O fertile head! which every year

Could such a crop of wonder bear!

The teeming Earth did never bring, As lately I on silver Thames did ride,

So soon, so hard, so huge a thing :

Which might it never have been cast,
Sad Galatea on the bank I spy'd :
Such was her look as sorrow taught to shine;

(Each year's growth added to the last)

These lofty branches had supply'd And thus she grac'd me with a voice divine.

The Earth's bold sons' prodigious pride:
GAL. You, that can tune your sounding strings so

Heaven with these engines had been scald,
Of ladies' beauties, and of love, to tell, [well,
Once change your note, and let your lute report

When mountains heap'd on mountains fail'd.
The justest grief, that ever touch'd the court.

THYR. Fair nymph! I have in your delights no
Nor ought to be concerned in your care; (share, TO A LADY IN RETIREMENT.
Yet would I sing, if I your sorrows knew;
And to my aid invoke no muse but you.

Sees not my love, how Time resumes
GAL. Hear then, and let your song augment our

The glory which he lent these flowers ? Which is so great, as not to wish relief. [grief,

Though none should taste of their perfumes, She that had all which Nature gives, or Chance,

Yet must they live but some few hours : Whom Fortune join'd with Virtue to advance

Time, what we forbear, devours ! To all the joys this island could afford,

Had Helen, or th’ Egyptian queen“, The greatest mistress, and the kindest lord ;

Been near so thrifty of their graces; Who with the royal mixt her noble blood,

Those beauties must at length have been And in high grace with Gloriana stood;

The spoil of age, which finds out faces
Her bounty, sweetness, beauty, goodness, such,

In the most retired places.
That none e'er thought her happiness too much; Should some malignant planet bring
So well inclin'd her favours to confer,

A barren drought, or ceaseless shower,
And kind to all, as Heaven had been to her! Upon the autumn, or the spring,
The virgin's part, the mother, and the wife,

And spare us neither fruit nor flower;
So well she acted in the span of life,

Winter would not stay an hour. That, though few years (too few, alas!) she told,

Could the resolve of Love's neglect She seem'd in all things, but in beauty, old.

Preserve you from the violation As unripe fruit, whose verdant stalks do cleave

Of coming years, then more respect Close to the tree, which grieves no less to leave

Were due to so divine a fashion;
The smiling pendant, which adorns her so,

Nor would I indulge my passion.
And until autumn on the bough should grow:
So seem'd her youthful soul not easily forc'd,
Or from so fair, so sweet, a seat divorc'd.
Her fate at once did hasty seem, and slow;

At once too cruel, and unwilling too.
THYR. Under how hard a law are mortals born!

Balls of this metal slack'd At'lanta's pace,
Whom now we envy, we anon must mourn:
What Heaven sets highest, and seems most to prize, Venus, (the nymph's mind measuring by her own)

And on the amorous youths bestow'd the race: Is soon removed from our wondering eyes!

Whom the rich spoils of cities overthrown But since the sisters 3 did so soon untwine

Had prostrated to Mars, could well advise
So fair a thread, I'll strive to piece the line.

Th’adventurous lover how to gain the prize.
Vouchsafe, sad nymph! to let me know the dame, Nor less may Jupiter to gold ascribe :
And to the muses I'll commend her name:
Make the wide country echo to your moan,

For, when he turn'd himself into a bribe,

Who can blame Danaë, or the brazen tower,
The listening trees, and savage mountains, groan.
What rock's not moved when the death is sung

That they withstood not that almighty shower ?

Never till then did Love make Jove put on
Of one so good, so lovely, and so young!
Gal. 'Twas Hamilton !-whom I had nam'd before, Nor were it just, would he resume that shape,

A form more bright, and nobler, than his own : But naming her, grief lets me say no more. That slack devotion should his thunder scape.

'Twas not revenge for griev'd Apollo's wrong,

Those ass's ears on Midas' temples hung,

But fond repentance of his happy wish,

Because his meat grew metal like his dish. So we some antique hero's strength

Would Bacchus bless me so, I'd constant hold Learn by his lance's weight, and length;

Unto my wish, and die creating gold.
As these vast beams express the beast,
Whose shady brows alive they drest.
Such game, while yet the world was new,
The mighty Nimrod did

What huntsman of our feeble race,

Mirror of poets! mirror of our age ! Or dogs, dare sueh a monster chase?

Which, her whole face beholding on thy stage, Resembling, with each blow he strikes,

Pleas'd, and displeas'd, with her own faults, endures The charge of a whole troop of pikes.

A remedy like those whom music cures. 3 Parcæ.

4 Cleopatra. 5 Hippomenes.



55 Thou hast alone those various inclinations,

Wherewith they now assist the choir Which Nature gives to ages, sexes, nations : Of angels, who their songs admire! So traced with thy all-resembling pen,

Whatever those inspired souls That whate'er custom has impos'd on men,

Were urged to express, did shake Or ill-got habit (which deforms them so,

The aged deep, and both the poles ; That sarce a brother can his brother know)

Their numerous thunder could awake Is represented to the wondering eyes

Dull Earth, which does with Heaven consent
Of all, that see or read thy comedies.

To all they wrote, and all they meant.
Wowerer in those glasses looks, may find
The spots return'd, or graces, of his mind,

Say, sacred bard! what could bestow
And, by the help of so divine an art,

Courage on thee, to soar so high? At leisure view and dress his nobler part.

Tell me, brave friend! what help'd thee so Narcissus, cozen'd by that flattering well,

To shake off all mortality? Wuich nothing could but of his beauty tell,

To light this torch thou hast climb'd higher,
Had bere, discovering the deform'd estate

Than he ? who stole celestial fire.
Of his fond mind, présery'd himself with hate.
Bat virtue too, as well as vice, is clad
In desh and blood so well, that Plato had

Bereld, what his high fancy once embrac'd,
Virtue with colours, speech, and motion grac'd. WHO HAD THEN NEWLY SET A SONG OP MINE, IN THE
The sundry postures of thy copious Muse

YEAR 1635.
Who would express, a thousand tongues must use;

Verse makes heroic virtue live;
Whose fate's no less peculiar than thy art;
For as thou couldst all characters impart,

But you can life to verses give.
So one could render thine ; which still escapes,

As, when in open air we blow, Like Proteus, in variety of shapes;

The breath (though strain'd) sounds flat and low, Who Fas, nor this, nor that; but all we find,

But if a trumpet take the blast,
And all we can imagine, in mankind.

It lifts it high and makes it last :
So, in your airs our numbers drest,
Make a shrill sally from the breast

Of nymphs, who, singing what we penn'd,

Our passions to themselves commend;

While Love, victorious with thy art, FLETCHER! to thee we do not only owe

Governs at once their voice and heart. All those good plays, but those of others too: You, by the help of tune and time, The wit repeated, does support the stage,

Can make that song, which was but rhyme:
Credits the last, and entertains this age.

Noy & pleading, no man doubts the cause,
No Forthies, form'd by any Muse but thine, Or questions verses set by Lawes.
Could purchase robes, to make themselves so fine. As a church-window, thick with paint,

What brave commander is not proud, to see Lets in a light but dim and faint;
The brare Melantius in his gallantry?

So others, with division, hide
Our greatest ladies love to see their scorn

The light of sense, the poet's pride :
Outdone by thine, in what themselves have worn: But you alone may truly boast
TH' impatient widow, ere the year be done, That not a syllable is lost:
Soss thy Aspasia weeping in her gown.

The writer's and the setter's skill
I never yet the tragic strain assay'd,

At once the ravish'd ears do fill. Deter'd by that inimitable Maid 6.

Let those, which only warble long, And, when I venture at the comic style,

And gargle in their throats a song,
Thy Scorful Lady seems to mock my toil. Content themselves with ut, re, mi :

Thas has thy Muse at once improv'd and marr'd Let words and sense be set by thee.
Our sport in plays, by rendering it too hard !
So, when a sort of lusty shepherds throw
The bar by turns, and none the rest out-go
So far, but that the best are measuring casts,

Their emulation and their pastime lasts :
Pat, if some brawny yeoman of the guard


Step in, and toss the axletree a yard,
Ozore, beyond the furthest mark, the rest,

Thus the wise nightingale, that leaves her home, Despairing stand; their sport is at the best. Her native wood, when storms and winter come,

Pursuing constantly the cheerful spring,
To foreign groves does her old music bring.

The drooping Hebrews banish’d, harps, unstrung,
TO MR. GEORGE SANDYS, At Babylon upon the willows hung :

Yours sounds aloud, and tells us you excel

No less in courage, than in singing well ; How bold a work attempts that pen,

While, unconcern'd, you let your country know, Which would enrich our vulgar tongue

They have impoverish'd themselves, not you; With the high raptures of those men,

Who, with the Muses' help, can mock those Fates, Who here with the same spirit sung,

Which threaten kingdoms, and disorder states. 6 The Maid's Tragedy.

7 Prometheus. 8 The attorney-generat:


Sn Ovid, when from Cæsar's rage he fled,

Thus would I further yet engage
The Roman Muse to Pontus with him led ; ! Your gentle Muse to court the age
Where he so sung, that we, through pity's glass, With somewhat of your proper rage :
See Nero milder than Augustus was.

Since none doth more to Phæbus owe,
Hereafter, such, in thy behalf, shall be
Th'indulgent censure of posterity.'

Or in more languages can show
To banish those, who with such art can sing,

Those arts, which you so early know.
Is a rude crime, which its own curse doth bring :
Ages to come shall ne'er know how they fought,
Nor how to love their present youth be taught.
This to thyself.--Now to thy matchless book,

Wherein those few that can with judgment look,
May find old love in pure fresh language told;

UPON HIS TRANSLATION OF LUCRETIUS Like new-stamp'd coin, made out of angel-gold:

LUCRETIUS (with a stork-like fate, Such truth in love, as th' antique world did know,

Born and translated in a state) In such a style, as courts may boast of now;

Comes to proclaim, in English verse, Which no bold tales of gods or monsters swell,

No monarch rules the universe: But human passions, such as with us dwell.

But chance and atoms make this ALL Man is thy theme; his virtue, or his rage,

In order democratical; Drawn to the life in each elaborate page.

Where bodies freely run their course, Mars, nor Bellona, are not named here,

Without design, or fate, or force. But such a Gondibert as both might fear:

And this in such a strain he sings, Venus had here, and Hebe, been outshin'd, As if his Muse, with angels' wings, By thy bright Birtha, and thy Rhodalind.

Had soar'd beyond our utmost sphere, Such is thy happy skill, and such the odds,

And other worlds discover'd there. Betwixt thy worthies, and the Grecian gods !

For his immortal, boundless wit, Whose deities in vain had here come down,

To Nature does no bounds permit; Where mortal beauty wears the sovereign crown:

But boldly has remov'd those bars Such as, of flesh compos'd, by flesh and blood,

Of heaven, and earth, and seas, and stars,
Though not resisted, may be understood.

By which they were before suppos'd,
By narrow wits, to be inclos'd;
Till his free muse threw down the pale,
And did at once dispark them all.

So vast this argument did seem,

That the wise author did esteem
The Roman language (which was spread

O'er the whole world, in triumph led)
Thus, by the music, we may know

A tongue too narrow to unfold

The wonders which he would have told.
When noble wits a-hunting go,
Through groves, that on Parnassus grow.

This speaks thy glory, noble friend!

And British language does commend : The Muses all the chase adorn;

For here Lucretius whole we find, My friend on Pegasus is borne:

His words, his music, and his mind. And young Apollo winds the horn.

Thy art has to our country brought

All that he writ, and all he thought. Having old Gratius in the wind,

Ovid translated, Virgil too, No pack of critics e'er could find,

Show'd long since what our tongue could do: Or he know more of his own mind.

Nor Lucan we, nor Horace spar'd; Here huntsmen with delight may read

Only Lucretius was too hard. How to choose dogs, for scent or speed,

Lucretius, like a fort, did stand And how to change or mend the breed :

Untouch'd, till your victorious hand

Did from his head this garland bear, What arms to use, or nets to frame,

Which now upon your own you wear. Wild beasts to combat, ar to tame;

A garland ! made of such new bays, With all the mysteries of that game.

And sought in such untrodden ways,

As no man's temples e'er did crown,
But, worthy friend! the face of war

Save this great anthor's, and your own.
In ancient times doth differ far,
From wbat our fiery battles are.
Nor is it like, since powder known,
That man, so cruel to his own,
Should spare the race of beasts alone.


UPON HIS TRANSLATION OF THE VENETIAN TRIUMPH. No quarter now: but with the gun Men wait in trees from sun to sun,

The winged lion's 9 not so fierce in fight, And all is in a moment done.

As Liberi's band presents him to our sight;

Nor would his pencil make him half so fierce, And therefore we expect your next

Or roar so loud, as Businello's verse:
Should be no comment, but a text,
To tell how modern beasts are vext.

9 The arms of Venice.





VERSES TO DR. ROGERS...CHLORIS AND HYLAS. But your translation does all three excel,

CHLO. Hylas! the birds which chaunt in this grove, The fight, the piece, and lofty Businel.

Could we but know the language they use,
As their small gallies may not bold compare They would instruct us better in love,
With our tall ships, whose sails employ more air; And reprehend thy inconstant Muse:
So does th’ Italian to your genius vail,

For love their breasts does fill with such a fire, Mor'd with a fuller and a nobler gale.

That what they once do choose, bounds their desire. Thus, while your Muse spreads the Venetian story, You make all Europe emulate her glory:

AYL. Chloris! this change the birds do approve, You make them blush, weak Venice should defend

Which the warm season hither does bring:
The cause of Heaven, while they for words contend; Time from yourself dues further remove
Shed Christian blood, and populous cities rase,

You, than the winter from the gay spring : Bxcause they're taught to use some different phrase. She that like lightning shin'd while her face lasted, 1, listening to your charms, we could our jars

The oak now resembles which lightning hath blasted. Compose, and on the Turk discharge these wars; Our British arms the sacred tomb might wrest From pagan hands, and triumph o'er the East : And then you might our own high deeds recite, And sith great Tasso celebrate the fight.







When, as of old, the Earth's bold children strove,
With hills on hills, to scale the throne of Jove,
Pallas and Mars stood by their sovereign's side,
And their bright arms in his defence employ'd;
While the wise Phoebus, Hermes, and the rest,
Who joy in peace, and love the muses best,
Descending from their so distemper'd seat,
Our groves and meadows chose for their retreat.
There first Apollo try'd the various use
Of herbs, and learn'd the virtues of their juice,
And fram'd that art, to which who can pretend
A juster title than our noble friend,
Whom the like tempest drives from his abode,
Ad like employment entertains abroad?
This crowns him here; and in the bays so earn'd,
His country's honour is no less concern'd;
Since it appears not all the English rave,
To ruin bent; some study how to save:
And as Hippocrates did once extend
His sacred art, whole cities to amend;

ve brave friend, suppose that thy great skill,
Thy gentle mind, and fair example, will,
At thy return, reclaim our frantic isle,
Thy spirits calm, and peace again shall smile.

Edm. Waller, Anglus.

Stay here, fond youth, and ask no more; be wise;
Knowing too much long since lost Paradise.

PRO. And, by your knowledge, we should be hereft
Of all that Paradise, which yet is left. [should still

con. The virtuous joys thon hast, thou wouldst
Last in their pride; and wouldst not take it ill
If rudely, from sweet dreams, and for a toy,
Thou wak’d: be wakes himself that does enjoy.

PRO. How can the joy, or hope, which you allow,
Be styled virtuous, and the end not so ?
Talk in your sleep, and shadows still admire!
'Tis true, he wakes, that feels this real fire,
But—to sleep better: for whoe'er drinks deep
Of this Nepenthe, rocks himself asleep.

con. Fruition adds no new wealth, but destroys;
And while it pleaseth much, yet still it cloys.
Who thinks he should be happier made for that,
As reasonably might hope he might grow fat
By eating to a surfeit: this once past,
What relishes? ev'n kisses lose their taste.

PRO. Blessings may be repeated, while they cloy;
But shall we starve, 'cause surfeitings destroy?
And if fruition did the taste impair
Of kisses, why should yonder happy pair,
Whose joys just Hymen warrants all the night,
Consume the day too in this less delight?

con. Urge not ’tis necessary; alas! we know
The homeliest thing that mankind does is so.
The world is of a large extent we see,
And must be peopled, children there must be:-
So must bread too: but since there are enough
Born to that drudgery, what need we plough?

PRO. I need not plough, since what the stooping
Gets of my pregnant land must all be mine: [hine
But in this nobler tillage, 'tis not so;
For when Anchises did fair Venus know,
What interest had poor Vulcan in the boy,
Famous Æneas, or the present joy?

con. Women enjoy'd, whate'er before they've been,
Are like romances read, or scenes once seen:
Fruition dulls or spoils the play much more,
Than if one read or knew the plot before.

PRO. Plays and romances, read and seen, do fall
In our opinions: yet, not seen at all,
Whom would they please? To an heroic tale
Would you not listen, lest it should grow stale?

CON. 'Tis expectation makes a blessing dear;
Heaven were not Heaven, if we knew what it were..

PRO. If 'twere not Heaven, if we knew what it were, "Twould not be Heaven to those who now are there.




Hrias, oh Hylas! why sit we mute,

Now that each bird saluteth the spring?
Wind up the slacken'd strings of thy lute,

Never canst thou want matter to sing :
For love thy breast does fill with such a fire,
That whatsoe'er is fair moves thy desire.
FYL. Sweetest! you know, the sweetest of things

Of various flowers the bees do compose;
Yet no particular taste it brings

Of violet, woodbine, pink, or rose :
Sy love the result is of all the graces,
Which low from a thousand several faces.

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con. And as in prospects we are there pleas'd most, To man, that was in th' evening made,
Where something keeps the eye from being lost, Stars gave the first delight;
And leaves us room to guess: so here, restraint Admiring, in the gloomy shade,
Holds up delight, that with excess would faint. Those little drops of light:

PRO. Restraint preserves the pleasure we have got, Then, at Aurora, whose fair hand
But he ne'er has it, that enjoys it not.

Remov'd them from the skies,
In goodly prospects, who contracts the space, He gazing toward the east did stand,
Or takes not all the beauty of the place?

She entertain'd his eyes.
We wish remov'd what standeth in our light, But when the bright sun did appear,
And Nature blame for limiting our sight;

All those he 'gan despise;
Where you stand wisely winking, that the view

His wonder was determin'd there, Of the fair prospect may be always new.

And could no higher rise : con. They, who know all the wealth they have, are He neither might, nor wish'd to know He's only rich, that cannot tell his store. [poor; A more refulgent light:

PRO. Not he that knows the wealth he has is poor; For that (as mine your beauties now) But he that dares not touch, nor use his store.

Employ'd his utmost sight.

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TO ZELINDA. OF THE DIFFERENT SUCCESS OF THEIR LOVES. Fairest piece of well-form'd earth! Thrice happy pair! of whom we cannot know

Urge not thus your haughty birth : Which first began to love, or loves most now :

The power which you have o'er us, lies Fair course of passion! where two lovers start,

Not in your race, but in your eyes. And run together, heart still yok'd with heart:

None but a prince !-Alas! that voice Successful youth! whom love has taught the way

Confines you to a narrow choice.

Should you no honey vow to taste,
To be victorious, in the first essay.
Sure love's an art best practised at first,

But what the master-bees have plac'd
And where th' experienced still prosper worst !

In compass of their cells, how small 1, with a different fate, pursued in vain

A portion to your share would fall! The haughty Cælia; till my just disdain

Nor all appear, among those few, Of her neglect, above that passion borne,

Worthy the stock from whence they grew : Did pride to pride oppose, and scorn to scorn.

The sap, which at the root is bred, Now she relents; but all too late, to move

In trees, through all the boughs is spread; A heart directed to a nobler love:

But virtues, which in parents shine, The scales are turn'd, her kindness weighs no more

Make not like progress through the line.

'Tis not from whom, but where, we live : Now, than my vows and service did before.

The place does oft those graces give.
So, in some well-wrought hangings, you may see
How Hector leads, and how the Grecians flee :

Great Julius, on the mountains bred,
Here, the fierce Mars his courage so inspires,

A flock perhaps, or herd, had led: That with bold hands the Argive fleet he fires :

He?, that the world subdued, had been But there, from Heaven the blue-ey'd virgin' falls, "Tis art, and knowledge, which draw forth

But the best wrestler on the green.
And frighted Troy retires within her walls :

The hidden seeds of native worth:,
They that are foremost in that bloody race
Turn head anon, and give the conquerors chase.

They blow those sparks, and make them rise

Into such flames as touch the skies.
So like the chances are of love and war,
That they alone in this distinguish'd are;

To the old heroes hence was given
In love, the victors from the vanquish'd fly,

A pedigree, which reach'd to heaven:
They fly that wound, and they pursue that die.

Of mortal seed they were not held,
Which other mortals so excell'd.
And beauty too, in such excess

As your's, Zelinda! claims no less.

Smile but on me, and you shall scorn,

Henceforth, to be of princos born.

I can describe the shady give,
They, that never had the use

Where your lov'd mother slept with Jove, Of the grape's surprising juice,

And yet excuse the faultless dame, 'To the first delicious cup

Caught with her spouse's shape and name: All their reason render up;

Thy matchless form will credit bring
Neither do, nor care to know,

To all the wonders I shall sing.
Whether it be best or no.
So they, that are to love inclin'd,
Sway'd by chance, not choice or art,

To the first that's fair or kind,
Make a present of their heart:

ON NEW-YEAR'S DAY, AT THE LOUVRE IN PARIS. 'Tis not she that first we love,

Mapam! new years may well expect to find But whom dying we approve.

Welcome from you, to whom they are so kind; 1 Minerva

? Alexander.

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