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They make their entry through the western gate!
A Gothick arch! where, on an elephant,
Bold Clephes as the second founder sate,

Made to mock life, and onely life did want.
Still strange and divers seem their objects now,
And still increase, where ere their eyes they cast;
Of lazy pag'ant-greatness, moving slow,

And angry bus'ness, rushing on in haste. All strange to them, as they to all appear; Yet less like strangers gaz'd than those they see, Who this glad day the duke's spectators were,

To mark how with his fame his looks agree. And guess that these are of his fighting train, Renown'd in youth, who by their wonder stay'd, And by their own but slowly passage gain,

But now much more their progress is delay'd: For a black beauty did her pride display Thro' a large window, and in jewels shon, As if to please the world, weeping for day, Night had put all her starry jewels on. This beauty gaz'd on both, and Ulfinore Hung down his head, but yet did lift his eyes, As if he fain would see a little more:

For much, tho' bashful, he did beauty prise.
Goltho did like a blushless statue stare,

And even, for fear she would mistrust her snare,
Boldly her practis'd boldness did out-look;
Was ready to cry out, that he was took!
She, with a wicked woman's prosp'rous art,
A seeming modesty, the window clos'd;
Wisely delay'd his eyes, since of his heart

She thought she had sufficiently dispos'd.
And he thus straight complain'd: "Ah, Ulfinore!
How vainly glory has our youth misled?

"Be by thy vertue bold! when that Sun shines,

All art's false lights are with disgrace put out;
Her straightness shows it self and crooked lines,
And her plain text the scepticks dare not doubt.
"Revenge (weak women's valour, and in men,

The ruffian's cowardise) keep from thy breast!
The factious palace is that serpent's den,
Whom cowards there with secret slaughter feast.
"Revenge is but a name for fear,

"Tis Indians' furious fear, when they are fed With valiant foes, whose hearts their teeth must

tear

Before they boldly dare believe them dead.
"When thou giv'st death, thy banners be display'd!
And move not till an open foe appears!
Court's lurking war shows justice is afraid,

And no broad sword, but a close ponyard, wears,
"To kill, shows fear does not more fears endure !
When wrong'd, destroy not with thy foes thy
The valiant, by forgiving mischief, cure; [fame;
And it is Heav'n's great conquest to reclame !
"Be by thy bounty known! for since the needs
Of life so rudely press the bold and wise;
The bountious heart, all but his God exceeds,
Whom bounty best makes known to mortal eies!
"And to be bountiful, be rich! for those

Fam'd talkers, who in schools did wealth despise, Taught doctrine, which at home would empire lose, If not believ'd first by their enemies. "And though in ruling ministers of state, The people wretched poverty adore, (Which fools call innocence, and wise men hate As sloth) yet they rebell for being poore. "And to be rich, be diligent! move on

Like Heav'n's great movers that inrich the Earth, The winde which blowes us from the happy shore,

Whose moments sloth would show the world un

done,

And make the Spring straight bury all her birth. "Rich are the diligent! who can command

Time, Nature's stock! and could his hour-glass
fall,

Would, as for seeds of stars, stoop for the sand,
And by incessant labour gather all.

"Be kinde to beauty! that unlucky shrine!
Where all Love's thieves come bowing to their
prey,

And honour steal, which beauty makes divine:
Be thou still kinde, but never to betray!
"Heav'n study more in Nature than in schools!
Let Nature's image never by thee pass
Like unmark'd time; but those unthinking fools
Despise, who spie not Godhead thro' her glass!"
These precepts Ulfinore, with dutious care,

In his heart's closet lock'd, his faithful brest!
And now the rival-friends for court prepare,
And much their youth is by their haste exprest.
They yet ne'r saw Verona nor the court,

And expectation lengthens much their way;
Since by that great inviter urg'd, Report,
And thither fly on coursers of relay.

E're to his western mines the Sun retir'd,

They his great mint for all those mines behold, Verona, which in towres to Heav'n aspir'd,

Gilt doubly, for the Sun now gilt their gold.

And drives us from the living to the dead! "To bloody slaughters, and perhaps of those Who might beget such beauties as this maid, The sleepy here are never wak'd with foes,

[breed

Nor are of aught but ladies' frowns afraid." Ere he could more lament, a little page, Clean, and perfum'd, (one whom this dame did To guess at ills, too manly for his age)

Steps swiftly to him, and arrests his steed. With civil whisper cries, "My lady, sir !"

At this, Goltho alights as swiftly post As posters mount; by lingring loath to err, [lost. As wind-bound men, whose sloth their first wind And when his friend advis'd him to take care, He gravely, as a man new potent grown, Protests he shall in all his fortunes share, And to the house invites him as his own. And, with a rival's wisdom, Ulfinore [astray, Does hope, since this blinde love leads him Where a false saint he can so soon adore, That he to Birtha ne'r will finde the way. They enter, and ascend; and enter then Where Dalga with black eyes does sinners draw; And with her voice holds fast repenting men, To whose warm jett, light Goltho is but straw. Nicely as bridegroom's was her chamber drest, Her bed as bride's, and richer than a throne';, And sweeter seem'd than the circania's nest,

Though built in eastern groves of cinamon.

The price of princes' pleasures, who her love
(Tho' but false ware) at rates so costly bought;
The wealth of many, but may hourly prove
Spoils to some one by whom her self is caught.
She, sway'd by sinful beauty's destiny,

Findes her tyrannick pow'r must now expire,
Who ment to kindle Goltho with her eye,
But to her breast has brought the raging fire.
Yet even in simple love she uses art:

Tho' weepings are from looser eyes but leaks,
Yet oldest lovers scarce would doubt her heart,
So well she weeps, and thus to Goltho speaks:
"I might, if I should ask your pardon, sir,
Suspect that pity which the noble feel
When women fai!; but since in this I err

To all my sex, I would to women kneel.
"Yet happy were our sex, could they excuse
All breach of modesty, as I can mine;
Since 'tis from passion which a saint might use,
And not appear less worthy of a shrine.
"For my dear brother you resemble so

[fell;

Throughout your shape, who late in combate

As you in that an inward vertue show,

By which to me you all the world excel.

"All was he, which the good as greatness see,
Or love can like! in judgment match'd by none,
Unless it fail'd in being kind to me;

A crime forbid to all since he is gone.
"For tho' I send my eyes abroad, in hope

Amongst the streams of men still flowing here,
To finde (which is my passion's utmost scope)
Some one that does his noble image bear:
"Yet still I live recluse, unless it seem
A liberty too rude, that I in you
His likeness at so high a rate esteem,

As to believe your heart is kinde and true."

She casts on Ulfinore a sudden look;

Stares like a mountebank, who bad forgot His viol, and the cursed poison took

By dire mistake before his antidote.

Prays Goltho that his friend may straight forbear
Her presence; who (she said) resembled so
Her noble brother's cruel murderer,

As she must now expire, unless he go!
Goltho, still gravely vain, with formal face
Bids Ulfinore retire; and does pretend
Almost to know her parents, and the place,
And even to swear her brother was his friend.
But wary Ulfnore (whose beautious truth

Did never but in plainest dress behold)
Smiles, and remembers tales, to forward youth
In winter nights by country matrons told :
Of witches' townes, where seeming beauties dwell,
All hair, and black within, maides that can fly !
Whose palaces at night are smoky Hell,

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And in their beds their slaughter'd lovers lic. And though, the Sun now setting, be no lights

Saw burning blew, nor steam of sulphur smelt,
Nor took her two black Meroen maids for sprites,
Yet he a secret touch of honour felt.

For not the craft of rivalship (though more
Than states, wise rivals study interest)

Can make him leave his friend, till he restore
Some cold discretion to his burning breast..

Though to his fears this cause now serious shows,
Yet smiles he at his solemn loving eye;
For lust in reading beauty solemn grows

As old physitians in anatomie.
"Goltho," (said he) " 'tis easie to discern

That you are grave, and think you should be so;
Since you have bus'ness here of grave concern,
And think that you this house and lady know.
"You'll stay, and have your sleep with musick fed,
But little think to wake with mandrakes' grones;
And by a ghost be to a garden led

At midnight, strew'd with simple lovers' bones:
"This, Goltho, is inchantment, and so strange,
So subt'ly false, that, whilst I tell it you,
I fear the spell will my opinion change,
And make me think the pleasant vision true.
"Her dire black eyes are like the oxe's eye,
Which in the Indian ocean tempest brings:
Let's go! before our horses learn to fly,
Ere she shew cloven feet, and they get wings !"
But high rebellious love, when counsell'd, soon
As sullen as rebuk'd ambition grows,,
And Goltho would pursue what he should shun,
But that his happier fate did interpose:

For at the garden gate a summons, lond

Enough to show authority and haste,
Brought cares to Dalga's brow, which like a cloud
Did soon her shining beauty over-cast.
Like thieves surpris'd whilst they divide their prise,
Her maids run and return thro' ev'ry room,
Still seeming doubtful where their safety lies;
All speaking with their looks, and all are dumb.
She, who to dangers could more boldly wake,
With words, swift as those errands which her

heart

Sends out in glances, thus to Goltho spake :
"My mother, sir! Alas! you must depart!
"She is severe as dying confessors,

As jealous as unable husbands are ;
She youth in men like age in maids abhors,
And has more spies than any civil warre.
"Yet would you but submit to be conceal'd,
I have a closet secret as my brest,
Which is to men, nor day, no more reveal'd,
Than a close swallow in his winter's nest."
To this good Goltho did begin to yield;

But Ulfinore (who doubts that it may tend
To base retreat, unless they quit the field)
Does by example govern and defend.
And now his eyes even ake with longingness,

Ready to break their strings, to get abroad
To see this matron, by whose sole access
Dalga in all her furious hopes is aw'd.
And as he watch'd her civil Mercury,
The hopeful page, he saw him entrance give,
Not to a matron, still prepar'd to die,

But to a youth wholly design'd to live.

He seem'd the heir to prosp'rous parents' toiles,
Gay as young kings, that woo in forraign courts;
Or youthful victors in their Persian spoiles,

He seem'd, like love and musick, made for sports.

But wore bis clothing loose, and wildly cast,
As princes high with feasting, who to wine
Are seldom us'd: show'd warm, and more unbrac't
Than ravishers, oppos'd in their designe.

This Ulfinore observ'd, and would not yet,

In civil pity, undeceive his friend;
But watch'd the signes of his departing fit,
Which quickly did in bashful silence end.
To the duke's palace they inquir'd their way;
And as they slowly rode, a grave excuse
Griev'd Goltho frames, vowing he made this stay
For a discov'ry of important use.
"If, sir," (said he) "we heedlesly pass by

Great towns, like birds that from the country
But to be skar'd, and on to forrests fly,

[come

Let's be no travail'd fools, but roost at home." "I see" (reply'd his friend) " you nothing lack Of what is painful, curious, and discreet In travaillers, else would you not look back So often to observe this house and street: "Drawing your city mapp with coasters' care; Not onely marking where safe channels run, But where the shelves, and rocks, and dangers are, To teach weak strangers what they ought to shun.

"But, Goltho, fly from lust's experiments!

Whose heat we quench much sooner than as-
swage:

To quench the furnace-lust, stop all the vents;
For, give it any air, the flames will rage."

POSTSCRIPT.

TO THE READER.

I AM here arrived at the middle of the third book, which makes an equal half of the poem; and I was now by degrees to present you (as I promised in the preface) the several keys of the main building, which should convey you through such short walks as give an easie view of the whole frame. But it is high time to strike sail, and cast anchor, (though I have run but halfe my course) when at the helme I am threatned with Death; who, though he can visit us but once, seems troublesome; and even in the innocent may beget such a gravity, as diverts the musick of verse. And I beseech thee (if thou art so civill as to be pleased with what is written) not to take ill, that I run not on till my last gasp. For though I intended in this poem to strip Nature naked, and clothe her again in the perfect shape of Vertue; yet even in so worthy a designe I shall ask leave to desist, when I am interrupted by so great an experiment as dying: and it is an experiment to the most experienced; for no man (though his mortifications may be much greater than mine) can say, he has already dyed.

It may be objected by some, (who look not on verse with the eyes of the ancients, nor with the reverence which it still preserves amongst other nations) that I beget a poem in an unseasonable time. But be not thou, reader, (for thine own sake, as well as mine) a common spectator, that can never look on great changes but with tears in his eyes: for if all men would observe, that conquest is the wheels of the world, on which it has ever run, the victorious would not think they have done so new and such admirable actions as must

draw men from the noble and beautifull arts, to gaze wholly upon them; neither would the conquered continue their wonder till it involve them in sorrow, which is then the minde's incurable disease, when the patient grows so sullen, as not to listen to remedy: and poesie was that harp of David, which removed from Saul the melancholy spirit, that put him in a continual remembrance of the revolution of empire.

I shall not think I instruct military men, by saying, that with poesie, in heroick songs, the wiser ancients prepared their batails; nor would I offend the austerity of such as vex themselves with the manage of civill affairs, by putting them in minde, that whilst the plays of children are punished, the plays of men are but excused under the title of business.

But I will gravely tell thee, (reader) he who writes an heroick poem, leaves an estate entayled, and he gives a greater gift to posterity than to the present age; for a publick benefit is best measured in the number of receivers; and our contemporaries are but few, when reckoned with those who shall succeed.

Nor could I sit idle, and sigh with such as mourn to hear the drum; for if this age be not quiet enough to be taught vertue a pleasant way, the next may be at leisure: nor could I (like men that have civilly slept till they are old in dark cities) think war a novelty for we have all heard, that Alexander walked after the drum from Macedon into India; and I tell thee (reader) he carryed Homer in his pocket; and that after Augustus, by many batails, had changed the government of the world, he and Mecænas often feasted very peaceably with Horace: and that the last wise cardinall (whilst he was sending armies abroad, and preparing against civil invasion) took Virgill and Tasso aside under the Louvre gallery, and at a great expence of time and treasure sent them forth in new oruaments. And, perhaps, if my poem were not so severe a representation of vertue, (undressing Truth even out of those disguises which have been most in fashion throughout the world) it might arrive at fair entertainment, though it make now for a harbour in a storm.

If thou art a malicious reader, thou wilt remember my preface boldly confessed, that a main motive to this undertaking was a desire of fame; and thou maist likewise say, I may very possibly not live to enjoy it. Truly, I have some years ago considered that fame, like time, only gets a reverence by long running; and that, like a river, it is narrowest where it is bred, and broadest afarr off: but this concludes it not unprofitable, for he whose writings divert men from indiscretion and vice, becomes famous, as he is an example to others' endeavours: and exemplary writers are wiser than to depend on the gratuities of this world; since the kind looks and praises of the present age, for reclaiming a few, are not mentionable with those solid rewards in Heaven for a long and continual conversion of posterity.

If thou (reader) art one of those, who has been warmed with poetick fire, I reverence thee as my judge; and whilst others tax me with vanity, as if the preface argued my good opinion of the work, I appeal to thy conscience, whether it be more than such a necessary assurance as thou hast made to thy self in like undertakings? For when I ob

serve that writers have many enemies, such inward assurance (methinks) resembles that forward confidence in men of armes, which makes them to proceed in great enterprise; since the right examination of abilities begins with inquiring whether we doubt our selves.

Cowes-castle, in the Isle of Wight, October 22, 1650.

WILL. DAVENANT.

TO THE QUEEN,

ENTERTAINED AT NIGHT BY THE COUNTESS OF

FAIRE

ANGLESEY.

as unshaded light, or as the day

In its first birth, when all the year was May;
Sweet as the altar's smoak, or as the new
Unfolded bud, sweld by the early dew;
Smooth as the face of waters first appear'd,
Ere tides began to strive, or winds were heard;
Kind as the willing saints, and calmer farre
Than in their sleeps forgiven hermits are:
You, that are more than our discreter feare [here?
Dares praise, with such full art, what make you
Here, where the Summer is so little seen, [green,
That leaves (her cheapest wealth) scarce reach at
You come, as if the silver planet were
Misled a while from her much injur'd sphere,
And t' ease the travailes of her beames to night,
In this small lanthorn would contract her light.

IN REMEMBRANCE OF
MASTER WILLIAM SHAKESPIRE.

ODE.

BEWARE (delighted poets !) when you sing,
To welcome Nature in the early spring,
Your num'rous feet not tread
The banks of Avon; for each flowre
(As it nere knew a Sun or showre)

Hangs there the pensive head.

Each tree, whose thick and spreading growth hath made

Rather a night beneath the boughs than shade,

(Unwilling now to grow)

Looks like the plume a captain weares,
Whose rifled falls are steept i' th' teares
Which from his last rage flow.

The pitious river wept it self away
Long since (alas!) to such a swift decay,
That reach the map, and look

If you a river there can spie:
And for a river your mock'd eye
Will finde a shallow brooke.

FOR THE LADY OLIVIA PORTER;
A PRESENT UPON A NEW-YEar's day.

GOR! hunt the whiter ermine! and present
His wealthy skin, as this daye's tribute sent
To my Endimion's love; though she be fare
More gently smooth, more soft thán ermines are!
Goe! climbe that rock! and when thou there hast
A star, contracted in a diamond,

[found

Give it Endimion's love, whose glorious eyes
Darken the starry jewels of the skies!
Goe! dive into the southern sea! and when
Th'ast found (to trouble the nice sight of men)
A swelling pearle, and such whose single worth
Boast all the wonders which the seas bring forth,
Give it Endimion's love; whose ev'ry teare
Would more enrich the skilful jeweller.
How I command! how slowly they obey!
The churlish Tartar will not hunt to day:
Nor will that lazy, sallow Indian strive
To climbe the rock, nor that dull Negro dive.
Tbus poets, like to kings, (by trust deceiv'd)
Give oftener what is heard of, than receiv'd.

ELEGIE,

ON FRANCIS EARLE OF RUTLAND.

CALL not the winds! nor bid the rivers stay!
For tho' the sighs, the teares, they could repay:
Which injur'd lovers, mourners for the dead,
Captives and saints have breath'd away and shed;
Yet we should want to make our sorrow fit
For such a cause, as now doth silence it.
Rutland! the noble and the just! whose name
Already is, all history, all fame!

[were,

Whom like brave ancestors in battaile lost,
We mention not in pity, but in boast!
How didst thou smile, to see the solemne sport,
Which vexes busie greatness in the court?
T'observe their lawes of faction, place, and time,
Their precepts how, and where, and when to climbe;
Their rules to know, if the sage meaning lies
In the deep breast, i' th' shallow brow, or eyes?
Tho' titles, and thy blood, made thee appeare
(Oft 'gainst thy ease) where these state-rabbins
Yet their philosophy thou knew'st was fit
For thee to pity, more than study it.
Safely thou valu’dst cunning, as 't had been
Wisdome, long since distemper'd into sin:
And knew'st the actions of th' ambitious are
But as the false alarmes in running warre,
Like forlorne scouts (that raise the coyle) they keep
Themselves awake, to hinder others' sleep:
And all they gaine by vex'd expence of breath,
Unquietness, and guilt, is, at their death,
Wonder and mighty noise; whilst things that be
Most deare and pretious to mortalitie,
(Time, and thy self) impatient here of stay,
With a grave silence, seeme to steal away;
Depart from us unheard, and we still mourne
In vaine (though piously) for their returne.
Thy bounties if I name, l'ie not admit,
Kings, when they love or wooe, to equall it:
It shew'd like Nature's self, when she doth bring
All she can promise by an early spring;
Or when she pays that promise where she best
Makes summers for mankind, in the rich East
And as the wise Sun silently imployes
His lib'ral beames, and ripens without noise;
As precious dewes doe undiscover'd fall,
And growth insensibly doth steale on all;
So what he gave, conceal'd in private came,
(As in the dark) from one that had no name;
Like fayries' wealth, not given to restore,
Or if reveal'd, it visited no more.

If these live, and be read, (as who shall dare
Suspect, truth and thy fame immortall are?)

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The lark now leaves his watry nest,

And, climbing, shakes his dewy wings; He takes this window for the east;

And to implore your light, he sings: "Awake, awake! the Morn will never rise, Till she can dress her beauty at your eies. "The merchant bowes unto the seaman's star, The ploughman from the Sun his season takes; But still the lover wonders what they are,

Who look for day before his mistriss wakes. Awake, awake! break thro' your vailes of lawne! Then draw your curtains, and begin the dawne."

SONG.

THE SOULDIER GOING TO THE FIELD.

PRESERVE thy sighs, unthrifty girle!
To purifie the ayre;

Thy teares to thrid, instead of pearle,
On bracelets of thy hair.

The trumpet makes the eccho hoarse,

And wakes the louder drum ; Expence of grief gains no remorse, When sorrow should be dumb. For I must go where lazy Peace

Will hide her drouzy head;

And, for the sport of kings, encrease
The number of the dead.

But first I'le chide thy cruel theft:
Can I in war delight,
Who being of my heart bereft,

Can have no heart to fight?
Thou know'st the sacred laws of old
Ordain'd a thief should pay,
To quit him of his theft, seavenfold
What he had stoln away.
Thy payment shall but double be;
O then with speed resign
My own seduced heart to me,
Accompani'd with thine.

THE LONG VÁCATION IN LONDON,

IN VERSE BURLESQUE, or moCK-VERSE.

Now town-wit sayes to witty friend,
"Transcribe apace all thou hast pen'd;
For I in journey hold it fit,

To cry thee up to countrey-wit.
VOL. VI.

Our mules are come! dissolve the club!
The word, till term, is, Rub, O rub!'"

Now gamster poor, in cloak of stammel,
Mounted on steed, as slow as cammel,
Battoone of crab in luckless hand,
(Which serves for bilboe and for wand)
Early in morne does sneak from town,
Least landlord's wife should seise on crown;
On crown, which he in pouch does keep,
When day is done, to pay for sleep ;
For he in journey nought does eat.

Host spies him come, cryes, "Sir, what meat?"
He calls for room, and down he lies.
Quoth host, "No supper, sir?"
He cryes,
"I eate no supper, fling on rug!
I'm sick, d'you hear? yet bring a jug !"
Now damsel young, that dwels in Cheap,
For very joy begins to leap:
Her elbow small she oft does rub,
Tickled with hope of sillabub!
For mother (who does gold maintain
On thumbe, and keys in silver chaine)
In snow white clout, wrapt nook of pye,
Fat capon's wing, and rabbet's thigh,
And said to hackney coachman, “Go,
Take shillings six, say I, or no."
"Whither?" says he. Quoth she, "Thy teame
Shall drive to place where groweth creame."
But husband gray now comes so stall,
For prentice notch'd he straight does call:
"Where's dame?" quoth he. Quoth son of shop,
"She's gone her cake in milk to sop."
"Ho, ho! to Islington! enough!

Fetch Job, my son, and our dog Ruffe!
For there in pond, through mire and muck,

We'l cry, 'Hay, duck! there, Ruffe! hay, duck!'"
Now Turnbal-dame, by starving paunch,
Bates two stone weight in either haunch:
On branne and liver she must dine,
And sits at dore instead of signe.

She softly says to roaring Swash,

Who wears long whiskers, "Go, fetch cash!
There's gown," quoth she, "speak broaker fair,
Till term brings up weak countrey heir:
Whom kirtle red will much amaze,
Whilst clown his man on sigues does gaze,
In liv'ry short, galloome on cape,
With cloak-bag mounting high as nape."
Now man that trusts, with weary thighs,
Seeks garret where small poet lies:
He comes to Lane, finds garret shut;
Then, not with knuckle, but with foot,
He rudely thrusts, would enter dores;
Though poet sleeps not, yet he snores:
Cit chafes like beast of Libia; then
Sweares, he'l not come or send agen.
From little lump triangular
Poor poets' sighs are heard afar.
Quoth he, "Do noble numbers choose
To walk on feet, that have no shoose?"
Then he does wish with fervent breath,
And as his last request ere death,
Each ode a bond, each madrigal,
A lease from Haberdashers' Hall,
Or that he had protected bin
At court, in list of chamberlain;
For wights near thrones care not an ace
For Woodstreet friend, that wieldeth mace,
Courts pay no scores but when they list,
And treasurer still has cramp in fist;

Ff

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