noise Of young Children Girls or Boys From ill Beds and full of Fleas From a Wife with Essences Libera nos c. IX From Trapans of wicked Men From the Interest of Ten From Rebellion and the sense Of a wounded Conscience Lastly from the Poets Evil From * O. Cromwell his Highness and the Devil Libera nos c. To some Great Ones EPIGRAM POets are great Mens Trumpets Poets fein Create them Vertues but dare hint no stain This makes the Fiâ—tion constant and does shew You make the Poets not the Poets you To the Memory of my worthy Friend Colonel Richard Lovelace To pay my Love to thee and pay it so As honest Men should what they justly owe Were to write better of thy Life than can Th'assured'st Pen of the most worthy Man Such was thy Composition such thy Mind Improv'd to Vertue and from Vice refin'd Thy Youth an abstract of the World 's best parts Enur'd to Arms and exercis'd in Arts Which with the vigour of a Man became Thine and thy Countries Pyramids of Flame Two glorious Lights to guide our hopefull Youth Into the paths of Honor and of Truth These parts so rarely met made up in thee What Man should in his full perfection be So sweet a temper into every sence And each affection breath'd an influence As smooth'd them to a Calm which still withstood The ruffling Passions of untamed Blood Without a wrinkle in thy Face to show Thy stable Breast could a disturbance know In Fortune humble constant in Mischance Expert of both and both serv'd to advance Thy Name by various tryals of thy Spirit And give the testimony of thy Merit Valiant to envy of the bravest Men And Learned to an undisputed Pen Good as the best in both and great but yet No dangerous Courage nor offensive Wit These ever serv'd the one for to defend The other nobly to advance thy Friend Under which title I have found my Name Fixt in the living Chronicle of Fame To times succeeding yet I hence must go Displeas'd I cannot celebrate thee so But what respect acknowledgment and love What these together when improv'd improve Call it by any Name so it express Ought like a Tribute to thy worthiness And may my bounden Gratitude become Lovelace I offer at thy honour'd Tomb. And though thy Vertues many Friends have bred To love thee Living and lament thee Dead In Characters far better coucht than these Mine will not blot thy Fame nor theirs increase 'T was by thine own great Merits rais'd so high That maugre Time and Fate it shall not die To Poet E. W. Occasion'd for his Writing a Panegyrick on Oliver Cromwell FRom whence vile Poet did'st thou glean the Wit And Words for such a vitious Poem fit Where could'st thou Paper find was not too white Or Ink that could be black enough to write What servile Devil tempted thee to be A flatterer of thine own Slavery To kiss thy Bondage and extol the deed At once that made thy Prince and Country bleed I wonder much thy false Heart did not dread And shame to write what all Men blush to read Thus with a base ingratitude to rear Trophies unto thy Master's Murtherer Who call'd thee Coward much mistook Thou hast at once abus'd thy self and us He 's stout that dares slatter a Tyranne thus Put up thy Pen and Ink muzzle thy Muse Adulterate Hag fit for a common Stews No good Man's Library writ thou hast Treason in Rhime has all thy Works defac't Such is thy fault that when I think to find A punishment of the severest kind For thy offence my malice cannot name A greater than once to commit the same Where was thy reason then when thou began To write against the sense of God and Man Within thy guilty breast Despair took place Thou would'st despairing Die in spite of Grace At once th' art Iudge and Malefactor shown Each Sentence in thy Poem is thine own Then what thou hast pronounc'd go execute Hang up thy self and say I bid thee do 't Fear not thy memory that cannot dye This Panegyrick is thy Elegy Which shall be when or wheresoever read A living Poem to upbraid thee dead DIALOGVE Geron and Amarillis Gr. STay stay fair Nymph oh whither Flies The love and wonder of all Eyes Stay and to see be now besought The Miracle thy Charms have wrought Age turn'd to youth at Love's command And thine which nothing can withstand Am. Be gon old Fool why dost thou stay My better thoughts and cross my way Fly fly and quit my shady walk Nature will blush to see us talk Who all conjunction must disclaim Betwixt her glory and her shame Prefer thy suit to some one fit If not to grant to pardon it Thou wrong'st my youth by thy pretence And ev'ry Pray'r is violence Love has on thee no wonder wrought Thou only art transform'd in thought Nor art thou quick'ned by my Eyes But dream'st of Metamorphosies Thou art the same old thing thou wast Without or sight or touch or taste Hearing or smell or any sense That beauties grace should recompense And only hast a tongue to move Contempt and laughter but no Love. Ge. Sweet do not scorn me though I seem Old and unfit for thy esteem Though hoary grown and shrunk I am I feed within perhaps a flame As hot as can the youngest he That hourly Sighs and sues to thee As I am old I should be wise And better know the thing I prize Than twenty Younglings that do light Their Torches only at the sight Am. I shun thee not for any part Of what thou seem'st but what thou art And that thou dost a flame believe Is but enough to make thee live For if thy Heart a flame should turn The bulk's so dry thy frame would burn I know thee old and wish thee wise A younger Man and younger Eyes On publick Faith thou courtest me For troth I think thou canst not see Ge. Would I were deaf I might not hear This confirmation of my fear I doubted thou would'st scornful prove But look'd for no reproach for love I come perhaps with full delight T'outbid thy wary appetite I can distinguish Beauty too And taste the Fruit for which I sue Know all Love's ends and all his ways Womens reproaches and delays And furnish'd 'em with able Arms To force the Fortress of thy charms Scorn then ingrate my love and me Thy Spring will one day Winter be When ev'ry youthfull Shepherd Swain As thou dost me will thee disdain Am. Old Man why should'st thou think me nice Because I cannot hug thy Ice Or tell me I shall Winter grow Because thy self art turn'd to Snow No heats so wild in my Blood play As need th' excess of thy allay Nor can the judgment of thy dim Erroneous sight raise my esteem And that stiff blade of thine may in Attempts but no performance sin Go Dotard and impartial look Thy Shadow in the frozen Brook In that
is' t buckles To writing pray that has no knuckles But now I 'm thaw'd beyond all Conscience Into a torrent of damn'd Nonsense Yet still in this our Climate frigid I'm one day limber next day rigid Nay all things yet remain so crusty That were I now but half so lusty As when we kiss'd four months agon And had but Dutch Goloshoes on At one run I would slide to Lon But surely this transforming weather Will soon take leave for altogether Then what now Lapland seems in May You 'll swear is sweet Arcadia Clepsydra I. WHY let it run who bids it stay Let us the while be merry Time there in water creeps away With us it posts in Sherry II. Time not employ'd's an empty sound Nor did kind Heaven lend it But that the Glass should quick goe round And men in pleasure spend it III. Then set thy foot brave Boy to mine Ply quick to cure our thinking An hour-glass in an hour of Wine Would be but lazy drinking IV. The man that snores the hour-glass out Is truly a time-waster But we who troll this glass about Make him to post it faster V. Yet though he flies so fast some think 'T is well known to the Sages He 'll not refuse to stay and drink And yet perform his stages VI. Time waits us whilst we crown the hearth And dotes on Rubie Faces And knows that this Carier of mirth Will help to mend our paces VII He stays with him that loves good time And never does refuse it And only runs away from him That knows not how to use it VIII 〈◊〉 only steals by without noise From those in grief that waste it 〈◊〉 lives with the mad roaring Boys That husband it and taste it IX 〈◊〉 moralist perhaps may prate Of vertue from his reading 〈◊〉 all but stale and foisted chat To men of better breeding X. â—â—me to define it is the space That men enjoy their being â—is not the hour but drinking glass Makes time and life agreeing XI 〈◊〉 wisely does oblige his fate Does chearfully obey it â—nd is of Fops the greatest that By temp'rance thinks to stay it XII Come ply the Glass then quick about To titillate the Gullet Sobriety's no charm I doubt Against a Cannon-Bullet Eclogue Corydon Clotten Corydon RIse Clotten rise take up thy Pipe 〈◊〉 The Sheepherds want thee 't is 〈◊〉 Holy-day And thou of all the Swains wert wont to be The first to grace that great Solemnity Clotten True Corydon but then I happy was And in Pan's favour had a Minion's place Clotten had then fair Flocks the finest Fleece These Plains and Mountains yielded then was his â—â—ese auspitious times the fruitfull Dams â—â—ught me the earliest and the kindli'st Lambs 〈◊〉 nightly watch about them need I keep Pan himself was Sheepherd to my Sheep 〈◊〉 now alas neglected and forgot 〈◊〉 all my off'rings and he knows me not 〈◊〉 bloudy Wolf that lurks away the day 〈◊〉 night's black palm beckons him out to prey 〈◊〉 the cover of those guilty shades Folds but mine the rav'nous Foe invades 〈◊〉 there he has such bloudy havock made 〈◊〉 all my Flock being devour'd or stray'd 〈◊〉 have lost the Fruits of all my pain 〈◊〉 no more a Sheepherd but a Swain â—orydon So sad a Tale thou tell'st me that I must â—w thy grief my Clotten to be just 〈◊〉 mighty Pan has thousand Flocks in store 〈◊〉 when it pleases him can give thee more 〈◊〉 has perhaps afflicted thee to try Vertue onely and thy Constancy Repine not then at him that thou art poor 'T was by his bounty thou wert rich before And thou should'st serve him at the same free 〈◊〉 When most distress'd as when most fortunate Clotten Thus do the healthfull still the sick 〈◊〉 And thus men preach when they would fain seem 〈◊〉 But if in my wretched Estate thou wert I fear me thy Philosophy would start And give thee o'er to an afflicted Sense As void of Reason as of Patience Had I been always poor I should not be Perhaps so discontent with Poverty Nor now so sensible of my disgrace Had I ne'er known what Reputation was But from so great a height of happiness To sink into the bottom of distress Is such a change as may become my care And more than I confess I well can bear Corydon But art thou not too sensible my 〈◊〉 Of those few losses thou hast lately had Thou art not yet in want thou still dost eat Bread of the finest Flower of purest Wheat Who better Syder drinks what Sheepherd's board Does finer Curds Butter or Cheese afford Who wears a Frock to grace a Holy-day Spun of a finer Wooll or finer Grey Whose Cabin is so neatly swept as thine With Flow'rs and Rushes kept so sweet and fine Whose name amongst our many Sheepherds Swains So great as thine is throughout all these Plains Who has so many Friends so pretty Loves Who by our bubbling Fountains and Green Groves Passes away the Summer heats so well And who but thee in singing does excell So that the Swains when Clotten sings or plays Lay down their Pipes and listen to his Lays Wherein then can consist I fain would know The Misery that thou complain'st of so Clotten Some of these things are true but Corydon That which maintain'd all these alas is gone The want of Wealth I reckon not distress But of enough to doe good offices Which growing less those Friends will fall away Poverty is the ground of all decay With our Prosperities our Friendships end And to misfortune no one is a Friend Which I already find to that degree That my old Friends are now afraid of me And all avoid me as good men would fly The common Hangman 's shamefull company Those who by Fortune were advanc'd above Being oblig'd by my most ready love Shun me for fear least my necessity Should urge what they 're unwilling to deny And are resolv'd they will not grant and those Have shar'd my Meat my Money and my Cloathâ— Grown rich with others Spoils as well as mine The coming near me now do all decline Least shame and gratitude should draw them in To be to me what I to them have been By which means I am stripp'd of all supplies And left alone to my own Miseries Corydon In the relation that thy grief has made The World 's false friendships are too true display'd But courage man thou hast one Friend in store Will ne'er forsake thee for thy being poor I will be true to thee in worst estate And love thee more now than when Fortunate Clotten All goodness then on Earth I see 's not lost I of one Friend in misery can boast Which is enough and peradventure morâ— Than any one could ever do before And I to thee as true a Friend will prove Not to abuse but to deserve thy love To my dear and most worthy Friend Mr. Isaac Walton WHilst in this cold and blust'ring Clime Where bleak winds how I
Passion My Star my bright Magnetick Pole And only Gâ—idress of my Soul. Thyr. Let Caelia be thy Cynosure Chloe's my Pole too though th' obscure For though her self 's all glorious My Earth 'twixt us does interpose Dam. Obscure indeed since she 's but one To mine a Constellation Her Lights throughout so glorious are That every part 's a perfect Star. Thyr. Then Caelia's Perfections Are scatter'd Chloe's like the Suns United Light compacted lye Whence all that feel their force must dye Dam. Caelia's Beauties are too bright To be contracted in one Light Nor does my fair her Rays dispence With such a stabbing Influence Since 't is her less imperious Will To save her Lovers and not kill Thyr. Each beam of her united Light Is than the greatest Star more bright And if she stay it is from hence She darts too sweet an Influence We Surfeit with 't weak Eyes must shun The dazling Glories of the Sun. Perhaps if Caelia do not kill 'T is want of Power not of Will. Dam. I now perceive thy Chloe's Eyes To be no Stars but Prodigies Comets such as blazing stand To threaten ruin to a Land Beacons of sulph'rous Flame they are Symptoms not of Peace but War And thou I guess by singing thus Thence stoll'st thine Ignis fatuâ—s Thyr. As th' vulgar are amaz'd at th' Sun When tripled by reflection Câ—loe's self and glorious Eyes To thee seem Comets in the Skies And true they may portend some Wars Such as 'twixt Venus and her Mars But chast whose captivating Bands Would People and not ruin Lands With such a Going fire I 'll stray For who with it can lose his way Dam. The Vulgar may perhaps be won By thee to think her Sun and Moon And so would I but that my more Convincing Caelia I adore Would we had both that Chloe thine And my dear Caelia might be mine But if we should thus mix with Ray In Heav'n would be no Night but Day For we should People all the Skies With Plannet-Girls and Starry-Boyes Chloe's a going-fire we see Pray Pan she do not go from thee Thyr. Thanks Damon but she does I fear The Shadows now so long appear Yet if she do we 'll both find Day â—'â—h ' Sun-shine of thy Caelia Her Sigh I. SHE sighs and has blown over now The storms that thrat'ned in her brow The Heaven 's now serene and clear And bashful blushes do appear Th' Errour sh' has found That did me wound Thus with her od'rous Sigh my hopes are crown'd II. Now she relents for now I hear Repentance whisper in my Ear Happy repentance that begets By this sweet Airy motion heats And does destroy Her Heresie That my Faith branded with Inconstancy III. When Thisbe's Pyramus was slain This sigh had fetcht him back again And such a sigh from Dido's Chest Wasted the Trojan to her Breast Each of her sighs My Love does prize Reward for thousand thousand Cruelties IV. Sigh on my Sweet and by thy Breath Immortal grown I 'll laugh at Death Had Fame so sweet a one we shou'd In that regard learn to be good Sigh on my Fair Henceforth I swear I could Cameleon turn and live by Air On the Lamented Death of my Dear Uncle Mr. Radcliff Stanhope SUch is th' unsteddy state of humane things And Death so certain that their period brings So frail is Youth and strength so sure this sleep That much we cannot wonder though we weep Yet since 't is so it will not misbecom Either perhaps our Sorrows or his Tomb To breath a Sigh and drop a mourning Tear Upon the cold face of his Sepulcher Well did his life deserve it if to be A great Example of Integrity Honour and Truth Fidelity and Love In such perfection as if each had strove T'out-do Posterity may deserve our care Or to his Funeral command a Tear Faithful he was and just and sweetly good To whom ally'd in Virtue or in Blood His Breast from other conversation chast Above the reach of giddy Vice was plac't Then had not Death that crops in 's Savage speed The fairest flower with the rankest weed Thus made a beastly Conquest of his Prime And cut him off before grown ripe for Time How bright an Evening must this Morn pursue Is to his Life a Contemplation due Proud Death t' arrest his thriving Virtue thus Unhappy Fate not to himself but us That so have lost him for no doubt but he Was fit for Heav'n as years could make him be Age does but muster Sin and heap up woes Against the last and general Rendezvous Whereas he dy'd full of obedient Truth Wrap't in his spotless Innocence of Youth Farewell Dear Vncle may thy hop'd for Bliss To thee be real as my Sorrow is May they be nam'd together since I do Nothing more perfect than my sorrow know And if thy Soul into mens minds have Eyes It knows I truly weep these Obsequies On the Lord Derby TO what a formidable greatness grown Is this prodigious Beast Rebellion When Sovereignty and it s so sacred Law Thus lies subjected to his Tyrant awe And to what daring impudence he grows When not content to trample upon those He still destroys all that with honest flames Of loyal Love would propagate their Names In this great ruin Derby lay thy Fate Derby unfortunately fortunate Unhappy thus to fall a Sacrifice To such an Irreligious Power as this And blest as 't was thy nobler sence to dye A constant Lover of thy Loyalty Nor is it thy Calamity alone Since more lye whelm'd in this Subversion And first the justest and the best of Kings Roab'd in the glory of his Sufferings By his too violent Fate inform'd us all What tragick ends attended his great fall Since when his Subjects some by chance of War Some by perverted justice at the Bar Have perish't thus what th' other leaves this takes And who so scapes the Sword falls by the Axe Amongst which throng of Martyrs none could boast Of more fidelity than the world has lost In losing thee when in contempt of spite Thy steddy faith at th'exit crown'd with Light His Head above their malice did advance They could not murder thy Allegiance Not when before those Iudges brought to th'test Who in the symptomes of thy ruin drest Pronounc't thy Sentence Basilisks whose Breath Is killing Poyson and whose Looks are Death Then how unsafe a Guard Man's virtue is Iâ— this false Age when such as do amiss Controul the honest sort and make a prey Of all that are not villanous as they Does to our Reasons Eyes too plain appear In the mischance of this Illustrious Peer Blood-thirsty Tyrants of usurped State In facts of Death prompt and insatiate That in your Flinty Bosoms have no sence Of Manly Honour or of Conscience But do since Monarchy lay drown'd in Blood Proclaim 't by Act high Treason to be good Cease yet at last for shame let Derby's fall Great and good Derby's expiate for all
said Canst thou Ungratefull thus renounce thy Rhime Tell me how would'st thou spend thy Vacant time To Tragick buskins would'st thy Sock transfer And in Heroick Verse sing bloudy War That tyrannous Pedants with awfull voice May terrify Old Men Virgins and Boys Let rigid Antiquaries such things write Who by a blinking Lamp consume the Night With Roman air touch up thy Poems Dress That th' Age may read its manners and confess Tâ—ou'lt find thou may'st with trifling Subjects play â—â—til their Trumpets to thy Reed give way Id. Lib. 8. Ep. 19. De Cinna CInna would fain be thought to need And so he does he 's poor indeed Id. Lib. 8. Ep. 23. Ad Rusticum TO thee I gluttonous and cruel seem About my Cook because I basted him For supper Rusticus the cause was great What should a Cook be beaten for but 's meat Id. Lib. Ep. 47. In variâ— se tondentem PArt of thy Beard is clipt part shav'd anothâ—â— place Is pull'd who 'd think this could be all one Face Id. Lib. 8. Ep. 21. Ad Luciferum â—Hospher appear why dost our joys delay When Caesar's coming only waits for Day 〈◊〉 begs thy haste on slow Boots's Carr 〈◊〉 thou not ride thou mov'st so slowly Star â—â—ift-footed Cyllarus thou might'st have took 〈◊〉 his saddle now would have forsook â—hy do'st thou longer stop the longing Sun â—â—â—thus and Aethon beat and snort to run 〈◊〉 Memnon's Mother watches till you come â—or will the Stars give place to greater Light 〈◊〉 stay with th' Moon expecting Caesars sight â—ow Caesar come by Night we shall have Ray 〈◊〉 People cannot where thou art want Day Id. Lib. 8. Ep. 35. In pessimos Conjuges SInce y' are a-like in Manners and in Life A wicked Husband and a wicked Wife I wonder much you are so full of strife Id. Lib. 8. Ep. 53. In Catullam THE Fair'st of Women that have been or arâ— Thou art yet Cheaper than them all by far To me Catulla what a triumph 't were That thou wer 't or more Honest or less Fair. Id. Lib. 8. Ep. 59. In Vacerram BUT Antick Poets thou admirest none And only prayest them are dead and gone I beg your pardon good Vacerra I Can't on such terms find in my Heart to die Id. Lib. 7. Ep. 100. De Vetula THou' rt soft to touch charming to hear unseen Thou' rt both but neither take away the Screen Id. Lib. 8. Ep. 41. Ad Faustinum SAd Athenagoras nought presents me now As in December he was wont to do If Athenagoras be sad or no I 'll see I 'me sure that he has made me so Id. Lib. 11. Ep. 103. In Lydiam HE did not lye that said thy Skin was fair But not thy Face so one and th' other are Thy Face if thou sit'st mute and hold'st thy peace Even as in one â—mbost or Painted is But as thou talk'st thou loosest off thy Skin And no ones Tongue more hurts themselves than thine Take heed the Aedile thee nor hear nor see As oft as Statues speak 't is a Prodigie Id. Lib. 12. Ep. 7. De Ligia IF by her Hairs Ligia's Age be told 'T is soon cast up than she is three years old Id. Lib. 12. Ep. 20. Ad Fabullam THat Themison has no Wife how 't comes to pass â—hou ask'st why Themison a Sister has Horat. Lib 1. Carmin Ode 8 Ad Lydia TEll me for God's sake Lydia why Thy Saâ—aris thou do'st with love destroy The Glorious Field why should he shun Grown now impatient of the Dust and Sun Why not in War-like bravery ride Curbing with bits the Gallick Horses pride Why fears he Tybers yellow Floud And flies the Olive more than Vipers Bloud Why not still crusht with Arms whose art Was fam'd for clean delivery of his Dart Why does he Lydia now lye hid As once they say the Son of Thetiâ— did Before Troy's wept for Funerall Lest in his own Apparel he might fall Subject to Slaughter and the Harms Of bloudy Lycians unrelenting Arms De Fortuna an sit caeca Epig. ex Johann Secundo WHY do they speak the Goodess Fortune blind Because She 's only to th' unjust inclin'd This Reason nought Her blindness does declare They only Fortune need who Wicked are Tria Mala ex eodem THE three great Evils of Mans life Are Fire Water and a Wife Id. Lib. Ep. 15. In Neaeram 'T Was Night and Phaebe in a Heaven bright Shone 'mongst the lesser sparks of Light When thou to wound the Gods vowd'st to fulfill The strictest tenures of my will With straighter Arms than ever th' Ivy tall Embrac'd the aged Oak withall Whilst Wolves devour and whilst Orion stirs The Winter Main to Mariners And that this â— ove should mutual last whilst air Wanton'd with Phaebus's uncut Hair. Neaera false on my good Nature wan Too much were Flaccus ought of Man He 'd not t' another yield thee Night by Night But seek another Love in spight Nor would his Anger so provok'd give place To th' Charms of thy offensive Face But Thou who ere more happy and now grown Proud usher'st my Affliction Thou mayst be rich in Cattle and in Land Pactolus may flow to thy Hand Thou mayst be too a Pythagorean O'recome with Beauty Nerean Yet thou alas wilt mourn her change to see When I by turn shall laugh at thee ODE De Theophile Par. I. THy Beauties Dearest Isis have Disturbed Nature at their sight Thine Eyes to Love his blindness gave Such is the vigour of their light The Gods too only minding thee Let the World err at liberty II. And having in the Suns bright Eye Thy glances counterfeited seen Even their Hearts my Sweet thereby So sensibly have wounded been That but they 're fixt they 'd come to see And gaze upon their Creature thee III. Beleive me in this humor They Of things below have little Care Of good or ill we do or say Then since Heaven lets thee love me Dear Without revenging on thine Eye Or striking me in Iealousy IV. â—hou mayst securely in mine Arms And warm Womb of my wanton bed â—each me t' unravel all thy Charms Thou nothing Isis needest dread Since Gods themselves had happy been Could all their power have made thee Sin. Elegy de Theophile SInce that sad Day a sadder Farewell did My Eyes the object of my â—lame forbid My Soul and Sense so disunited are That being thus deprived of thee My Fair I find me so distractedly alone That from my self methinks my self am gone To me invisible's the Sun 's fair Light Nor do I feel the soâ—t repose of Night I Poyson tast in my repast most sweet And sink where-ever I dispose my feet My Life all company but Death has lost Chloris so dear the love I bear thee cost Oh Gods who all the joys we have bestow Do you with them always give torments too Can that we call Good Fortune never hit Humane designs but ill must follow it If equally you interweave the Fate With