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Those, to the Muses once so sacred, downes, Made of purer mould than earth.
Points at him, as by he passes,
Censure may so blithe a lad.
TO HIS FRIEND THE AUTHOR',
UPON HIS POEM.
TO HIS INGENIOUS AND WORTHY FRIEND,
This plant is knotlesse that puts forth these leaves,
(laies. His shepherd's pipe may chant more heav'nly
Ne vulgo Librum ejos,
Si vulgus gustare tuo velis apta palato; Sing on Albion's whitest rockes :
I, pete vulgares, ac aliunde, da pes. Sing; whilst Willie to his fuckes,
Nil vulgare sapit liber hic; hinc vulgus abesto : Deftly tunes his various reede.
Non nisi delicias hæc tibi mensa dabit. Sing; and he, whilst younglings feede,
è So. Int, Tempi.
TO HIS FRIEND THE AUTHOR.
On (jolly lad) and hye thee to the field
Amougst the best swaines that the vallies yeeld ;
Goe boldly, and in presence of them all, 6 He likewise pays him this compliment in his Proceede a shepheard with his pastorall. epistle on Poets and Poetry, in the 2d vol, of his Let Pan, and all his rurall traine attending, poems, in fol. printed 1627, p. 208. or vol iv. From stately mountaines to the plaines descending, p. 398 of the present collection.
Salute this pastor with their kinde embraces ; Then they two Beaumonts and my Browne arose,
And entertaine him to their holy places. My dear companions, whom I freely chose.
Let all the nymphes of hils and dales together My bosom friends * ; and in their several wayes
Kisse him for earliest of his welcome thither : Rightly born poets, anıl in these last days
Crowne him with garlands of the choiscst flowres, Men of much note, and no less noble parts, &c.
And make him ever dwell within their bowres; * Sir John Beaumont, bart. and his brother Francis Beaumont, esq.
? See Book 2. Canto 2.
For well I wote in all the plaines around, To hear bow thou describ'st a tree, a dale,
The golden mountaines, and the silver streaines,
What more or lesse can there be said by men,
But, Muscs rule thy hand, and guide thy pen. è So. Int. Templ.
TO HIS WORTHJLY-AFFECTED FRIEND
MR. W. BROWNE.
AWAKE sad Muse, and thou my sadder spright, I should in those bave prais'd thy wit and art,
Made so by Time, but more by Fortune's spight: But not thy ground, poem's better part :
Awake, and high us to the greene, Which being the perfect'st image of the braine,
There shall be seene Not fram’d to any base end, but to gaine
The quaintest lad of all the time True approbation of the artist's worth,
For neater rime : When to an open view he sets it forth,
Whose free and unaffected straines Judiciously: he strives, no lesse t'adore
Take all the swaines By a choise subject, than a eurious forme:
That are not rude and ignorant,
Or envy want.
And envy lest its hate discovered be
A courtly love and friendship offers thee : The substance or the fashion more excel,
The shepardiesses blith and fayre So precious is the jemme, and wrought so well.
For thee despayre. Thus rest thou prais'd of me, fruit, field, jemme
And whosoe're depends on Pan art,
Holds him a man Doe claimę much praise to equall such desart.
Beyond themselves, (if not compare,) è So. Med. Templ.
He is so rare,
As in his layes.
He master's no low soule who hopes to please FRIEND, ile not erre in blazing of thy worth ;
The nephew of the brave Philisides.
ANOTHER TO THE SAME.
WERE all men's envies fixt in one man's lookes, è So. Int. Templ.
That monster that would prey on safest fame,
So he who men can reade as well as bookes
Attest thy lines; thus tryde, they show to us
As Scæva's shield, thyselfe Emeritus. INGENIOUS swaine! that highly dost adorne Clear Tavy! on whose brinck we both were borne! Just praise in me would ne'er be thought to move To my BROWNE, yet brightest swaine Prom thy sole worth, but from tby partiall love. That woons, or haunts, or hill, or plaine. Wherefore I will not do thee so much wrong, As by such mixture to allay thy song. But while kind strangers rightly praise each grace Pipe on, sweet swaine, till joy, in blisse, sleepe Of thy chaste Muse, I (from the happy place,
waking! That brought thee forth, and thinkes it not unfit Hermes, it seems, to thee, of all the swaines, To boast now, that it carst bred such a wit ;)
Hath lent his pipe and art: for, thou art making Would onely have it knowne I much rejoyce,
With sweet notes (noted) heav'n of hils and plaines! To hear such matters, sung by such a voyce.
Nay, as if thou beginn'st, thou dost hold on,
The totall earth thine Arcadie will be ;
So, all in both will make a god of thee.
To whom they will exhibit sacrifice
Of richest love and praise; and envious swaines All that doe reade thy workes, and see thy face, (Charm'd with thine accents) shall thy notes agnize (Wbere scarce a baire growes up, thy chin to To reach above great Pan's in all thy straines. grace)
Then, ply this veyne : for, it may well containe Doe greatly wonder how so youthful yeeres The richest morais under poorest shroud ; Could frame a worke, where so much worth ap
And sifth in thee the past'rall spirit doth raigne, peares,
On such wit's treasures let it sit abrood :
TO HIS WORTHY FRIEND
ON HIS BOOKE.
Till it hath hatch'd such numbers as may buy Let me sing him that merits best,
Let other scrape for fashion ;
Their buzzing prate thy worth will jest,
And sleight such commendation.
Thus, do I spurre thee on with sharpest praise,
MR. WILLIAM BROWNE,
So, Fame shall ever say, to thy renowne, That poets are not bred so, but so borne,
She hath stroke envy dumbe, and charm'd the lore The true lover of thyne
Of ev'ry Muse whose birth the skyes approre.
Goe on; I know thou art too good to feare.
And may thy earely straines affect the eare
The richer gifts which do advantage man!
è So. Int. Templ.
TO HIS FRIEND THE AUTHOR.
SOMETIMES (deare friend) I make thy booke my
And then I judge 'tis honey that I eate. (meat, SCRIPTA priùs vidi, legi, digitoque notari
Sometimes my drink it is, and then I thinke
It is Apollo's nectar, and no drinke.
Oinnia sed par est, aut ego nulla notem. Thy booke, a precious halsame for the sore.
'Tis hony, nectar, balsame most divine : Laudator prolis solus & author eris:
Or one word for them all; my friend, 'tis thine. Hæc nondum visi qui flagrat amore libelli
è So. Int. Templ. Prænarrat scriptis omina certa tuis.
TO HIS FRIEND THE AUTHOR.
If antique swaines wanne such immortall praise, TO MY NOBLE FRIEND THE AUTHOR.
Though they alone with their melodious layes, A Perfect pen, itselfe will ever praise.
Did onely charme the woods and flow'ry lawnes : So pipes our shepheard in his roundelayes,
Satyres, and floods, and stones, and hairy fawnes : That who could judge of musique's sweetest straine, That charm'st not them but men with thy sweet
How much, brave youth, to thy due worth belongs Would swear thy Muse were in a heavenly vayne. A worke of worth, shews wbat the worke-man is:
è So. Int. Templ. When as the fault that may be found amisse, (To such at least, as have judicious eyes) Nor in the worke, nor yet the worke.man lyes. Well worthy thou, to weare the lawreil wreathe :
TO THE AUTHOR. When from thy brest, these blessed' thoughts do breathe;
'Tis knowne I scorne to fatter (or commend) That in thy gracious lines such grace doe give, What merits not applause though in my friend : It makes ther, everlastingly to live.
Which by my censure should now more appeare, Thy words well coucht, thy sweet invention show Were this not full as good as thou art deare :
A perfect poet, that could place them so. But since thou couldst not (erring) make it so, è so. Int. Templ.
That I might my inipartiall humour show
Might paint out mine: 1 feel an envious touch,
And tell thee, swaine: that at thy fame I grutch, Tuat priviledge which others claime,
Wishing the art that makes this poeme shine, To flatter with their friends,
And this thy worke (wert not thou wronged) mine. With thee, friend, shall not be mine ayme,
For when detraction shall forgotten be My verse so much pretends.
This will continue to eternize thee ;
And if hereafter any busie wit The generall umpire of best wit
Should, wronging thy conceit, miscensure it, In this will speak thy fame.
Though seeming learn’d or wise: here he shall see, The Muse's minions as they sit,
'Tis prais'd by wiser and more learn'd than he. Will still confirme the same.
TO MR. BROWNE.
But I have seen thy worke, and I know thee: Were there a thought so strange as to deny
And, if thou list thyselfe, what thou canst be. That happy bages do some men's births adorne,
For, though but early in these pathes thou
tread, Thy worke alone might serve to justifie, That poets are not madeso, but so borne. [highe It must be thine owne judgement, yet, that sends
I find thee write most worthy to be read. How could thy plumes thus soone have soar'd thus
This thy worke forth: that judginent mine Hadst thou not lawrell in thy cradle worne?
[fames, Thy birth o'er-took thy youth : and it doth make
And, where the most reade bookes on author's Thy youth (herein) thine elders over-take.
Or, like our money-brokers, take up names On credit, and are cossen'd; see, that thou
By off'ring not more sureties, than inow,
Hold thyne owne worth unbroke : which is so TO MY TRULY BELOVED FRIEND,
good MR. BROWNE,
Upon th' exchange of letters, as I wou'd
More of our writers would, like thee, not swell Some men, of bookes or friends not speaking right,
With the how much they set forth, but th' how
well. May hurt them more with praise, than foes with spight.
ON HIS PASTORALS.