou Rock of Ages! and the Rest
+    Of all, that for Thee are oppress'd!
+    Send down the Spirit of Thy truth,
+    That Spirit, which the tender youth,
+    And first growths of Thy Spouse did spread
+    Through all the world, from one small head!
+    Then if to blood we must resist,
+    Let Thy mild Dove, and our High-Priest,
+    Help us, when man proves false or frowns,
+    To bear the Cross, and save our crowns.
+    O honour those that honour Thee!
+    Make babes to still the enemy!
+    And teach an infant of few days
+    To perfect by his death Thy praise!
+    Let none defile what Thou didst wed,
+    Nor tear the garland from her head!
+    But chaste and cheerful let her die,
+    And precious in the Bridegroom's eye
+    So to Thy glory and her praise,
+    These last shall be her brightest days.
+
+      Revel[ation] chap. last, vers. 17.
+      "_The Spirit and the Bride say, Come._"
+
+
+
+
+DAPHNIS.
+
+_An Elegiac Eclogue. The Interlocutors, Damon, Menalcas._
+
+
+_Damon._
+
+      What clouds, Menalcas, do oppress thy brow,
+    Flow'rs in a sunshine never look so low?
+    Is Nisa still cold flint? or have thy lambs
+    Met with the fox by straying from their dams?
+
+_Menalcas._
+
+      Ah, Damon, no! my lambs are safe; and she
+    Is kind, and much more white than they can be.
+    But what doth life when most serene afford
+    Without a worm which gnaws her fairest gourd?
+    Our days of gladness are but short reliefs,
+    Giv'n to reserve us for enduring griefs:
+    So smiling calms close tempests breed, which break
+    Like spoilers out, and kill our flocks when weak.
+    I heard last May--and May is still high Spring--
+    The pleasant Philomel her vespers sing.
+    The green wood glitter'd with the golden sun.
+    And all the west like silver shin'd; not one
+    Black cloud; no rags, nor spots did stain
+    The welkin's beauty; nothing frown'd like rain.
+    But ere night came, that scene of fine sights turn'd
+    To fierce dark show'rs; the air with lightnings burn'd;
+    The wood's sweet syren, rudely thus oppress'd,
+    Gave to the storm her weak and weary breast.
+    I saw her next day on her last cold bed:
+    And Daphnis so, just so is Daphnis, dead!
+
+_Damon._
+
+      So violets, so doth the primrose, fall,
+    At once the Spring's pride, and its funeral.
+    Such easy sweets get off still in their prime,
+    And stay not here to wear the soil of time;
+    While coarser flow'rs, which none would miss, if past,
+    To scorching Summers and cold Autumns last.
+
+_Menalcas._
+
+      Souls need not time. The early forward things
+    Are always fledg'd, and gladly use their wings.
+    Or else great parts, when injur'd, quit the crowd,
+    To shine above still, not behind, the cloud.
+    And is't not just to leave those to the night
+    That madly hate and persecute the light?
+    Who, doubly dark, all negroes do exceed,
+    And inwardly are true black Moors indeed?
+
+_Damon._
+
+      The punishment still manifests the sin,
+    As outward signs show the disease within.
+    While worth oppress'd mounts to a nobler height,
+    And palm-like bravely overtops the weight.
+      So where swift Isca from our lofty hills
+    With loud farewells descends, and foaming fills
+    A wider channel, like some great port-vein
+    With large rich streams to fill the humble plain:
+    I saw an oak, whose stately height and shade,
+    Projected far, a goodly shelter made;
+    And from the top with thick diffused boughs
+    In distant rounds grew like a wood-nymph's house.
+    Here many garlands won at roundel-lays
+    Old shepherds hung up in those happy days
+    With knots and girdles, the dear spoils and dress
+    Of such bright maids as did true lovers bless.
+    And many times had old Amphion made
+    His beauteous flock acquainted with this shade:
+    His flock, whose fleeces were as smooth and white
+    As those the welkin shows in moonshine night.
+    Here, when the careless world did sleep, have I
+    In dark records and numbers nobly high,
+    The visions of our black, but brightest bard
+    From old Amphion's mouth full often heard;
+    With all those plagues poor shepherds since have known,
+    And riddles more, which future time must own:
+    While on his pipe young Hylas play'd, and made
+    Music as solemn as the song and shade.
+    But the curs'd owner from the trembling top
+    To the firm brink did all those branches lop;
+    And in one hour what many years had bred,
+    The pride and beauty of the plain, lay dead.
+    The undone swains in sad songs mourn'd their loss,
+    While storms and cold winds did improve the cross;
+    But nature, which--like virtue--scorns to yield,
+    Brought new recruits and succours to the field;
+    For by next spring the check'd sap wak'd from sleep,
+    And upwards still to feel the sun did creep;
+    Till at those wounds, the hated hewer made,
+    There sprang a thicker and a fresher shade.
+
+_Menalcas._
+
+      So thrives afflicted Truth, and so the light
+    When put out gains a value from the night.
+    How glad are we, when but one twinkling star
+    Peeps betwixt clouds more black than is our tar:
+    And Providence was kind, that order'd this
+    To the brave suff'rer should be solid bliss:
+    Nor is it so till this short life be done,
+    But goes hence with him, and is still his sun.
+
+_Damon._
+
+      Come, shepherds, then, and with your greenest bays
+    Refresh his dust, who lov'd your learned lays.
+    Bring here the florid glories of the spring,
+    And, as you strew them, pious anthems sing,
+    Which to your children and the years to come
+    May speak of Daphnis, and be never dumb.
+    While prostrate I drop on his quiet urn
+    My tears, not gifts; and like the poor that mourn
+    With green but humble turfs, write o'er his hearse
+    For false, foul prose-men this fair truth in verse.
+
+    "Here Daphnis sleeps, and while the great watch goes
+    Of loud and restless Time, takes his repose.
+    Fame is but noise; all Learning but a thought;
+    Which one admires, another sets at nought,
+    Nature mocks both, and Wit still keeps ado:
+    But Death brings knowledge and assurance too."
+
+_Menalcas._
+
+      Cast in your garlands! strew on all the flow'rs,
+    Which May with smiles or April feeds with show'rs,
+    Let this day's rites as steadfast as the sun
+    Keep pace with Time and through all ages run;
+    The public character and famous test
+    Of our long sorrows and his lasting rest.
+    And when we make procession on the plains,
+    Or yearly keep the holiday of swains,
+    Let Daphnis still be the recorded name,
+    And solemn honour of our feasts and fame.
+    For though the Isis and the prouder Thames
+    Can show his relics lodg'd hard by their streams:
+    And must for ever to the honour'd name
+    Of noble Murrey chiefly owe that fame:
+    Yet here his stars first saw him, and when Fate
+    Beckon'd him hence, it knew no other date.
+    Nor will these vocal woods and valleys fail,
+    Nor Isca's louder streams, this to bewail;
+    But while swains hope, and seasons change, will glide
+    With moving murmurs because Daphnis died.
+
+_Damon._
+
+      A fatal sadness, such as still foregoes,
+    Then runs along with public plagues and woes,
+    Lies heavy on us; and the very light,
+    Turn'd mourner too, hath the dull looks of night.
+    Our vales, like those of death, a darkness show
+    More sad than cypress or the gloomy yew;
+    And on our hills, where health with height complied,
+    Thick drowsy mists hang round, and there reside.
+    Not one short parcel of the tedious year
+    In its old dress and beauty doth appear.
+    Flow'rs hate the spring, and with a sullen bend
+    Thrust down their heads, which to the root still tend.
+    And though the sun, like a cold lover, peeps
+    A little at them, still the day's-eye sleeps.
+    But when the Crab and Lion with acute
+    And active fires their sluggish heat recruit,
+    Our grass straight russets, and each scorching day
+    Drinks up our brooks as fast as dew in May;
+    Till the sad herdsman with his cattle faints,
+    And empty channels ring with loud complaints.
+
+_Menalcas._
+
+      Heaven's just displeasure, and our unjust ways,
+    Change Nature's course; bring plagues, dearth, and decays.
+    This turns our lands to dust, the skies to brass,
+    Makes old kind blessings into curses pass:
+    And when we learn unknown and foreign crimes,
+    Brings in the vengeance due unto those climes.
+    The dregs and puddle of all ages now,
+    Like rivers near their fall, on us do flow.
+    Ah, happy Daphnis! who while yet the streams
+    Ran clear and warm, though but with setting beams,
+    Got through, and saw by that declining light,
+    His toil's and journey's end before the night.
+
+_Damon._
+
+      A night, where darkness lays her chains and bars,
+    And feral fires appear instead of stars.
+    But he, along with the last looks of day,
+    Went hence, and setting--sunlike--pass'd away.
+    What future storms our present sins do hatch
+    Some in the dark discern, and others watch;
+    Though foresight makes no hurricane prove mild,
+    Fury that's long fermenting is most wild.
+      But see, while thus our sorrows we discourse,
+    Ph[oe]bus hath finish'd his diurnal course;
+    The shades prevail: each bush seems bigger grown;
+      Darkness--like State--makes small things swell and frown:
+    The hills and woods with pipes and sonnets round,
+    And bleating sheep our swains drive home, resound.
+
+_Menalcas._
+
+      What voice from yonder lawn tends hither? Hark!
+    'Tis Thyrsis calls! I hear Lycanthe bark!
+    His flocks left out so late, and weary grown,
+    Are to the thickets gone, and there laid down.
+
+_Damon._
+
+      Menalcas, haste to look them out! poor sheep,
+    When day is done, go willingly to sleep:
+    And could bad man his time spend as they do,
+    He might go sleep, or die, as willing too.
+
+_Menalcas._
+
+      Farewell! kind Damon! now the shepherd's star
+    With beauteous looks smiles on us, though from far.
+    All creatures that were favourites of day
+    Are with the sun retir'd and gone away.
+    While feral birds send forth unpleasant notes,
+    And night--the nurse of thoughts--sad thoughts promotes:
+    But joy will yet come with the morning light,
+    Though sadly now we bid good night!
+
+_Damon._
+
+    Good night!
+
+
+
+
+         FRAGMENTS AND TRANSLATIONS.
+
+From _Eucharistica Oxoniensia in Caroli Regis nostri e Scotia Reditum
+      Gratulatoria_ (1641).
+
+
+
+
+[TO CHARLES THE FIRST.]
+
+
+    As kings do rule like th' heavens, who dispense
+    To parts remote and near their influence;
+    So doth our Charles move also; while he posts
+    From south to north, and back to southern coasts;
+    Like to the starry orb, which in its round
+    Moves to those very points; but while 'tis bound
+    For north, there is--some guess--a trembling fit
+    And shivering in the part that's opposite.
+    What were our fears and pantings, what dire fame
+    Heard we of Irish tumults, sword, and flame!
+    Which now we think but blessings, as being sent
+    Only as matter, whereupon 'twas meant,
+    The British thus united might express,
+    The strength of joined Powers to suppress,
+    Or conquer foes. This is Great Britain's bliss;
+    The island in itself a just world is.
+    Here no commotion shall we find or fear,
+    But of the Court's removal, no sad tear
+    Or cloudy brow, but when you leave us. Then
+    Discord is loyalty professed, when
+    Nations do strive, which shall the happier be
+    T' enjoy your bounteous rays of majesty
+    Which yet you throw in undivided dart,
+    For things divine allow no share or part.
+    The same kind virtue doth at once disclose
+    The beauty of their thistle and our rose.
+    Thus you do mingle souls and firmly knit
+    What were but join'd before; you Scotsmen fit
+    Closely with us, and reuniter prove;
+    You fetch'd the crown before, and now their love.
+
+                                                 H. Vaughan, Ies. Col.
+
+From _Of the Benefit we may get by our Enemies_: translated from
+      Plutarch (1651).
+
+
+
+
+1. [HOMER. ILIAD, I. 255-6.]
+
+    Sure Priam will to mirth incline,
+    And all that are of Priam's line.
+
+
+
+
+2. [AESCHYLUS. SEPTEM CONTRA THEBES, 600-1.]
+
+    Feeding on fruits which in the heavens do grow,
+    Whence all divine and holy counsels flow.
+
+
+
+
+3. [EURIPIDES. ORESTES, 251-2.]
+
+    Excel then if thou canst, be not withstood,
+    But strive and overcome the evil with good.
+
+
+
+
+4. [EURIPIDES. FRAGM. MLXXI.]
+
+    You minister to others' wounds a cure,
+    But leave your own all rotten and impure.
+
+
+
+
+5. [EURIPIDES. CRESPHONTES, FRAGM. CCCCLV.]
+
+    Chance, taking from me things of highest price,
+    At a dear rate hath taught me to be wise.
+
+
+
+
+6. [INCERTI.]
+
+    [He] Knaves' tongues and calumnies no more doth prize
+    Than the vain buzzing of so many flies.
+
+
+
+
+7. [PINDAR. FRAGM. C.]
+
+    His deep, dark heart--bent to supplant--
+    Is iron, or else adamant.
+
+
+
+
+8. [SOLON. FRAGM. XV.]
+
+    What though they boast their riches unto us?
+    Those cannot say that they are virtuous.
+
+From _Of the Diseases of the Mind and the Body_: translated from
+      Plutarch (1651).
+
+
+
+
+1. [HOMER. ILIAD, XVII. 446-7.]
+
+    That man for misery excell'd
+    All creatures which the wide world held.
+
+
+
+
+2. [EURIPIDES. BACCHAE, 1170-4.]
+
+    A tender kid--see, where 'tis put--
+      I on the hills did slay,
+    Now dress'd and into quarters cut,
+      A pleasant, dainty prey.
+
+From _Of the Diseases of the Mind and the Body_: translated from Maximus
+      Tyrius (1651).
+
+
+
+
+1. [ARIPHRON.]
+
+    O health, the chief of gifts divine!
+    I would I might with thee and thine
+    Live all those days appointed mine!
+
+From _The Mount of Olives_ (1652).
+
+
+
+
+1. [DEATH.]
+
+    Draw near, fond man, and dress thee by this glass,
+    Mark how thy bravery and big looks must pass
+    Into corruption, rottenness and dust;
+    The frail supporters which betray'd thy trust.
+    O weigh in time thy last and loathsome state!
+    To purchase heav'n for tears is no hard rate.
+    Our glory, greatness, wisdom, all we have,
+    If mis-employ'd, but add hell to the grave:
+    Only a fair redemption of evil times
+    Finds life in death, and buries all our crimes.
+
+
+
+
+2. [HADRIAN'S ADDRESS TO HIS SOUL.]
+
+    My soul, my pleasant soul, and witty,
+    The guest and consort of my body.
+    Into what place now all alone
+    Naked and sad wilt thou be gone?
+    No mirth, no wit, as heretofore,
+    Nor jests wilt thou afford me more.
+
+
+
+
+3. [PAULINUS. CARM. APP. I. 35-40.]
+
+    What is't to me that spacious rivers run
+    Whole ages, and their streams are never done?
+    Those still remain: but all my fathers died,
+    And I myself but for few days abide.
+
+
+
+
+4. [ANEURIN. ENGLYNION Y MISOEDD, III. 1-4.]
+
+    In March birds couple, a new birth
+    Of herbs and flow'rs breaks through the earth;
+    But in the grave none stirs his head,
+    Long is the impris'ment of the dead.
+
+
+
+
+5. [INCERTI.]
+
+    So our decays God comforts by
+    The stars' concurrent state on high.
+
+
+
+
+6. [JUVENAL. SATIRE XIII. 86-8.]
+
+    There are that do believe all things succeed
+    By chance or fortune: and that nought's decreed
+    By a divine, wise Will; but blindly call
+    Old Time and Nature rulers over all.
+
+
+
+
+7. [INCERTI.]
+
+    From the first hour the heavens were made
+    Unto the last, when all shall fade,
+    Count--if thou canst--the drops of dew,
+    The stars of heav'n and streams that flow,
+    The falling snow, the dropping show'rs,
+    And in the month of May, the flow'rs,
+    Their scents and colours, and what store
+    Of grapes and apples Autumn bore,
+    How many grains the Summer bears,
+    What leaves the wind in Winter tears;
+    Count all the creatures in the world,
+    The motes which in the air are hurl'd,
+    The hairs of beasts and mankind, and
+    The shore's innumerable sand,
+    The blades of grass, and to these last
+    Add all the years which now are past,
+    With those whose course is yet to come,
+    And all their minutes in one sum.
+    When all is done, the damned's state
+    Outruns them still, and knows no date.
+
+
+
+
+8. [VIRGIL. GEORGICS, IV. 12-138.]
+
+    I saw beneath Tarentum's stately towers
+    An old Cilician spend his peaceful hours.
+    Some few bad acres in a waste, wild field,
+    Which neither grass, nor corn, nor vines would yield,
+    He did possess. There--amongst thorns and weeds--
+    Cheap herbs and coleworts, with the common seeds
+    Of chesboule or tame poppies, he did sow,
+    And vervain with white lilies caused to grow.
+    Content he was, as are successful kings,
+    And late at night come home--for long work brings
+    The night still home--with unbought messes laid
+    On his low table he his hunger stay'd.
+    Roses he gather'd in the youthful Spring,
+    And apples in the Autumn home did bring:
+    And when the sad, cold Winter burst with frost
+    The stones, and the still streams in ice were lost,
+    He would soft leaves of bear's-foot crop, and chide
+    The slow west winds and ling'ring Summer-tide!
+
+
+
+
+9. [VIRGIL. AENEID, III. 515.]
+
+    And rising at midnight the stars espied,
+    All posting westward in a silent glide.
+
+
+
+
+10. [VIRGIL. GEORGICS, II. 58.]
+
+    The trees we set grow slowly, and their shade
+    Stays for our sons, while we--the planters--fade.
+From _Man in Glory_: translated from Anselm (1652).
+
+
+
+
+1. [ANSELM.]
+
+    Here holy Anselm lives in ev'ry page,
+    And sits archbishop still, to vex the age.
+    Had he foreseen--and who knows but he did?--
+    This fatal wrack, which deep in time lay hid,
+    'Tis but just to believe, that little hand
+    Which clouded him, but now benights our land,
+    Had never--like Elias--driv'n him hence,
+    A sad retirer for a slight offence.
+    For were he now, like the returning year,
+    Restor'd, to view these desolations here,
+    He would do penance for his old complaint,
+    And--weeping--say, that Rufus was a saint.
+
+From the Epistle-Dedicatory to _Flores Solitudinis_ (1654).
+
+
+
+
+1. [BISSELLIUS.]
+
+    The whole wench--how complete soe'er--was but
+    A specious bait; a soft, sly, tempting slut;
+    A pleasing witch; a living death; a fair,
+    Thriving disease; a fresh, infectious air;
+    A precious plague; a fury sweetly drawn;
+    Wild fire laid up and finely dress'd in lawn.
+
+
+
+
+2. [AUGURELLIUS.]
+
+    Peter, when thou this pleasant world dost see,
+    Believe, thou seest mere dreams and vanity,
+    Not real things, but false, and through the air
+    Each-where an empty, slipp'ry scene, though fair.
+    The chirping birds, the fresh woods' shady boughs,
+    The leaves' shrill whispers, when the west wind blows,
+    The swift, fierce greyhounds coursing on the plains,
+    The flying hare, distress'd 'twixt fear and pains,
+    The bloomy maid decking with flow'rs her head,
+    The gladsome, easy youth by light love led;
+    And whatsoe'er here with admiring eyes
+    Thou seem'st to see, 'tis but a frail disguise
+    Worn by eternal things, a passive dress
+    Put on by beings that are passiveless.
+
+From a Discourse _Of Temperance and Patience_: translated from
+      Nierembergius (1654).
+
+
+
+
+1. [INCERTI.]
+
+    The naked man too gets the field,
+    And often makes the armed foe to yield.
+
+
+
+
+2. [LUCRETIUS, IV. 1012-1020.]
+
+    [Some] struggle and groan as if by panthers torn,
+    Or lions' teeth, which makes them loudly mourn;
+    Some others seem unto themselves to die;
+    Some climb steep solitudes and mountains high,
+    From whence they seem to fall inanely down,
+    Panting with fear, till wak'd, and scarce their own
+    They feel about them if in bed they lie,
+    Deceiv'd with dreams, and Night's imagery.
+
+    In vain with earnest strugglings they contend
+    To ease themselves: for when they stir and bend
+    Their greatest force to do it, even then most
+    Of all they faint, and in their hopes are cross'd.
+    Nor tongue, nor hand, nor foot will serve their turn,
+    But without speech and strength within, they mourn.
+
+
+
+
+3. [INCERTI.]
+
+    Thou the nepenthe easing grief
+    Art, and the mind's healing relief.
+
+
+
+
+4. [INCERTI.]
+
+    Base man! and couldst thou think Cato alone
+    Wants courage to be dry? and but him, none?
+    Look'd I so soft? breath'd I such base desires,
+    Not proof against this Lybic sun's weak fires?
+    That shame and plague on thee more justly lie!
+    To drink alone, when all our troops are dry.
+
+           *       *       *       *       *
+
+    For with brave rage he flung it on the sand,
+    And the spilt draught suffic'd each thirsty band
+
+
+
+
+5. [INCERTI.]
+
+    [Death keeps off]
+                  And will not bear the cry
+    Of distress'd man, nor shut his weeping eye
+
+
+
+
+6. [MAXIMUS.]
+
+    It lives when kill'd, and brancheth when 'tis lopp'd.
+
+
+
+
+7. [MAXIMUS.]
+
+    Like some fair oak, that when her boughs
+    Are cut by rude hands, thicker grows;
+    And from those wounds the iron made
+    Resumes a rich and fresher shade.
+
+
+
+
+8. [GREGORY NAZIANZEN.]
+
+    Patience digesteth misery.
+
+
+
+
+9. [MARIUS VICTOR.]
+
+    ----They fain would--if they might--
+    Descend to hide themselves in Hell. So light
+    Of foot is Vengeance; and so near to sin,
+    That soon as done, the actors do begin
+    To fear and suffer by themselves: Death moves
+    Before their eyes; sad dens and dusky groves
+    They haunt, and hope--vain hope which Fear doth guide!--
+    That those dark shades their inward guilt can hide.
+
+
+
+
+10. [INCERTI.]
+
+    But night and day doth his own life molest,
+    And bears his judge and witness in his breast.
+
+
+
+
+11. [THEODOTUS.]
+
+    Virtue's fair cares some people measure
+    For poisonous works that hinder pleasure.
+
+
+
+
+12. [INCERTI.]
+
+    Man should with virtue arm'd and hearten'd be,
+    And innocently watch his enemy:
+    For fearless freedom, which none can control,
+    Is gotten by a pure and upright soul.
+
+
+
+
+13. [INCERTI.]
+
+    Whose guilty soul, with terrors fraught, doth frame
+    New torments still, and still doth blow that flame
+    Which still burns him, nor sees what end can be
+    Of his dire plagues, and fruitful penalty;
+    But fears them living, and fears more to die;
+    Which makes his life a constant tragedy.
+
+
+
+
+14. [INCERTI.]
+
+    And for life's sake to lose the crown of life.
+
+
+
+
+15. [INCERTI.]
+
+    Nature even for herself doth lay a snare,
+    And handsome faces their own traitors are.
+
+
+
+
+16. [MENANDER.]
+
+                True life in this is shown,
+    To live for all men's good, not for our own.
+
+
+
+
+17. [INCERTI.]
+
+    As Egypt's drought by Nilus is redress'd,
+    So thy wise tongue doth comfort the oppress'd.
+
+
+
+
+18. [INCERTI.]
+
+    [Like] to speedy posts, bear hence the lamp of life.
+
+
+
+
+19. [DIONYSIUS LYRINENSIS.]
+
+    All worldly things, even while they grow, decay;
+    As smoke doth, by ascending, waste away.
+
+
+
+
+20. [INCERTI.]
+
+    To live a stranger unto life.
+
+From a _Discourse of Life and Death_: translated from Nierembergius
+      (1654).
+
+
+
+
+1. [INCERTI.]
+
+    Whose hissings fright all Nature's monstrous ills;
+    His eye darts death, more swift than poison kills.
+    All monsters by instinct to him give place,
+    They fly for life, for death lives in his face;
+    And he alone by Nature's hid commands
+    Reigns paramount, and prince of all the sands.
+
+
+
+
+2. [INCERTI.]
+
+    The plenteous evils of frail life fill the old:
+    Their wasted limbs the loose skin in dry folds
+    Doth hang about: their joints are numb'd, and through
+    Their veins, not blood, but rheums and waters flow.
+    Their trembling bodies with a staff they stay,
+    Nor do they breathe, but sadly sigh all day.
+    Thoughts tire their hearts, to them their very mind
+    Is a disease; their eyes no sleep can find.
+
+
+
+
+3. [MIMNERMUS.]
+
+    Against the virtuous man we all make head,
+    And hate him while he lives, but praise him dead.
+
+
+
+
+4. [INCERTI.]
+
+    Long life, oppress'd with many woes,
+    Meets more, the further still it goes.
+
+
+
+
+5. [JUVENAL. SATIRE X. 278-286.]
+
+    What greater good had deck'd great Pompey's crown
+    Than death, if in his honours fully blown,
+    And mature glories he had died? those piles
+    Of huge success, loud fame, and lofty styles
+    Built in his active youth, long lazy life
+    Saw quite demolish'd by ambitious strife.
+    He lived to wear the weak and melting snow
+    Of luckless age, where garlands seldom grow,
+    But by repining Fate torn from the head
+    Which wore them once, are on another shed.
+
+
+
+
+6. [MENANDER. FRAGM. CXXVIII.]
+
+    Whom God doth take care for, and love,
+    He dies young here, to live above.
+
+
+
+
+7. [INCERTI.]
+
+    Sickness and death, you are but sluggish things,
+    And cannot reach a heart that hath got wings.
+
+From _Primitive Holiness, set forth in the Life of Blessed Paulinus_
+      (1654).
+
+
+
+
+1. [AUSONIUS. EPIST. XXIV. 115-16.]
+
+    Let me not weep to see thy ravish'd house
+    All sad and silent, without lord or spouse,
+    And all those vast dominions once thine own
+    Torn 'twixt a hundred slaves to me unknown.
+
+
+
+
+2. [AUSONIUS. EPIST. XXIII. 30-1; XXV. 5-9, 14, 17.]
+
+              How could that paper sent,
+    That luckless paper, merit thy contempt?
+    Ev'n foe to foe--though furiously--replies,
+    And the defied his enemy defies.
+    Amidst the swords and wounds, there's a salute,
+    Rocks answer man, and though hard are not mute.
+    Nature made nothing dumb, nothing unkind:
+    The trees and leaves speak trembling to the wind.
+    If thou dost fear discoveries, and the blot
+    Of my love, Tanaquil shall know it not.
+
+
+
+
+3. [PAULINUS. CARM. XI. 1-5; X. 189-92.]
+
+    Obdurate still and tongue-tied, you accuse
+    --Though yours is ever vocal--my dull muse;
+    You blame my lazy, lurking life, and add
+    I scorn your love, a calumny most sad;
+    Then tell me, that I fear my wife, and dart
+    Harsh, cutting words against my dearest heart.
+      Leave, learned father, leave this bitter course,
+    My studies are not turn'd unto the worse;
+    I am not mad, nor idle, nor deny
+    Your great deserts, and my debt, nor have I
+    A wife like Tanaquil, as wildly you
+    Object, but a Lucretia, chaste and true.
+
+
+
+
+4. [PAULINUS. CARM. XXXI. 581-2, 585-90, 601-2, 607-12.]
+
+    This pledge of your joint love, to heaven now fled,
+    With honey-combs and milk of life is fed.
+    Or with the Bethlem babes--whom Herod's rage
+    Kill'd in their tender, happy, holy age--
+    Doth walk the groves of Paradise, and make
+    Garlands, which those young martyrs from him take.
+    With these his eyes on the mild Lamb are fix'd,
+    A virgin-child with virgin-infants mix'd.
+    Such is my Celsus too, who soon as given,
+    Was taken back--on the eighth day--to heaven
+    To whom at Alcala I sadly gave
+    Amongst the martyrs' tombs a little grave.
+    He now with yours--gone both the blessed way--
+    Amongst the trees of life doth smile and play;
+    And this one drop of our mix'd blood may be
+    A light for my Therasia, and for me.
+
+
+
+
+5. [AUSONIUS. EPIST. XXV. 50, 56-7, 60-2.]
+
+    Sweet Paulinus, and is thy nature turn'd?
+    Have I so long in vain thy absence mourn'd?
+    Wilt thou, my glory, and great Rome's delight,
+    The Senate's prop, their oracle, and light,
+    In Bilbilis and Calagurris dwell,
+    Changing thy ivory-chair for a dark cell?
+    Wilt bury there thy purple, and contemn
+    All the great honours of thy noble stem?
+
+
+
+
+6. [PAULINUS. CARM. X. 110-331.]
+
+    Shall I believe you can make me return,
+    Who pour your fruitless prayers when you mourn,
+    Not to your Maker? Who can hear you cry,
+    But to the fabled nymphs of Castaly?
+    You never shall by such false gods bring me
+    Either to Rome, or to your company.
+    As for those former things you once did know,
+    And which you still call mine, I freely now
+    Confess, I am not he, whom you knew then;
+    I have died since, and have been born again.
+    Nor dare I think my sage instructor can
+    Believe it error, for redeemed man
+    To serve his great Redeemer. I grieve not
+    But glory so to err. Let the wise knot
+    Of worldlings call me fool; I slight their noise,
+    And hear my God approving of my choice.
+    Man is but glass, a building of no trust,
+    A moving shade, and, without Christ, mere dust.
+    His choice in life concerns the chooser much:
+    For when he dies, his good or ill--just such
+    As here it was--goes with him hence, and stays
+    Still by him, his strict judge in the last days.
+    These serious thoughts take up my soul, and I,
+    While yet 'tis daylight, fix my busy eye
+    Upon His sacred rules, life's precious sum
+    Who in the twilight of the world shall come
+    To judge the lofty looks, and show mankind
+    The diff'rence 'twixt the ill and well inclin'd.
+    This second coming of the world's great King
+    Makes my heart tremble, and doth timely bring
+    A saving care into my watchful soul,
+    Lest in that day all vitiated and foul
+    I should be found--that day, Time's utmost line,
+    When all shall perish but what is divine;
+    When the great trumpet's mighty blast shall shake
+    The earth's foundations, till the hard rocks quake
+    And melt like piles of snow; when lightnings move
+    Like hail, and the white thrones are set above:
+    That day, when sent in glory by the Father,
+    The Prince of Life His blest elect shall gather;
+    Millions of angels round about Him flying,
+    While all the kindreds of the Earth are crying;
+    And He enthron'd upon the clouds shall give
+    His last just sentence, who must die, who live.
+      This is the fear, this is the saving care
+    That makes me leave false honours, and that share
+    Which fell to me of this frail world, lest by
+    A frequent use of present pleasures I
+    Should quite forget the future, and let in
+    Foul atheism, or some presumptuous sin.
+    Now by their loss I have secur'd my life,
+    And bought my peace ev'n with the cause of strife.
+    I live to Him Who gave me life and breath,
+    And without fear expect the hour of death.
+    If you like this, bid joy to my rich state,
+    If not, leave me to Christ at any rate.
+
+
+
+
+7. [PAULINUS.]
+
+            And is the bargain thought too dear,
+    To give for heaven our frail subsistence here?
+    To change our mortal with immortal homes,
+    And purchase the bright stars with darksome stones?
+    Behold! my God--a rate great as His breath!--
+    On the sad cross bought me with bitter death,
+    Did put on flesh, and suffer'd for our good,
+    For ours--vile slaves!--the loss of His dear blood.
+
+
+
+
+8. [EPITAPH ON MARCELLINA.]
+
+    Life, Marcellina, leaving thy fair frame,
+    Thou didst contemn those tombs of costly fame,
+    Built by thy Roman ancestors, and liest
+    At Milan, where great Ambrose sleeps in Christ.
+    Hope, the dead's life, and faith, which never faints,
+    Made thee rest here, that thou mayst rise with saints.
+
+
+
+
+9. [PAULINUS. VERSUS APUD EPIST. XXXII. 3.]
+
+    You that to wash your flesh and souls draw near,
+    Ponder these two examples set you here:
+    Great Martin shows the holy life, and white,
+    Paulinus to repentance doth invite;
+    Martin's pure, harmless life, took heaven by force,
+    Paulinus took it by tears and remorse;
+    Martin leads through victorious palms and flow'rs,
+    Paulinus leads you through the pools and show'rs;
+    You that are sinners, on Paulinus look,
+    You that are saints, great Martin is your book;
+    The first example bright and holy is,
+    The last, though sad and weeping, leads to bliss
+
+
+
+
+10. [PAULINUS. VERSUS APUD EPIST. XXXII. 5.]
+
+    Here the great well-spring of wash'd souls with beams
+    Of living light quickens the lively streams;
+    The Dove descends, and stirs them with her wings,
+    So weds these waters to the upper springs.
+    They straight conceive; a new birth doth proceed
+    From the bright streams by an immortal seed.
+    O the rare love of God! sinners wash'd here
+    Come forth pure saints, all justified and clear.
+    So blest in death and life, man dies to sins,
+    And lives to God: sin dies, and life begins
+    To be reviv'd: old Adam falls away
+    And the new lives, born for eternal sway.
+
+
+
+
+11. [PAULINUS. VERSUS APUD EPIST. XXXII. 12.]
+
+    Through pleasant green fields enter you the way
+    To bliss; and well through shades and blossoms may
+    The walks lead here, from whence directly lies
+    The good man's path to sacred Paradise.
+
+
+
+
+12. [PAULINUS. VERSUS APUD EPIST. XXXII. 14.]
+
+    The painful cross with flowers and palms is crown'd,
+    Which prove, it springs; though all in blood 'tis drown'd;
+    The doves above it show with one consent,
+    Heaven opens only to the innocent.
+
+
+
+
+13. [PAULINUS. CARM. XXVII. 387-92.]
+
+    You see what splendour through the spacious aisle,
+    As if the Church were glorified, doth smile.
+    The ivory-wrought beams seem to the sight
+    Engraven, while the carv'd roof looks curl'd and bright.
+    On brass hoops to the upmost vaults we tie
+    The hovering lamps, which nod and tremble by
+    The yielding cords; fresh oil doth still repair
+    The waving flames, vex'd with the fleeting air.
+
+
+
+
+14. [PAULINUS. VERSUS APUD EPIST. XXXII. 17.]
+
+    The pains of Saints and Saints' rewards are twins,
+    The sad cross, and the crown which the cross wins.
+    Here Christ, the Prince both of the cross and crown,
+    Amongst fresh groves and lilies fully blown
+    Stands, a white Lamb bearing the purple cross:
+    White shows His pureness, red His blood's dear loss.
+    To ease His sorrows the chaste turtle sings,
+    And fans Him, sweating blood, with her bright wings;
+    While from a shining cloud the Father eyes
+    His Son's sad conflict with His enemies,
+    And on His blessed head lets gently down
+    Eternal glory made into a crown.
+    About Him stand two flocks of diff'ring notes,
+    One of white sheep, and one of speckled goats;
+    The first possess His right hand, and the last
+    Stand on His left; the spotted goats are cast
+    All into thick, deep shades, while from His right
+    The white sheep pass into a whiter light.
+
+
+
+
+15. [PAULINUS.]
+
+    Those sacred days by tedious Time delay'd,
+    While the slow years' bright line about is laid,
+    I patiently expect, though much distrest
+    By busy longing and a love-sick breast.
+    I wish they may outshine all other days;
+    Or, when they come, so recompense delays
+    As to outlast the summer hours' bright length;
+    Or that fam'd day, when stopp'd by divine strength
+    The sun did tire the world with his long light,
+    Doubling men's labours, and adjourning night.
+      As the bright sky with stars, the field with flow'rs,
+    The years with diff'ring seasons, months and hours,
+    God hath distinguished and mark'd, so He
+    With sacred feasts did ease and beautify
+    The working days: because that mixture may
+    Make men--loth to be holy ev'ry day--
+    After long labours, with a freer will,
+    Adore their Maker, and keep mindful still
+    Of holiness, by keeping holy days:
+    For otherwise they would dislike the ways
+    Of piety as too severe. To cast
+    Old customs quite off, and from sin to fast
+    Is a great work. To run which way we will,
+    On plains is easy, not so up a hill.
+      Hence 'tis our good God--Who would all men bring
+    Under the covert of His saving wing--
+    Appointed at set times His solemn feasts,
+    That by mean services men might at least
+    Take hold of Christ as by the hem, and steal
+    Help from His lowest skirts, their souls to heal.
+      For the first step to heaven is to live well
+    All our life long, and each day to excel
+    In holiness; but since that tares are found
+    In the best corn, and thistles will confound
+    And prick my heart with vain cares, I will strive
+    To weed them out on feast-days, and so thrive
+    By handfuls, 'till I may full life obtain,
+    And not be swallow'd of eternal pain.
+
+
+
+
+16. [PAULINUS (?). CARM. APP. I.]
+
+    Come, my true consort in my joys and care!
+    Let this uncertain and still wasting share
+    Of our frail life be giv'n to God. You see
+    How the swift days drive hence incessantly,
+    And the frail, drooping world--though still thought gay[69]--
+    In secret, slow consumption wears away.
+    All that we have pass from us, and once past
+    Return no more; like clouds, they seem to last,
+    And so delude loose, greedy minds. But where
+    Are now those trim deceits? to what dark sphere
+    Are all those false fires sunk, which once so shin'd,
+    They captivated souls, and rul'd mankind?
+    He that with fifty ploughs his lands did sow,
+    Will scarce be trusted for two oxen now;
+    His rich, loud coach, known to each crowded street,
+    Is sold, and he quite tir'd walks on his feet.
+    Merchants that--like the sun--their voyage made
+    From East to West, and by wholesale did trade,
+    Are now turn'd sculler-men, or sadly sweat
+    In a poor fisher's boat, with line and net.
+    Kingdoms and cities to a period tend;
+    Earth nothing hath, but what must have an end;
+    Mankind by plagues, distempers, dearth and war,
+    Tortures and prisons, die both near and far;
+    Fury and hate rage in each living breast,
+    Princes with princes, States with States contest;
+    An universal discord mads each land,
+    Peace is quite lost, the last times are at hand.
+    But were these days from the Last Day secure,
+    So that the world might for more years endure,
+    Yet we--like hirelings--should our term expect,
+    And on our day of death each day reflect.
+    For what--Therasia--doth it us avail
+    That spacious streams shall flow and never fail,
+    That aged forests hie to tire the winds,
+    And flow'rs each Spring return and keep their kinds!
+    Those still remain: but all our fathers died,
+    And we ourselves but for few days abide.
+      This short time then was not giv'n us in vain,
+    To whom Time dies, in which we dying gain,
+    But that in time eternal life should be
+    Our care, and endless rest our industry.
+    And yet this task, which the rebellious deem
+    Too harsh, who God's mild laws for chains esteem,
+    Suits with the meek and harmless heart so right
+    That 'tis all ease, all comfort and delight.
+    "To love our God with all our strength and will;
+    To covet nothing; to devise no ill
+    Against our neighbours; to procure or do
+    Nothing to others, which we would not to
+    Our very selves; not to revenge our wrong;
+    To be content with little, not to long
+    For wealth and greatness; to despise or jeer
+    No man, and if we be despised, to bear;
+    To feed the hungry; to hold fast our crown;
+    To take from others naught; to give our own,"
+    --These are His precepts: and--alas!--in these
+    What is so hard, but faith can do with ease?
+    He that the holy prophets doth believe,
+    And on God's words relies, words that still live
+    And cannot die; that in his heart hath writ
+    His Saviour's death and triumph, and doth yet
+    With constant care, admitting no neglect,
+    His second, dreadful coming still expect:
+    To such a liver earthy things are dead,
+    With Heav'n alone, and hopes of Heav'n, he's fed,
+    He is no vassal unto worldly trash,
+    Nor that black knowledge which pretends to wash,
+    But doth defile: a knowledge, by which men
+    With studied care lose Paradise again.
+    Commands and titles, the vain world's device,
+    With gold--the forward seed of sin and vice--
+    He never minds: his aim is far more high,
+    And stoops to nothing lower than the sky.
+    Nor grief, nor pleasures breed him any pain,
+    He nothing fears to lose, would nothing gain,
+    Whatever hath not God, he doth detest,
+    He lives to Christ, is dead to all the rest.
+    This Holy One sent hither from above
+    A virgin brought forth, shadow'd by the Dove;
+    His skin with stripes, with wicked hands His face
+    And with foul spittle soil'd and beaten was;
+    A crown of thorns His blessed head did wound.
+    Nails pierc'd His hands and feet, and He fast bound
+    Stuck to the painful Cross, where hang'd till dead,
+    With a cold spear His heart's dear blood was shed.
+    All this for man, for bad, ungrateful man,
+    The true God suffer'd! not that suff'rings can
+    Add to His glory aught, Who can receive
+    Access from nothing, Whom none can bereave
+    Of His all-fulness: but the blest design
+    Of His sad death was to save me from mine:
+    He dying bore my sins, and the third day
+    His early rising rais'd me from the clay.
+    To such great mercies what shall I prefer,
+    Or who from loving God shall me deter?
+    Burn me alive, with curious, skilful pain,
+    Cut up and search each warm and breathing vein;
+    When all is done, death brings a quick release,
+    And the poor mangled body sleeps in peace.
+    Hale me to prisons, shut me up in brass,
+    My still free soul from thence to God shall pass.
+    Banish or bind me, I can be nowhere
+    A stranger, nor alone; my God is there.
+    I fear not famine; how can he be said
+    To starve who feeds upon the Living Bread?
+    And yet this courage springs not from my store,
+    Christ gave it me, Who can give much, much more
+    I of myself can nothing dare or do,
+    He bids me fight, and makes me conquer too.
+    If--like great Abr'ham--I should have command
+    To leave my father's house and native land,
+    I would with joy to unknown regions run,
+    Bearing the banner of His blessed Son.
+    On worldly goods I will have no design,
+    But use my own, as if mine were not mine;
+    Wealth I'll not wonder at, nor greatness seek,
+    But choose--though laugh'd at--to be poor and meek.
+    In woe and wealth I'll keep the same staid mind,
+    Grief shall not break me, nor joys make me blind:
+    My dearest Jesus I'll still praise, and He
+    Shall with songs of deliv'rance compass me.
+      Then come, my faithful consort! join with me
+    In this good fight, and my true helper be;
+    Cheer me when sad, advise me when I stray,
+    Let us be each the other's guide and stay;
+    Be your lord's guardian: give joint aid and due,
+    Help him when fall'n, rise, when he helpeth you,
+    That so we may not only one flesh be,
+    But in one spirit and one will agree.
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[69] The original has _gry_.
+
+
+From _Hermetical Physic_: translated from Henry Nollius (1655).
+
+
+
+
+1. [HORACE. EPIST. I. 1, 14-5.]
+
+    Where'er my fancy calls, there I go still,
+    Not sworn a slave to any master's will.
+
+
+
+
+2. [INCERTI.]
+
+    There's need, betwixt his clothes, his bed and board,
+    Of all that Earth and Sea and Air afford.
+
+
+
+
+3. [INCERTI.]
+
+    With restless cares they waste the night and day,
+    To compass great estates, and get the sway.
+
+
+
+
+4. [JUVENAL. SATIRE XV. 160-164.]
+
+                Whenever did, I pray,
+    One lion take another's life away?
+    Or in what forest did a wild boar by
+    The tusks of his own fellow wounded die?
+    Tigers with tigers never have debate;
+    And bears among themselves abstain from hate
+
+
+
+
+5. [JUVENAL. SATIRE XV. 169-171.]
+
+    [Some] esteem it no point of revenge to kill,
+    Unless they may drink up the blood they spill:
+    Who do believe that hands, and hearts, and heads,
+    Are but a kind of meat, etc.
+
+
+
+
+6. [INCERTI.]
+
+    The strongest body and the best
+    Cannot subsist without due rest.
+
+From Thomas Powell's _Cerbyd Fechydwiaeth_ (1657).
+
+
+
+
+1. [THE LORD'S PRAYER.]
+
+    Y Pader, pan trier, Duw-tri a'i dododd
+      O'i dadol ddaioni,
+    Yn faen-gwaddan i bob gweddi,
+      Ac athrawieth a wnaeth i ni.
+
+                                                       Ol[or] Vaughan.
+
+From Thomas Powell's _Humane Industry_ (1661).
+
+
+
+
+1. [CAMPION. EPIGR. I. 151.]
+
+    Time's-Teller wrought into a little round,
+    Which count'st the days and nights with watchful sound;
+    How--when once fix'd--with busy wheels dost thou
+    The twice twelve useful hours drive on and show;
+    And where I go, go'st with me without strife,
+    The monitor and ease of fleeting life.
+
+
+
+
+2. [GROTIUS. LIB. EPIGR. II.]
+
+    The untired strength of never-ceasing motion,
+    A restless rest, a toilless operation,
+    Heaven then had given it, when wise Nature did
+    To frail and solid things one place forbid;
+    And parting both, made the moon's orb their bound,
+    Damning to various change this lower ground.
+    But now what Nature hath those laws transgress'd,
+    Giving to Earth a work that ne'er will rest?
+    Though 'tis most strange, yet--great King--'tis not new:
+    This work was seen and found before, in you.
+    In you, whose mind--though still calm--never sleeps,
+    But through your realms one constant motion keeps:
+    As your mind--then--was Heaven's type first, so this
+    But the taught anti-type of your mind is.
+
+
+
+
+3. [JUVENAL. SATIRE III.]
+
+    How oft have we beheld wild beasts appear
+    From broken gulfs of earth, upon some part
+    Of sand that did not sink! How often there
+    And thence, did golden boughs o'er-saffron'd start!
+    Nor only saw we monsters of the wood,
+    But I have seen sea-calves whom bears withstood;
+    And such a kind of beast as might be named
+    A horse, but in most foul proportion framed.
+
+
+
+
+4. [MARTIAL. EPIGR. I. 105.]
+
+    That the fierce pard doth at a beck
+    Yield to the yoke his spotted neck,
+    And the untoward tiger bear
+    The whip with a submissive fear;
+    That stags do foam with golden bits.
+    And the rough Libyc bear submits
+    Unto the ring; that a wild boar
+    Like that which Calydon of yore
+    Brought forth, doth mildly put his head
+    In purple muzzles to be led;
+    That the vast, strong-limb'd buffles draw
+    The British chariots with taught awe,
+    And the elephant with courtship falls
+    To any dance the negro calls:
+    Would not you think such sports as those
+    Were shows which the gods did expose?
+    But these are nothing, when we see
+    That hares by lions hunted be, etc.
+
+
+
+
+            NOTES TO VOL. II.
+
+
+
+
+POEMS WITH THE TENTH SATIRE OF JUVENAL ENGLISHED.
+
+Most of the poems in this volume of 1646 appear to belong to Vaughan's
+sojourn as a law-student in London: that, however, on the Priory Grove
+must have been written after he had retired to Wales on the outbreak of
+the Civil War.
+
+
+P. 5. To my Ingenious Friend, R. W.
+
+It is probable that this is the R. W. of the Elegy in _Olor Iscanus_ (p.
+79). On the attempts to identify him, see the note to that poem. The
+_Poems_ of 1646 must have been published while his fate was still
+unknown.
+
+_Pints i' th' Moon or Star._ These are names of rooms, rather than of
+inns. _Cf._ Shakespeare, 1 _Henry IV._, ii. 4, 30, "Anon, anon, sir!
+Score a pint of bastard in the Half-moon."
+
+
+P. 6. _Randolph._
+
+The works of Randolph here referred to are his comedy _The Jealous
+Lovers_, his pastoral _Amyntas; or, The Impossible Dowry_, and the
+following verses _On the Death of a Nightingale_:--
+
+    "Go, solitary wood, and henceforth be
+    Acquainted with no other harmony
+    Than the pie's chattering, or the shrieking note
+    Of boding owls, and fatal raven's throat.
+    Thy sweetest chanter's dead, that warbled forth
+    Lays that might tempests calm, and still the north,
+    And call down angels from their glorious sphere,
+    To hear her songs, and learn new anthems there.
+    That soul is fled, and to Elysium gone,
+    Thou a poor desert left; go then and run.
+    Beg there to want a grove, and if she please
+    To sing again beneath thy shadowy trees,
+    The souls of happy lovers crowned with blisses
+    Shall flock about thee, and keep time with kisses."
+
+
+P. 8. Les Amours.
+
+Lines 22-24 are misprinted in the original; they there run:--
+
+    "O'er all the tomb a sudden spring:
+    If crimson flowers, whose drooping heads
+    Shall curtain o'er their mournful heads:"
+
+
+P. 10. To Amoret.
+
+The Amoret of these _Poems_ may or may not be the Etesia of _Thalia
+Rediviva_; and she may or may not have been the poet's first wife. _Cf._
+_Introduction_ (vol. i, p. xxxiii).
+
+_To her white bosom._ _Cf._ _Hamlet_, ii. 2, 113, where Hamlet addresses
+a letter to Ophelia, "in her excellent white bosom, these."
+
+
+P. 12. Song.
+
+The MS. variant readings to this and to two of the following poems are
+written in pencil on a copy of the _Poems_ in the British Museum, having
+the press-mark 12304, a 24. There is no indication of their author, or
+of the source from which they are taken.
+
+
+P. 13. To Amoret.
+
+_The vast ring._ _Cf._ _Silex Scintillans_ (vol. i., pp. 150, 284).
+
+
+P. 18. _A Rhapsodis._
+
+_The Globe Tavern._ This appears to have been near, or even a part of,
+the famous theatre. There exists a forged letter of George Peele's, in
+which it is mentioned as a resort of Shakespeare's, but there is no
+authentic allusion to it by name earlier than an entry in the registers
+of St. Saviour's, Southwark, for 1637. An "alehouse" is, however,
+alluded to in a ballad on the burning of the old Globe in 1613. (Rendle
+and Norman, _Inns of Old Southwark_, p. 326.)
+
+_Tower-Wharf to Cymbeline and Lud_; that is, from the extreme east to
+the extreme west of the City. Statues of the mythical kings of Britain
+were set up in 1260 in niches on Ludgate. They were renewed when the
+gate was rebuilt in 1586. It stood near the Church of St. Martin's,
+Ludgate.
+
+_That made his horse a senator_; _i.e._ Caligula. _Cf._ Suetonius Vit.
+Caligulae, 55: "_Incitato equo, cuius causa pridie circenses, ne
+inquietaretur, viciniae silentium per milites indicere solebat, praeter
+equile marmoreum et praesepe eburneum praeterque purpurea tegumenta ac
+monilia e gemmis, domum etiam et familiam et suppellectilem dedit, quo
+lautius nomine eius invitati acciperentur; consulatum quoque traditur
+destinasse._"
+
+_he that ... crossed Rubicon_, _i.e._ Julius Caesar.
+
+
+P. 21. To Amoret.
+
+The third stanza is closely modelled on Donne; _cf._ Introduction (vol.
+i., p. xxi). The curious reader may detect many other traces of Donne's
+manner of writing in these _Poems_ of 1646.
+
+
+P. 23. To Amoret Weeping.
+
+_Eat orphans ... patent it._ The ambition of a courtier under the
+Stuarts was to get the guardianship of a royal ward, or the grant of a
+monopoly in some article of necessity. Dr. Grosart quotes from Tustin's
+_Observations; or, Conscience Emblem_ (1646): "By me, John Tustin, who
+hath been plundered and spoiled by the patentees for white and grey
+soap, eighteen several times, to his utter undoing."
+
+
+P. 26. Upon the Priory Grove, his usual Retirement.
+
+Mr. Beeching, in the _Introduction_ (vol. i., p. xxiii), states
+following Dr. Grosart, that the Priory Grove was "the home of a famous
+poetess of the day, Katherine Phillips, better known as 'the Matchless
+Orinda.'" Vaughan was certainly a friend of Mrs. Phillips (_cf._ pp.
+100, 164, 211, with notes), whose husband, Colonel James Phillips, lived
+at the Priory, Cardigan; but she was not married until 1647.
+
+Miss Morgan points out that there is still a wood on the outskirts of
+Brecon which is known as the Priory Grove. It is near the church and
+remains of a Benedictine Priory on the Honddu.
+
+
+P. 28. Juvenal's Tenth Satire Translated.
+
+This translation has a separate title-page; _cf._ the _Bibliography_
+(vol. ii., p. lvii).
+
+
+
+
+OLOR ISCANUS.
+
+
+This volume, published in 1651, contains, besides the poems here
+reprinted, some prose translations from Plutarch and other writers. The
+separate title-pages of these are given in the _Bibliography_ (vol. ii.,
+p. lviii): the incidental scraps of verse in them appear on pp. 291-293
+of the present volume. The edition of 1651 has, besides the printed
+title-page, an engraved title-page by the well-known engraver, who may
+or may not have been a kinsman of the poet, Robert Vaughan. It
+represents a swan on a river shaded by trees. The _Olor Iscanus_ was
+reissued with a fresh title-page in 1679.
+
+
+P. 52. Ad Posteros.
+
+On the account of Vaughan's life here given, see the _Biographical note_
+(vol. ii., p. xxx).
+
+_Herbertus._ Matthew Herbert, Rector of Llangattock. Cf. the poem to him
+on p. 158, with its note.
+
+_Castae fidaeque ... parentis_, _i.e._, perhaps, his mother the Church.
+
+_Nec manus atra fuit._ Dr. Grosart omitted the _fuit_, together with the
+final _s_ of the preceding line. In this he is naively followed by Mr.
+J. R. Tutin, in his selection of Vaughan's _Secular Poems_.
+
+
+P. 53. To the ... Lord Kildare Digby.
+
+Lord Kildare Digby was the eldest son of Robert, first Baron Digby, in
+the peerage of Ireland. He succeeded to the title in 1642. He was about
+21 at the time of this dedication, and died in 1661 (Dr. Grosart)
+
+
+The date of the dedication is 17th of December, 1647. A volume was
+therefore probably prepared for publication at that date, and
+afterwards, as we learn from the publisher's preface, "condemned to
+obscurity," and given surreptitiously to the world. At the same time, as
+Miss Morgan points out to me, some of the poems in _Olor Iscanus_ must
+be of later date than 1647. The death of Charles I. is apparently
+alluded to in the lines _Ad Posteros_, and certainly in the "since
+Charles his reign" of the _Invitation to Brecknock_ (p. 74). This event
+took place on January 30th, 1648/9. The _Epitaph upon the Lady
+Elizabeth_ (p. 102), again, cannot be earlier than her death on
+September 8th, 1650.
+
+
+P. 54. The Publisher to the Reader.
+
+_Augustus vindex._ The lives of Vergil attributed to Donatus and others
+relate that the poet, in his will, directed that his unfinished _Aeneid_
+should be burnt. Augustus, however, interfered and ordered its
+publication.
+
+
+P. 57. Commendatory Verses.
+
+These are signed by _T. Powell, Oxoniensis_; _I. Rowlandson,
+Oxoniensis_; and _Eugenius Philalethes, Oxoniensis_. Thomas Powell, one
+of the Powells of Cantreff, in Breconshire, was born in 1608. He
+matriculated from Jesus College on January 25th, 1627/8, took his B.A.
+in 1629 and his M.A. in 1632, and became a Fellow of the College. He was
+Rector of Cantreff and Vicar of Brecknock, but was ejected by the
+Commissioners for the Propagation of the Gospel and went abroad. At the
+Restoration he returned to Cantreff and was made D.D. and Canon of St.
+David's. But for his death, on the 31st December, 1660, he would
+probably have become Bishop of Bristol. He was the author of several
+books of no great importance. He appears to have been a close friend of
+Vaughan, who addresses various poems to him, and contributed others to
+his books. See _Olor Iscanus_, pp. 97, 159; _Thalia Rediviva_, pp. 178,
+200, 267; _Fragments and Translations_, pp. 323-326. Powell, in return,
+wrote commendatory poems to both the _Olor Iscanus_ and the _Thalia
+Rediviva_.
+
+_I. Rowlandson._ This may have been John Rowlandson, of Queen's College,
+Oxford, who matriculated the 17th October, 1634, aged 17, took his B.A.
+in 1636, and his M.A. in 1639. Either he or his father, James
+Rowlandson, also of Queen's College, was sequestered by the Westminster
+Assembly to the vicarage of Battle, Sussex, in 1644. He left it shortly
+after and "returned to his benefice from whence he was before thence
+driven by the forces raised against the parliament." (_See_ Addl. MS.
+15,669, f. 17). There was also another James Rowlandson, son of James
+Rowlandson, D.D., Canon of Windsor, who matriculated from Queen's
+College on the 9th November, 1632, aged 17, and took his B.A. in
+1637.--G. G.
+
+_Eugenius Philalethes._ The author's brother, Thomas Vaughan. See the
+_Biographical Note_ (vol. ii., p. xxxiii).
+
+P. 39. _that lamentable nation_, _i.e._ the Scotch.
+
+
+P. 61. Olor Iscanus.
+
+_Ausonius._ The famous schoolmaster, rhetorician and courtier of the
+early fourth century, was born at Bordeaux. One of his most famous poems
+is the _Mosella_ (Idyll X), a description of the river and its fish.
+
+_Castara_, Lucy, daughter of William Herbert, Lord Powys, and wife of
+the Worcestershire poet, William Habington, who celebrated her in his
+poems under that name. The _Castara_ was published in 1634.
+
+_Sabrina_, the tutelar nymph of the Severn. _Cf._ the invocation of her
+in Milton's "Comus."
+
+_May the evet and the toad._ This passage is imitated from W. Browne's
+_Britannia's Pastorals_, Bk. I., Song 2, II., 277 _sqq._:
+
+    "May never evet nor the toad
+    Within thy banks make their abode!
+    Taking thy journey from the sea,
+    May'st thou ne'er happen in thy way
+    On nitre or on brimstone mine,
+    To spoil thy taste! this spring of thine
+    Let it of nothing taste but earth,
+    And salt conceived, in their birth
+    Be ever fresh! Let no man dare
+    To spoil thy fish, make lock or ware;
+    But on thy margent still let dwell
+    Those flowers which have the sweetest smell.
+    And let the dust upon thy strand
+    Become like Tagus' golden sand.
+    Let as much good betide to thee,
+    As thou hast favour show'd to me."
+
+                                                                 G. G.
+
+_flames that are ... canicular. Cf. A Dialogue between Sir Henry Wotton
+and Mr. Donne_ (Poems of John Donne, _Muse's Library_, Vol. I., p. 79):
+
+    "I'll never dig in quarry of a heart
+        To have no part,
+    Nor roast in fiery eyes, which always are
+        Canicular."
+
+
+P. 65. The Charnel-house.
+
+_Kelder_, a caldron; cf. J. Cleveland, _The King's Disguise_:
+
+    "The sun wears midnight; day is beetle-brow'd,
+    And lightning is in kelder of a cloud."
+
+_A second fiat's care._ The allusion is to _Genesis_ i. 3: "And God
+said, Let there be light (in the Vulgate, _Fiat lux_), and there was
+light"; _cf._ Donne, _The Storm_ (_Muses' Library_, II. 4):
+
+    "Since all forms uniform deformity
+    Doth cover; so that we, except God say
+    Another _Fiat_, shall have no more day."
+
+
+P. 70. To his Friend ----.
+
+Miss Morgan thinks that the "friend" of this poem, whose name is shown
+by the first line to have been James, may perhaps be identified with the
+James Howell of the _Epistolae Ho-Elianae_. Howell had Vaughans amongst
+his cousins and correspondents, but these appear to have been of the
+Golden Grove family.
+
+
+P. 73. To his retired Friend--an Invitation to Brecknock.
+
+_her foul, polluted walls._ Miss Morgan quotes a statement from Grose's
+_Antiquities_ to the effect that the walls of Brecknock were pulled down
+by the inhabitants during the Civil War in order to avoid having to
+support a garrison or stand a siege.
+
+_the Greek_, _i.e._ Hercules when in love with Omphale.
+
+_Domitian-like_: _Cf._ Suetonius, _Vita Domitiani_, 3: "_Inter initia
+principatus cotidie secretum sibi horarum sumere solebat, nec quicquam
+amplius quam muscas captare ac stilo praeacuto configere._"
+
+_Since Charles his reign._ This poem must date from after the execution
+of Charles I., on January 30, 1648/9. It would appear therefore that
+Vaughan was living in Brecknock and not at Newton about the time that
+the _Olor Iscanus_ was published.
+
+
+P. 77. Monsieur Gombauld.
+
+The writer referred to is John Ogier de Gombauld (1567-1666). His prose
+tale of _Endymion_ was translated by Richard Hurst in 1637. _Ismena_ and
+_Diophania_ who was metamorphosed into a myrtle, are characters in the
+story. _Periardes_ is a hill in Armenia whence the Euphrates takes its
+course.
+
+
+P. 79. An Elegy on the Death of Mr. R. W., slain in the late unfortunate
+differences at Routon Heath, near Chester.
+
+The battle of Routon, or Rowton, Heath took place on September 24, 1645.
+The Royalist forces, under Charles I. and Sir Marmaduke Langdale,
+advancing to raise the siege of Chester, were met and routed by the
+Parliamentarians under Poyntz. The contemporary pamphlets give a long
+list of the prisoners taken at Routon Heath, but name hardly any of
+those slain. It is therefore difficult to say who R. W., evidently a
+dear friend of Vaughan's, may have been. He appears to have been missing
+for a year before he was finally given up. From lines 25-27 we learn
+that he was a young man of only twenty. The most likely suggestion for
+his identification seems to me that of Mr. C. H. Firth, who points out
+to me that the name of one Roger Wood occurs in the list of Catholics
+who fell in the King's service as having been slain at Chester. Miss
+Southall (_Songs of Siluria_, 1890, p. 124) suggests that he may have
+been either Richard Williams, a nephew of Sir Henry Williams, of
+Gwernyfed, who died unmarried, or else a son of Richard Winter, of
+Llangoed. He might also, I think, have been one of Vaughan's wife's
+family, the Wises, and possibly also a Walbeoffe. A reference to the
+Walbeoffe pedigree in the note to p. 189 will show that there was a
+Robert Walbeoffe, brother of C. W. Miss Morgan thinks that he is a
+generation too old, and that the unnamed son of C. W., who, according to
+his tombstone, did not survive him, may have been a Robert, and the R.
+W. in question. On the question whether Vaughan was himself present at
+Routon Heath, _see_ the _Biographical Note_ (vol. ii., p. xxviii).
+
+
+P. 83. Upon a Cloak lent him by Mr. J. Ridsley.
+
+I do not know who Mr. Ridsley was. On the references to Vaughan's
+"juggling fate of soldiery" in this poem, _see_ the _Biographical Note_
+(vol. ii., p. xxviii).
+
+_craggy Biston, and the fatal Dee._ Chester stands, of course, on the
+Dee, which is "fatal" as the scene of disasters to the Royalist cause.
+Dr. Grosart explains Biston as "Bishton (or Bishopstone) in
+Monmouthshire," and adds, "'Craggie Biston' refers, no doubt, to certain
+caves there. The Poet's school-boy rambles from Llangattock doubtless
+included Bishton." I think that Biston is clearly Beeston Castle, one of
+the outlying defences of Chester, which played a considerable part in
+the siege. It surrendered on November 5, 1645, and the small garrison
+was permitted to march to Denbigh (J. R. Phillips, _The Civil War in
+Wales and the Marshes_, vol. i., p. 343).
+
+_Micro-cosmography_, the world represented on a small scale in man.
+Vaughan means that he had as many lines on him as a map.
+
+_Speed's Old Britons._ John Speed (1555-1629) published his _History of
+Great Britain_ in 1614.
+
+_King Harry's Chapel at Westminster_, with its tombs, was already one of
+the sights of London.
+
+_Brownist._ The Brownists were the religious followers of Robert Browne
+(c. 1550-c. 1633); they were afterwards known as Independents or
+Congregationalists.
+
+
+P. 86. Upon Mr. Fletcher's Plays.
+
+The first folio edition of Beaumont and Fletcher's _Comedies and
+Tragedies_ was published in 1647. Vaughan's lines are not, however,
+amongst the commendatory verses there given.
+
+_Field's or Swansted's overthrow._ Nathaniel Field and Eliard Swanston,
+who appears to be meant by Swansted, were well-known actors. They were
+both members of the King's Company about 1633.
+
+
+P. 90. Upon the Poems and Plays of the ever-memorable Mr. William
+Cartwright.
+
+This was printed, together with verses by Tho. Vaughan and many other
+writers, in William Cartwright's _Comedies, Tragi-comedies, with other
+Poems_, 1651.
+
+
+P. 94. An Elegy on the Death of Mr. R. Hall, slain at Pontefract, 1648.
+
+Miss Southall thinks that the subject of this elegy may have been a son
+of Richard Hall, of High Meadow, in the Forest of Dean, co. Gloucester.
+These Halls were connected with the Winters, a Breconshire family. Mr.
+C. H. Firth ingeniously suggests to me that for R. Hall we should read
+R. Hall[ifax], and points out that a Robert Hallyfax was one of the
+garrison at the first siege of Pontefract in 1645. He may have been at
+the second siege also. (R. Holmes, _Sieges of Pontefract_, p. 20.)
+
+
+P. 97. To my learned Friend, Mr. T. Powell, upon his Translation of
+Malvezzi's "Christian Politician."
+
+The book referred to is _The Pourtract of the Politicke
+Christian-Favourite_. By Marquesse Virgilio Malvezzi, 1647. This is a
+translation of _Il Ritratto del Privato Politico Christiano_, published
+at Bologna in 1635. It does not contain Vaughan's verses, and no
+translator's name is given. The preface of another translation from
+Malvezzi, the _Stoa Triumphans_ (1651), is, however, signed "T. P."
+
+
+P. 99. To my worthy Friend, Master T. Lewes.
+
+Some of the lines in this poem are borrowed from Horace's verses, _Ad
+Thaliarcham_ (Book I., Ode 9):
+
+    "Vides, ut alta stet nive candida
+    Soracte, nec iam sustineant onus
+        Sylvae laborantes, geluque
+            Flumina constiterint acuto?
+
+           *       *       *       *       *
+
+    Quid sit futurum eras, fuge quaerere;
+    Quam sors dierum cunque debit; lucro
+        Appone."
+
+                                                                 G. G.
+
+Dr. Grosart thinks that T. Lewes was "probably of Maes-mawr, opposite
+Newton, on the south side of the Usk." Miss Southall identifies him with
+Thomas Lewis, incumbent in 1635 of Llanfigan, near Llansantffread. He
+was expelled from his living, but returned to it at the Restoration.
+
+
+P. 100. To the most excellently accomplished Mrs. K. Philips.
+
+Katherine Philips, by birth Katherine Fowler, became the wife in 1647 of
+Colonel James Philips, of the Priory, Cardigan. She was a wit and
+poetess, and well-known to a large circle of friends as "the matchless
+Orinda." Each member of her coterie had a similar fantastic pseudonym,
+and it is possible that this may account for the Etesia and Timander,
+the Fida and Lysimachus, of Vaughan's poems. The poems of Orinda were
+surreptitiously published in 1664, and in an authorised version in 1667.
+They include her poem on Vaughan, afterwards prefixed to _Thalia
+Rediviva_ (cf. p. 169), but are not accompanied by the present verses
+nor by those to her editor in _Thalia Rediviva_ (p. 211).
+
+_A Persian votary_--_i.e._, a Parsee, or fire-worshipper.
+
+
+P. 102. An Epitaph upon the Lady Elizabeth, Second Daughter to his late
+Majesty.
+
+Elizabeth, second daughter of Charles I., was born in 1635. She suffered
+from ill-health and grief after her father's execution, and died at
+Carisbrooke on September 8, 1650. This poem, therefore, like others in
+the volume, must be of later date than the dedication.
+
+
+P. 104. To Sir William Davenant, upon his Gondibert.
+
+Davenant's _Gondibert_ was first published in 1651. It does not contain
+Vaughan's verses.
+
+_thy aged sire._ Is this an allusion to the story that Davenant was in
+reality the son of William Shakespeare?
+
+_Birtha_, the heroine of _Gondibert_.
+
+
+P. 119. Cupido [Cruci Affixus].
+
+Another translation of Ausonius' poems was published by Thomas Stanley
+in 1649. There is nothing in the original corresponding to the last four
+lines of Vaughan's translation.
+
+Ll. 89-94. The Latin is:
+
+            "Se quisque absolvere gestit,
+    Transferat ut proprias aliena in crimina culpas."
+
+Vaughan's simile is borrowed from Donne's _Fourth Elegy_ (_Muses'
+Library_, I., 107):
+
+            "as a thief at bar is questioned there,
+    By all the men that have been robb'd that year."
+
+
+P. 125. Translations from Boethius.
+
+These translations are from the _De Consolatione Philosophiae_, a medley
+of prose and verse. Vaughan has translated all the verse in the first
+two books except the Metrum 3 of Book I. and Metrum 6 of Book II. The
+headings of Metra 7 and 8 of Book II. are given in error in _Olor
+Iscanus_ as Metra 6 and 7. Some further translations from Books III. and
+IV. will be found in _Thalia Rediviva_, pp. 224-235.
+
+
+P. 144. Translations from Casimirus.
+
+These translations are from the Polish poet Mathias Casimirus
+Sarbievius, or Sarbiewski (1595-1640). His Latin _Lyrics_ and _Epodes_,
+modelled on Horace, were published in 1625-1631. Sarbiewski was a
+Jesuit, and a complete edition of his poems was published by the Jesuits
+in 1892.
+
+
+P. 158. Venerabili viro, praeceptori suo olim et semper colendissimo
+Magistro Mathaeo Herbert.
+
+Matthew Herbert was Rector of Llangattock, and apparently acted as tutor
+to the young Vaughans. He is mentioned in the lines _Ad Posteros_ (p.
+51). Thomas Vaughan also has two sets of Latin verses to him (Grosart,
+II., 349), and dedicated to him his _Man-Mouse taken in a Trap_ (1650).
+On July 19, 1655, he petitioned for the discharge of the sequestration
+on his rectory, which had been sequestered for the delinquency of the
+Earl of Worcester (_Cal. Proc. Ctee. for Compositions_, p. 1713). He
+died in 1660.
+
+
+P. 159. Praestantissimo viro Thomae Poello in suum de Elementis Opticae
+Libellum.
+
+The _Elementa Opticae_ appeared in 1649. It has no name on the
+title-page, but the preface is signed "T. P.," and dated 1649. It
+contains the present prefatory verses, together with some others, also
+in Latin, by Eugenius Philalethes (Thomas Vaughan).
+
+
+
+
+THALIA REDIVIVA.
+
+
+This volume, published in 1578, at a late date in Henry Vaughan's life,
+twenty-three years after the second part of _Silex Scintillans_, must
+have been written, at least in part, much earlier. The poem on _The King
+Disguised_, for instance, goes back to 1646. At the end of the volume,
+with a separate title-page (_cf. Bibliography_), come the Verse Remains
+of the poet's brother, Thomas Vaughan. This is the rarest of Vaughan's
+collections of poems. The copy once in Mr. Corser's collection, and now
+in the British Museum, was believed to be unique. It was used both by
+Lyte and Dr. Grosart. But Miss Morgan has come across two other copies,
+one in Mr. Locker-Lampson's library at Rowfant, the other in that of Mr.
+Joseph, at Brecon.
+
+
+P. 163. The Epistle-Dedicatory.
+
+Henry Somerset, third Marquis of Worcester, was created Duke of
+Beaufort in 1682. He was a distant kinsman of Vaughan's, whose
+great-great-grandfather, William Vaughan of Tretower, married Frances
+Somerset, granddaughter of Henry, Earl of Worcester. He was a firm
+adherent of the Stuarts, and refused to take the oath of allegiance to
+William III. (Dr. Grosart).
+
+
+P. 164. Commendatory Verses.
+
+These are signed by _Orinda_; _Tho. Powell, D.D._; _N. W., Ies. Coll.,
+Oxon._; _I. W., A.M. Oxon._
+
+On Orinda, _cf._ the note to p. 100, and on Dr. Powell, that to P. 57.
+
+Mr. Firth suggests that N. W., of Jesus, probably a young man, who
+imitates Cowley's _Pindarics_, and does not claim any personal
+acquaintance with Vaughan, may be N[athaniel] W[illiams], son of Thomas
+Williams, of Swansea, who matriculated in 1672, or N[icholas] W[adham],
+of Rhydodyn, Carmarthen, who matriculated in 1669.
+
+I. W., also an Oxford man, is probably the writer of the prefaces to the
+Marquis of Worcester and to the Reader, which are signed respectively J.
+W. and I. W. Mr. Firth suggests that he may be J[ohn] W[illiams], son of
+Sir Henry Williams of Gwernevet, Brecon, who matriculated at Brasenose
+in 1642. I have thought that he might be Vaughan's cousin, the second
+John Walbeoffe (_cf._ p. 189, note), who is mentioned in Thomas
+Vaughan's diary (_cf. Biographical Note_, vol. ii., p. xxxviii), but
+there is no proof that Walbeoffe was an Oxford man. Perhaps he is the
+friend James to whom a poem in _Olor Iscanus_ is addressed (p. 70).
+
+
+P. 178. To his Learned Friend and loyal Fellow-prisoner, Thomas Powel of
+Cant[reff], Doctor of Divinity.
+
+On Dr. Powell, _cf._ note to p. 57. Vaughan's reason for calling him a
+"fellow-prisoner" is discussed in the _Biographical Note_ (vol. ii., p.
+xxxii).
+
+
+P. 181. The King Disguised.
+
+John Cleveland's poem, _The King's Disguise_, here referred to, was
+first published as a pamphlet on January 21, 1646. It appears in
+Cleveland's _Works_ (1687). The disguising was on the occasion of
+Charles the First's flight, on April 27, 1646, from Oxford to the
+Scottish camp, of which Dr. Gardiner writes (_History of the Civil War_,
+Ch. xli): "At three in the morning of the 27th, Charles, disguised as a
+servant, with his beard and hair closely trimmed, passed over Magdalen
+Bridge in apparent attendance upon Ashburnham and Hudson."
+
+
+P. 187. To Mr. M. L., upon his Reduction of the Psalms into Method.
+
+Dr. Grosart identifies M. L. with Matthew Locke, of whom Roger North
+says, in his _Memoirs of Music_ (4to, 1846, p. 96): "He set most of the
+Psalms to music in parts, for the use of some vertuoso ladyes in the
+city." Locke's setting of the _Psalms_ exists only in MS. A copy was in
+the library of Dr. E. F. Rimbault, who thinks that the author assisted
+Playford in his _Whole Book of Psalms_ (1677). In 1677 he died.
+
+
+P. 189. To the pious Memory of C[harles] W[albeoffe] Esquire.
+
+Charles Walbeoffe was a man of considerable importance in
+Brecknockshire. His name occurs several times in State papers of the
+period. A petition of his concerning a ward is dated October 12, 1640.
+(_Cal. S. P. Dom._, Car. I., 470, 113). He was High Sheriff in 1648
+(Harl. MS. 2,289, f. 174), and a fragment of a warrant signed by him on
+April 17 of that year to Thomas Vaughan, treasurer of the county, for
+the monthly assessment, is in Harl. MS. 6,831, f. 13. As we might
+perhaps gather from Vaughan's poem, he does not seem to have taken an
+active part in the Civil War. He did not, like some other members of his
+family, sign the _Declaration_ of Brecknock for the Parliament on
+November 23, 1645 (J. R. Phillips, _Civil War in Wales and the Marches_,
+ii. 284). And he seems to have joined the Royalist rising in Wales of
+1648. Information was laid on February 10, 1649, that he "was
+Commissioner of Array and Association, raised men and money, subscribed
+warrants to raise men against the Parliament's generals, and sat as J.P.
+in the court at Brecon when the friends of Parliament were prosecuted"
+(_Cal. Proc. Ctee. for Advance of Money_, p. 1017). Afterwards he was
+reconciled, sat on the local Committee for Compositions, and again got
+into trouble with the authorities. On May 14, 1652, the Brecon Committee
+wrote to the Central Committee that, being one of the late Committee, he
+would not account for sums in his hands. He was fined L20. (_Cal. Proc.
+Ctee. for Compositions_, p. 578.)
+
+Miss Morgan has copied the inscription on his tombstone in Llanhamlach
+Church.
+
+                           [Arms of Walbeoffe.]
+
+     "Here lieth the body of Charles Walbeoffe, Esqre., who departed
+     this life the 13th day of September, 1653, and was married to Mary,
+     one of the daughters of Sir Thomas Aubrey of Llantryddid, in the
+     county of Glamorgan, Knt., by whom he had issue two sonnes, of whom
+     only Charles surviveth."
+
+Charles Walbeoffe the younger died in 1668, and was succeeded by his
+cousin John. "This gentleman," says Jones (_Hist. of Brecknock_, ii.,
+482), "being of a gay and extravagant turn, left the estate, much
+encumbered, to his son Charles, and soon after his death it was
+foreclosed and afterwards sold."
+
+This John Walbeoffe is mentioned in Thomas Vaughan's _Diary_ (_cf._ vol.
+ii., p. xxxviii). He may be the writer of the preface to _Thalia
+Rediviva_ (_cf._ p. 164, note).
+
+It is possible that the R. W. of another of Vaughan's Elegies may also
+have been a Walbeoffe. _Cf._ p. 79, _note_.
+
+Dr. Grosart was unable to identify the initials C. W. The Walbeoffes, or
+Walbieffes, of Llanhamlach, the next village to Llansantfread, were
+among the most important of the _Advenae_, or Norman settlers of
+Brecknockshire. They were related, as the following table shows, to the
+Vaughans of Tretower. The following extract from the genealogy of the
+Walbeoffes of Llanhamlach is compiled from Harl. MS. 2,289. f. 136_b_;
+Jones, _History of Brecknockshire_, ii., 484; Miss G. E. F. Morgan, in
+_Brecon County Times_ for May 13, 1887.
+
+               William Vaughan
+               of Tretower.
+                    |
+         -----------------------
+         |                     |
+      Charles.              Margaret = John Walbeoffe.
+           |                                 |
+           |                   +-------------+--------------------+---+
+           |                   |                                  |   |
+ Thomas = Denise Williams.  Charles   = Mary, d. of Sir           | Robert.
+           |                ob. 1653. | Thomas Aubrey             |
+           |                          | of Llantrithid.           |
+           |                          |                           |
+         Henry.                       +----------------+          |
+           |                          |                |          |
+   +-------+---------+                |               Son         |
+   |       |         |                |           (name unknown.) |
+ Henry. Thomas. W[illiam?]            |                           |
+                                      |                           |
+                              Charles = Elizabeth, d. and         |
+                   nat. 1646, matr.     h. to Thomas Aubrey       |
+                 19, vii., 1661, ob.    of Llantrithid.           |
+                         s.p. 1668.                               |
+                                                                  |
+                                          +-----------------------+
+                                          |
+                                     John = Catherine Watkins.
+                                          |
+                                        John = Susan, d. of Humphry
+                                             | Howarth of Whitehouse,
+                                             | Herefordshire.
+                                             |
+                                  +----------+------------+
+                                  |                       |
+                                Charles.      John, Rector of Llanhamlach,
+                                             nat. 1675, matr. 3, ii., 1696.
+
+
+P. 193. In Zodiacum Marcelli Palingenii.
+
+Marcellus Palingenius, or Petro Angelo Manzoli, wrote his didactic and
+satirical poem, the _Zodiacus Vitae_, about 1535. It was translated into
+English by Barnabee Googe in 1560-1565. The latest edition of the
+original is that by C. C. Weise (1832). As we may gather from Vaughan's
+lines, Manzoli was an earnest student of occult lore. _Cf._ Gustave
+Reynier, _De Marcelli Palingenii Stellatae Poctae Zodiaco Vitae_ (1893).
+
+
+P. 195. To Lysimachus.
+
+_Bevis ... Arundel ... Morglay_. The allusion is to the _Romance of Sir
+Bevis of Hampton_ (ed. E. Koelbing, E. E. T. S., 1885). Arundel was Sir
+Bevis' horse, and Morglay his sword.
+
+
+P. 197. On Sir Thomas Bodley's Library.
+
+If Vaughan was not himself an Oxford man (_Biog. Note_, vol. ii., p.
+xxvi), he may have been in Oxford with the King's troops at the end of
+August, 1645 (_Biog. Note_, vol. ii., p. xxxi).
+
+_Walsam_, Walsingham, in Norfolk, famous for the rich shrine of Our Lady
+of Walsingham, to which many offerings were made.
+
+
+P. 200. The Importunate Fortune.
+
+I. 105. _My purse, as Randolph's was._ The allusion is to Randolph's _A
+Parley with his Empty Purse_, which begins:
+
+    "Purse, who'll not know you have a poet's been,
+    When he shall look and find no gold herein?"
+
+
+P. 204. To I. Morgan, of Whitehall, Esq.
+
+Whitehall appears to be an Anglicised form of Wenallt, more properly
+Whitehill. John Morgan, or Morgans, of Wenallt, in Llandetty, was a
+kinsman of Vaughan's, as the following table (from Harl. MS., 2,289, f.
+39) shows:
+
+             John Morgans.
+                    |
+               Morgan Jones =  Frances, d. of Charles
+                            |  Vaughan of Tretower
+   _________________________|_______________
+   |                                        |
+John Morgans = Mary, d. to Thomas         Anne =
+                 Aubrey of Llantrithid.   1. Charles Williams
+                                             of Scethrog.
+                                          2. Hugh Powell, parson
+                                             of Llansantffread.
+
+
+P. 211. To the Editor of the Matchless Orinda.
+
+_cf._ p. 100, _note_. These lines do not appear in either the 1664 or
+the 1667 edition of Orinda's poems.
+
+
+P. 213. Upon Sudden News of the Much Lamented Death of Judge Trevers.
+
+"This was probably Sir Thomas Trevor, youngest son of John Trevor, Esq.,
+of Trevallyn, co. Denbigh, by Mary, daughter of Sir George Bruges, of
+London. He was born 6th July, 1586. He was made one of the Barons of the
+Exchequer 12th May, 1625; and was one of the six judges who refused to
+accept the new commission offered them by the ruling powers under the
+Commonwealth. He died 21st December, 1656, and is buried at
+Lemington-Hastang, in Warwickshire." (Dr. Grosart.)
+
+
+P. 214. To Etesia (for Timander) The First Sight.
+
+I do not think we need look for anything autobiographical in this and
+the following poems written to Etesia. They are written "for Timander,"
+that is, either to serve the suit of a friend, or as copies of verses
+with no personal reference at all. The names Etesia and Timander smack
+of Orinda's poetic circle.
+
+
+P. 224. Translations from Severinus.
+
+Dr. Grosart hunted out an obscure Neapolitan, Marcus Aurelius Severino,
+and ascribed to him the originals of these translations. They are of
+course from the _De Consolatione Philosophiae_ of Anicius Manlius
+Severinus Boethius, and are a continuation of the pieces already printed
+in _Olor Iscanus_ (pp. 125-143).
+
+
+P. 245. Pious Thoughts and Ejaculations.
+
+These are much in the vein of _Silex Scintillans_. They probably belong
+to various dates later than 1655, when the second part of that
+collection appeared. _The Nativity_ (p. 259) is dated 1656, and _The
+True Christmas_ (p. 261) was apparently written after the Restoration.
+
+
+P. 261. The True Christmas.
+
+Vaughan was no Puritan; _cf._ his lines on _Christ's Nativity_ (vol. i.,
+p. 107)--
+
+    "Alas, my God! Thy birth now here
+    Must not be numbered in the year,"
+
+but he was not much in sympathy with the ideals of the Restoration
+either; _cf._ the passage on "our unjust ways" in _Daphnis_ (p. 284).
+
+
+P. 267. De Salmone.
+
+On Thomas Powell, _cf._ p. 57, note.
+
+
+P. 272. The Bee.
+
+_Hilarion's servant, the sage crow._ There seems to be some confusion
+between Hilarion, an obscure fourth-century Abbot, and Paul the Hermit,
+of whom it is related in his _Life by S. Jerome_ that for sixty years he
+was daily provided with half a loaf of bread by a crow.
+
+
+P. 278. Daphnis.
+
+The subject of the Eclogue appears to be Vaughan's brother Thomas, who
+died 27th February, 1666. On him _see_ the _Biographical Note_ (vol.
+ii., p. xxxiii).
+
+_true black Moors_; an allusion, perhaps, to Thomas Vaughan's
+controversy with Henry More.
+
+_Old Amphion_; perhaps Matthew Herbert, on whom see note to p. 158.
+
+_The Isis and the prouder Thames._ Thomas Vaughan was buried at Albury,
+near Oxford.
+
+_Noble Murray._ Thomas Vaughan's patron, himself a poet and alchemist,
+Sir Robert Murray, Secretary of State for Scotland. His poems have been
+collected by the Hunterian Club.
+
+
+
+
+FRAGMENTS AND TRANSLATIONS.
+
+
+The larger number of the verses in this section are translated
+quotations scattered through Vaughan's prose-pamphlets. Dr. Grosart
+identified some of the originals; I have added a few others; but the
+larger number remain obscure and are hardly worth spending much labour
+upon. The title-pages of the pamphlets will be found in the
+_Bibliography_ (vol. ii., p. lvii).
+
+
+P. 289. From Eucharistica Oxoniensia.
+
+I have already, in the _Biographical Note_ (vol. ii., p. xxviii), given
+reasons for doubting whether this poem is by the Silurist. It was first
+printed as his by Dr. Grosart. Charles the First was in Scotland, trying
+to settle his differences with the Scots, during the closing months of
+1641.
+
+
+P. 291. Translations from Plutarch and Maximus Tyrius.
+
+These, together with a translation of Guevara's _De vitae rusticae
+laudibus_, were appended to the _Olor Iscanus_. Vaughan did not
+translate directly from the Greek, but from a Latin version published in
+1613-14 amongst some tracts by John Reynolds, Lecturer in Greek at, and
+afterwards President of Corpus Christi College, Oxford.
+
+
+P. 294. From the Mount of Olives.
+
+A volume of Devotions published by Vaughan in 1652. The preface, dated
+1st October, 1651, is addressed to Sir Charles Egerton, Knight, and in
+it Vaughan speaks of "that near relation by which my dearest friend
+lays claim to your person." It is impossible to say who is the "dearest
+friend" referred to. The _Flores Solitudinis_ (1654) is also dedicated
+to Sir Charles Egerton. He was probably of Staffordshire. Dr. Grosart
+(II. xxxiii) states that in Hanbury Church, co. Stafford, is a monument
+_Caroli Egertoni Equitis Aurati_, who died 1662. Perhaps therefore he
+was connected with Vaughan's wife's family, the Wises of Staffordshire.
+
+
+P. 298. From Man in Glory.
+
+This translation from a work attributed to St. Anselm and published as
+his in 1639 is appended to the Mount of Olives.
+
+In the original lines 5, 6, are printed in error after lines 7, 8.
+
+
+P. 299. From Flores Solitudinis.
+
+In 1654 Vaughan published a volume containing (1) translations of two
+discourses by Eusebius Nierembergius, (2) a translation of Eucherius,
+_De Contemptu Mundi_, (3) an original life of S. Paulinus, Bishop of
+Nola. These were poems "collected in his sickness and retirement." The
+Epistle-dedicatory to Sir Charles Egerton is dated 1653, and that to the
+reader which precedes the translations from Nierembergius on 17th April,
+1652.
+
+_Bissellius._ John Bissel a Jesuit, (1601-1677), wrote _Deliciae
+Aetatis_, _Argonauticon Americanorum_, etc. (Grosart).
+
+_Augurellius._ Johannes Aurelius Augurellius of Rimini (1454-1537),
+wrote _Carmina_, _Chrysopoeia_, _Geronticon_, etc. (Grosart).
+
+
+P. 307. From Primitive Holiness.
+
+This original life of S. Paulinus of Nola, by far the most striking of
+Vaughan's prose works, contains a number of poems, pieced together by
+Vaughan from lines in Paulinus' own poems and in those of Ausonius
+addressed to him. The edition used by Vaughan seems to have been that
+published by Rosweyd at Antwerp in 1622. I have traced the sources of
+the poems so far as I can in the edition published by W. de Hartel in
+the _Corpus Scriptorum Ecclesiasticorum Latinorum_ (vols. xxix, xxx
+1894).
+
+
+P. 322. From Hermetical Physic.
+
+A translation from the _Naturae Sanctuarium! quod est Physica Hermetica_
+(1619) of the alchemist Henry Nollius, published by Vaughan in 1655.
+
+
+P. 323. From Cerbyd Fechydwiaeth.
+
+This tract is bound up with the Brit. Mus. copy of [Thomas Powell's]
+_Quadriga Salutis_ (1657), of which it appears to be a Welsh
+translation. The verses, to which nothing corresponds in the English
+version, are signed Ol[or] Vaughan (_cf._ Olor Iscanus). Professor
+Palgrave (_Y Cymrodor_, 1890-1) translates them as follows: "The Lord's
+Prayer, when looked into (we see), the Trinity of His Fatherly goodness
+has given it as a foundation-stone of all prayer, and has made it for
+our instruction in doctrine." He adds that this Englyn occurs with
+others written in an eighteenth-century hand on the fly-leaf of a MS. of
+Welsh poetry by Iago ab Duwi.
+
+
+P. 324. From Humane Industry.
+
+On Thomas Powell _cf._ p. 57, note. The first three of these
+translations are marked H. V. in the margin; of the fourth Powell says,
+"The translation of Mr. Hen. Vaughan, Silurist, whose excellent Poems
+are published." Many other translations are scattered through the book,
+but there is nothing to connect them with Vaughan.
+
+
+
+
+LIST OF FIRST LINES.
+
+                                                         Vol. page
+A grove there grows, round with the sea confin'd,         ii. 239
+
+A king and no king! Is he gone from us,                   ii. 181
+
+A tender kid--see, where 'tis put--                       ii. 293
+
+A ward, and still in bonds, one day                        i.  19
+
+A wit most worthy in tried gold to shine,                  i.   2
+
+Accept, dread Lord, the poor oblation;                     i.  92
+
+Accipe praerapido salmonem in gurgite captum,              ii. 267
+
+Against the virtuous man we all make head,                ii. 305
+
+Ah! He is fled!                                            i.  40
+
+Ah! what time wilt Thou come? when shall that cry          i. 123
+
+All sorts of men, who live on Earth,                      ii. 235
+
+All worldly things, even while they grow, decay           ii. 304
+
+Almighty Spirit! Thou that by                             ii. 144
+
+Amyntas go, thou art undone                               ii.  12
+
+And do they so? have they a sense                          i.  87
+
+And for life's sake to lose the crown of life.            ii. 303
+
+And is the bargain thought too dear                       ii. 311
+
+And rising at midnight the stars espied                   ii. 297
+
+And will not bear the cry                                 ii. 301
+
+As Egypt's drought by Nilus is redress'd                  ii. 304
+
+As kings do rule like th' heavens, who dispense           ii. 289
+
+As Time one day by me did pass,                            i. 234
+
+As travellers, when the twilight's come                    i. 146
+
+Ask, lover, e'er thou diest; let one poor breath          ii.  11
+
+Awake, glad heart! get up and sing!                        i. 105
+
+Base man! and couldst thou think Cato alone               ii. 301
+
+Be dumb, coarse measures, jar no more; to me               i. 195
+
+Be still, black parasites,                                 i. 187
+
+Bless me! what damps are here! how stiff an air!          ii.  65
+
+Blessed, unhappy city! dearly lov'd,                       i. 218
+
+Blessings as rich and fragrant crown your heads           ii.  92
+
+Blest be the God of harmony and love!                      i.  76
+
+Blest infant bud, whose blossom-life                       i. 120
+
+Boast not, proud Golgotha, that thou canst show           ii. 197
+
+Bright and blest beam! whose strong projection,            i. 121
+
+Bright books! the perspectives to our weak sights:        ii. 245
+
+Bright Queen of Heaven! God's Virgin Spouse!               i. 225
+
+Bright shadows of true rest! some shoots of bliss;         i. 114
+
+But night and day doth his own life molest,               ii. 302
+
+Can any tell me what it is? Can you                       ii. 268
+
+Chance taking from me things of highest price             ii. 292
+
+Come, come! what do I here?                                i.  61
+
+Come, drop your branches, strew the way                    i. 216
+
+Come, my heart! come, my head,                             i.  52
+
+Come, my true consort in my joys and care!                ii. 317
+
+Come sapless blossom, creep not still on earth,            i. 166
+
+Curtain'd with clouds in a dark night                     ii. 132
+
+Darkness, and stars i' th' mid-day! They invite           ii.  18
+
+Dear, beauteous saint! more white than day                 i. 227
+
+Dear friend, sit down, and bear awhile this shade          i. 193
+
+Dear friend! whose holy, ever-living lines                 i.  91
+
+Dearest! if you those fair eyes--wond'ring--stick         ii. 115
+
+Death and darkness, get you packing,                       i. 133
+
+Diminuat ne sera dies praesentis honorem                   ii.  51
+
+Draw near, fond man, and dress thee by this glass,        ii. 294
+
+Dust and clay,                                             i. 180
+
+Early, while yet the dark was gay                         ii. 255
+
+Eternal God! Maker of all                                  i. 285
+
+Et sic in cithara, sic in dulcedine vitae                  ii. 266
+
+Excel then if thou canst, be not withstood,               ii. 291
+
+Fair and young light! my guide to holy                     i. 236
+
+Fair order'd lights--whose motion without noise            i. 155
+
+Fair Prince of Light! Light's living well!                ii. 249
+
+Fair, shining mountains of my pilgrimage                  ii. 247
+
+Fair, solitary path! whose blessed shades                  i. 256
+
+Fair vessel of our daily light, whose proud               ii. 257
+
+Fairly design'd! to charm our civil rage                  ii. 171
+
+False life! a foil and no more, when                       i. 282
+
+Fancy and I, last evening, walk'd,                        ii.  15
+
+Farewell! I go to sleep; but when                          i.  73
+
+Farewell thou true and tried reflection                   ii. 276
+
+Farewell, you everlasting hills! I'm cast                  i.  43
+
+Father of lights! what sunny seed,                         i. 189
+
+Feeding on fruits which in the heavens do grow,           ii. 291
+
+Flaccus, not so: that worldly he                          ii. 152
+
+Fool that I was! to believe blood                         ii. 209
+
+For shame desist, why shouldst thou seek my fall?         ii. 200
+
+Fortune--when with rash hands she quite turmoils          ii. 134
+
+Fresh fields and woods! the Earth's fair face             ii. 252
+
+From fruitful beds and flow'ry borders,                   ii. 272
+
+From the first hour the heavens were made                 ii. 296
+
+Go catch the ph[oe]nix, and then bring                    ii. 217
+
+Go, go, quaint follies, sugar'd sin,                       i. 113
+
+Go, if you must! but stay--and know                       ii. 222
+
+Had I adored the multitude and thence                     ii. 169
+
+Hail, sacred shades! cool, leafy house!                   ii.  26
+
+Happy is he, that with fix'd eyes                         ii. 224
+
+Happy that first white age! when we                       ii. 138
+
+Happy those early days, when I                             i.  59
+
+Have I so long in vain thy absence mourn'd?               ii. 309
+
+He that thirsts for glory's prize,                        ii. 140
+
+Here holy Anselm lives in ev'ry page,                     ii. 298
+
+Here, take again thy sackcloth! and thank heav'n          ii.  83
+
+Here the great well-spring of wash'd souls, with beams    ii. 313
+
+His deep, dark heart--bent to supplant--                  ii. 292
+
+Hither thou com'st: the busy wind all night                i. 207
+
+How could that paper sent,                                ii. 307
+
+How is man parcell'd out! how ev'ry hour                   i. 139
+
+How kind is Heav'n to man! if here                         i. 107
+
+How oft have we beheld wild beasts appear                 ii. 325
+
+How rich, O Lord, how fresh Thy visits are!                i. 105
+
+How shrill are silent tears! when sin got head             i. 124
+
+I am confirm'd, and so much wing is given                 ii.  79
+
+I call'd it once my sloth: in such an age                 ii.  58
+
+I cannot reach it; and my striving eye                     i. 249
+
+I did but see thee! and how vain it is                    ii.  90
+
+I have consider'd it; and find                             i.  90
+
+I have it now:                                             i. 238
+
+I knew it would be thus! and my just fears                ii.  94
+
+I knew thee not, nor durst attendance strive              ii.  87
+
+I saw beneath Tarentum's stately towers                   ii. 296
+
+I saw Eternity the other night                             i. 150
+
+I see the Temple in thy pillar rear'd;                     i. 261
+
+I see the use: and know my blood                           i.  69
+
+I've read thy soul's fair nightpiece, and have seen       ii.  77
+
+I walk'd the other day, to spend my hour,                  i. 171
+
+I whose first year flourished with youthful verse,        ii. 125
+
+I wonder, James, through the whole history                ii.  70
+
+I write not here, as if thy last in store                 ii.  59
+
+I wrote it down. But one that saw                          i. 264
+
+If Amoret, that glorious eye,                             ii.  13
+
+"If any have an ear,"                                      i. 242
+
+If I were dead, and in my place                           ii.  16
+
+If old tradition hath not fail'd,                         ii. 233
+
+If sever'd friends by sympathy can join,                  ii. 178
+
+If this world's friends might see but once                 i. 232
+
+If weeping eyes could wash away                           ii. 151
+
+If with an open, bounteous hand                           ii. 135
+
+In all the parts of earth, from farthest West,            ii.  28
+
+In March birds couple, a new birth                        ii. 295
+
+In those bless'd fields of everlasting air                ii. 119
+
+Isca parens florum, placido qui spumeus ore               ii. 157
+
+It is perform'd! and thy great name doth run              ii. 193
+
+It lives when kill'd, and brancheth when 'tis lopp'd      ii. 301
+
+It would less vex distressed man                          ii. 145
+
+Jesus, my life! how shall I truly love Thee?               i. 200
+
+Joy of my life while left me here!                         i.  67
+
+Knave's tongues and calumnies no more doth prize          ii. 292
+
+King of comforts! King of Life!                            i. 127
+
+King of mercy, King of love,                               i. 174
+
+Learning and Law, your day is done,                       ii. 213
+
+Leave Amoret, melt not away so fast                       ii.  23
+
+Let me not weep to see thy ravish'd house                 ii. 307
+
+Let not thy youth and false delights                      ii. 146
+
+Life, Marcellina, leaving thy fair frame,                 ii. 312
+
+Like some fair oak, that when her boughs                  ii. 302
+
+[Like] to speedy posts, bear hence the lamp of life       ii. 304
+
+Long life, oppress'd with many woes,                      ii. 306
+
+Long since great wits have left the stage                 ii. 211
+
+Lord, bind me up, and let me lie                           i. 161
+
+Lord Jesus! with what sweetness and delights,              i. 177
+
+Lord, since Thou didst in this vile clay                   i. 116
+
+Lord! what a busy restless thing                           i.  48
+
+Lord, when Thou didst on Sinai pitch,                      i. 148
+
+Lord, when Thou didst Thyself undress,                     i.  51
+
+Lord, with what courage, and delight                       i.  80
+
+Love, the world's life! What a sad death                  ii. 223
+
+Man should with virtue arm'd and hearten'd be             ii. 303
+
+Mark, when the evening's cooler wings                     ii.  21
+
+Most happy man! who in his own sweet fields               ii. 236
+
+My dear, Almighty Lord! why dost Thou weep?                i. 220
+
+My God and King! to Thee                                   i. 259
+
+My God, how gracious art Thou! I had slipt                 i.  89
+
+My God! Thou that didst die for me,                        i.  13
+
+My God, when I walk in those groves                        i.  30
+
+My soul, my pleasant soul, and witty,                     ii. 294
+
+My soul, there is a country                                i.  83
+
+Nature even for herself doth lay a snare,                 ii. 303
+
+Nimble sigh on thy warm wings,                            ii.  10
+
+Nothing on earth, nothing at all                          ii. 149
+
+Now I have seen her; and by Cupid                         ii. 206
+
+Now that the public sorrow doth subside                   ii. 189
+
+O book! Life's guide! how shall we part;                   i. 287
+
+O come, and welcome! come, refine!                        ii. 251
+
+O come away,                                               i. 274
+
+O day of life, of light, of love!                          i. 267
+
+O do not go! Thou know'st I'll die!                        i. 214
+
+O dulcis luctus, risuque potentior omni!                  ii. 221
+
+O health, the chief of gifts divine!                      ii. 293
+
+O holy, blessed, glorious Three,                           i. 201
+
+O in what haste, with clouds and night                    ii. 126
+
+O joys! infinite sweetness! with what flowers              i.  71
+
+O knit me, that am crumbled dust! the heap                 i.  46
+
+O my chief good!                                           i.  84
+
+O quae frondosae per am[oe]na cubilia silvae                 ii. 160
+
+O, subtle Love! thy peace is war;                         ii. 220
+
+O tell me whence that joy doth spring                      i. 284
+
+O the new world's new-quick'ning Sun!                      i. 289
+
+O Thou great builder of this starry frame,                ii. 129
+
+O Thou that lovest a pure and whiten'd soul;               i. 130
+
+O Thou! the first-fruits of the dead,                      i.  78
+
+O Thou who didst deny to me                               ii. 263
+
+O Thy bright looks! Thy glance of love                     i. 197
+
+O when my God, my Glory, brings                            i. 260
+
+Obdurate still and tongue-tied, you accuse                ii. 308
+
+Oft have I seen, when that renewing breath                 i.  25
+
+Patience digesteth misery                                 ii. 302
+
+Peace? and to all the world? Sure One,                    ii. 259
+
+Peace, peace! I blush to hear thee; when thou art          i. 108
+
+Peace, peace! I know 'twas brave;                          i.  65
+
+Peace, peace! it is not so. Thou dost miscall              i. 137
+
+Peter, when thou this pleasant world dost see,            ii. 299
+
+Praying! and to be married! It was rare,                   i.  37
+
+Quid celebras auratam undam, et combusta pyropis          ii. 265
+
+Quite spent with thoughts, I left my cell, and lay         i.  57
+
+Quod vixi, Mathaee dedit pater, haec tamen olim             ii. 158
+
+Sacred and secret hand!                                    i. 223
+
+Sad, purple well! whose bubbling eye                       i. 254
+
+Saw not, Lysimachus, last day, when we                    ii. 195
+
+Say, witty fair one, from what sphere                     ii. 100
+
+See what thou wert! by what Platonic round                ii. 175
+
+See you that beauteous queen, which no age tames?         ii. 219
+
+Sees not my friend, what a deep snow                      ii.  99
+
+Shall I believe you can make me return,                   ii. 306
+
+Shall I complain, or not? or shall I mask                 ii. 112
+
+Sickness and death, you are but sluggish things,          ii. 309
+
+Silence and stealth of days! 'Tis now,                     i.  74
+
+Since dying for me, Thou didst crave no more               i. 278
+
+Since I in storms us'd most to be,                         i. 283
+
+Since in a land not barren still,                          i. 145
+
+Since last we met, thou and thy horse--my dear--          ii.  73
+
+Sion's true, glorious God! on Thee                         i. 269
+
+So from our cold, rude world, which all things tires,     ii. 204
+
+So our decays God comforts by                             ii. 295
+
+So, stick up ivy and the bays,                            ii. 261
+
+Some esteem it no point of revenge to kill                ii. 323
+
+Some struggle and groan as if by panthers torn,           ii. 300
+
+Still young and fine! but what is still in view            i. 230
+
+Sure, it was so. Man in those early days                   i. 101
+
+Sure Priam will to mirth incline,                         ii. 291
+
+Sure, there's a tie of bodies! and as they                 i.  82
+
+Sure thou didst flourish once! and many springs,           i. 209
+
+Sweet, harmless live[r]s!--on whose leisure                i. 158
+
+Sweet, sacred hill! on whose fair brow                     i.  49
+
+Tentasti, fateor, sine vulnere saepius et me                i. liv
+
+Thanks, mighty Silver! I rejoice to see                   ii.  68
+
+That man for misery excell'd                              ii. 293
+
+That the fierce pard doth at a beck                       ii. 325
+
+That the world in constant force                          ii. 142
+
+The lucky World show'd me one day                          i. 226
+
+The naked man too gets the field,                         ii. 300
+
+The painful cross with flowers and palms is crown'd,      ii. 314
+
+The pains of Saints and Saints' rewards are twins,        ii. 314
+
+The plenteous evils of frail life fill the old:           ii. 305
+
+The strongest body and the best                           ii. 323
+
+The trees we set grow slowly, and their shade             ii. 297
+
+The untired strength of never-ceasing motion,             ii. 324
+
+The whole wench--how complete soe'er--was but             ii. 298
+
+There are that do believe all things succeed              ii. 295
+
+There's need, betwixt his clothes, his bed and board      ii. 322
+
+They are all gone into the world of light!                 i. 182
+
+--They fain would--if they might--                        ii. 302
+
+This is the day--blithe god of sack--which we,            ii. 106
+
+This pledge of your joint love, to heaven now fled,       ii. 308
+
+Those sacred days by tedious Time delay'd,                ii. 315
+
+Though since thy first sad entrance by                     i. 272
+
+Thou that know'st for whom I mourn,                        i.  54
+
+Thou the nepenthe easing grief                            ii. 301
+
+Thou who didst place me in this busy street                i. 244
+
+Thou, who dost flow and flourish here below,               i. 198
+
+Thou, whose sad heart, and weeping head lies low           i. 133
+
+Through pleasant green fields enter you the way           ii. 313
+
+Through that pure virgin shrine,                           i. 251
+
+Time's teller wrought into a little round,                ii. 324
+
+'Tis a sad Land, that in one day                           i.  23
+
+'Tis dead night round about: Horror doth creep             i.  41
+
+'Tis madness sure; and I am in the fit,                   ii. 184
+
+'Tis not rich furniture and gems,                         ii. 147
+
+'Tis now clear day: I see a rose                           i.  33
+
+'Tis true, I am undone: yet, ere I die,                   ii.  17
+
+To live a stranger unto life                              ii. 304
+
+True life in this is shown,                               ii. 304
+
+'Twas so; I saw thy birth. That drowsy lake                i.  45
+
+Tyrant, farewell! this heart, the prize                   ii.   8
+
+Unfold! Unfold! Take in His light,                        ii. 254
+
+Up, O my soul! and bless the Lord! O God,                  i. 202
+
+Up to those bright and gladsome hills,                     i. 136
+
+Vain, sinful art! who first did fit                        i. 219
+
+Vain wits and eyes                                         i.  16
+
+Virtue's fair cares some people measure                   ii. 303
+
+Vivaces oculorum ignes et lumina dia                      ii. 159
+
+Waters above! eternal springs!                            ii. 248
+
+Weary of this same clay and straw, I laid                  i. 153
+
+We thank you, worthy Sir, that now we see                 ii.  97
+
+Weighing the steadfastness and state                       i. 169
+
+Welcome, dear book, soul's joy and food! The feast         i. 103
+
+Welcome sweet and sacred feast! welcome life!              i. 134
+
+Welcome, white day! a thousand suns,                       i. 184
+
+Well, we are rescued! and by thy rare pen                 ii. 104
+
+What can the man do that succeeds the king?                i. 247
+
+What clouds, Menalcas, do oppress thy brow,               ii. 278
+
+What fix'd affections, and lov'd laws                     ii. 228
+
+What happy, secret fountain,                               i. 241
+
+What greater good hath decked great Pompey's crown        ii. 306
+
+What is't to me that spacious rivers run                  ii. 295
+
+What planet rul'd your birth? what witty star?            ii.  57
+
+What smiling star in that fair night,                     ii. 214
+
+What though they boast their riches unto us?              ii. 292
+
+Whatever 'tis, whose beauty here below                     i. 191
+
+When Daphne's lover here first wore the bays,             ii.  61
+
+When first I saw True Beauty, and Thy joys                 i. 168
+
+When first Thou didst even from the grave                  i. 110
+
+When first thy eyes unveil, give thy soul leave            i.  94
+
+When Jove a heav'n of small glass did behold,             ii. 238
+
+When the Crab's fierce constellation                      ii. 131
+
+When the fair year                                         i. 212
+
+When the sun from his rosy bed                            ii. 136
+
+When through the North a fire shall rush                   i.  28
+
+When to my eyes,                                           i.  63
+
+When we are dead, and now, no more                        ii.   5
+
+When with these eyes, clos'd now by Thee,                  i. 271
+
+Whenever did, I pray,                                     ii. 322
+
+Where reverend bards of old have sate                     ii. 172
+
+Where'er my fancy calls, there I go still,                ii. 322
+
+Whither, O whither didst thou fly                         ii. 250
+
+Who wisely would for his retreat                          ii. 137
+
+Who would unclouded see the laws                          ii. 230
+
+Who on you throne of azure sits,                           i. 142
+
+Whom God doth take care for, and love,                    ii. 306
+
+Whose calm soul in a settled state                        ii. 128
+
+Whose guilty soul, with terrors fraught, doth frame,      ii. 303
+
+Whose hissings fright all Nature's monstrous ills,        ii. 305
+
+With restless cares they waste the night and day,         ii. 322
+
+With what deep murmurs, through Time's silent stealth,     i. 280
+
+Y Pader, pan trier, Duw-tri a'i dododd                    ii. 323
+
+You have consum'd my language, and my pen,                ii. 109
+
+You have oblig'd the patriarch: and 'tis known            ii. 187
+
+You minister to others' wounds a cure,                    ii. 291
+
+You see what splendour through the spacious aisle,        ii. 314
+
+You that to wash your flesh and souls draw near,          ii. 312
+
+Youth, beauty, virtue, innocence                          ii. 102
+
+
+
+Woodfall & Kinder, Printers, 70-76, Long Acre., W.C.
+
+
+
+***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS OF HENRY VAUGHAN, SILURIST,
+VOLUME II***
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