Thus the Sun's light makes day, if it appear, And casts true lustre round the hemisphere; When if projected from the Moon, that light Makes not a day, but only colours night; But you we may still full, still perfect call, As what's still great, is equall still in all.
And from this largeness of your mind, you come To some just wonder, worship unto some, Whiles you appear a court, and are no less 'Than a whole presence, or throng'd glorious press: No one can ere mistake you. "Tis alone Your lot, where e'r you come to be still known. Your power's its own witness: you appeare, By some new conquest, still that you are there. But sure the shafts your vertues shoot, are tipt With consecrated gold, which too was dipt In purer nectar, for where e'r they do Print love, they print joy, and religion too: Hence in your great endowments church and court Find what t' admire, all wishes thus resort To you as to their center, and are then Sent back, as centers send back lines agen.
Nor can you say you learnt this hence, or thence, That this you gain'd by knowledge, this by sence; All is your own, and native: for as pure Fire lends it self to all, and will endure Nothing from others; so what you impart Comes not from others' principles, or art, But is ingenite all, and still your owne, Your self sufficing to your self alone. Thus your extraction is desert, to whom Vertue and life by the same gift did come. Your cradle's thus a trophe, and with us 'Tis thought a praise confess'd to be born thus. And though your father's glorious name will be Full and majestique in great history For high designs; yet after times will boast You are his chiefest act, and fame him most.
Being then you're th' elixar, whose least grain Cast into any other, would maintain
All for true worth, and make the piece commence Saint, nymph, or goddess, or what not, from thence; If when your valorous brother rules the maine, And makes the flouds confess his powerfull raign, You should but take the aire by in your shell, You would be thought sea-born, and we might well Conclude you such, but that your deitie Would have no winged issue to set bye. O! had you of-spring to resemble you, As you have vertues, then-But oh! I do Complain of our misfortunes, not your own, For are bless'd spirits, for less happy known, Because they have not receiv'd such a fate Of imperfection, as to procreate? Eternall things supply themselves; so we Think this your mark of immortalitie.
I now, as those of old, who once had met A deity in a shape, did nothing set By lower and less formes, securely do Neglect all else, and having once seen you, Count others only Nature's pesantry, And out of reverence seeing will not see.
Hail your own riches then, and your own store, Who thus rule others, but your self far more! Hail your own glass and object, who alone Deserve to see your own reflection! Persist you still the faction of all vowes, A shape that makes oft perjuries, and allows Even broken faiths a pardon, whiles men do [you. Swear, and reclaim what they have sworn, seeing
May you live long the painters' fault and strife, Who, for their oft not drawing you to life, Must, when their glass is almost run out, long To purchase absolution for the wrong; But poets, who dare still as much, and take An equal licence, the same errours make,
I then put in with them, who as I do
Sue for release, so I may claime it too.
For since your worth and modesty is such, None will think this enough, but you too much.
ON THE IMPERFECTION OF
CHRIST-CHURCH BUILDINGS. ARISE, thou sacred heap, and show a frame Perfect at last, and glorious as thy name: Space, and torn majesty, as yet are all Thou hast we view thy cradle, as thy fall.
Our dwelling lyes half desert; the whole space Unmeeted and unbounded, bears the face Of the first age's fields, and we, as they That stand on hills, have prospect every way: Like Theseus' sonne, curst by mistake, the frame, Scattred and torn, hath parts without a name, Which in a landskip some mischance, not meant, As dropping of the spunge, would represent; And (if no succour come) the time's not far When 'twill be thought no college, but a quar. Send then Amphion to these Thebes, (O Fates!) W' have here as many breaches, though not gates. When any stranger comes, 'tis shewn by us, As once the face was of Antigonus, With an half-visage onely: so that all We boast is but a kitchin, or an hall.
Men thence admire, but help not, 't hath the luck Of heathen places that were thunder-strook, To be ador'd, not toucht; tho' the mind and will Be in the pale, the purse is pagan still : Alas! th'are tow'rs that thunder do provoke, We ne'r had height or glory for a stroke: Time, and king Henry too, did spare us; we Stood in those dayes both sythe and scepter-free; Our ruines then were licenc'd, and we were. Pass'd by untouch'd, that hand was open here. Blesse we our throne then! That which did avoid The fury of those times, seems yet destroy'd: So this, breath'd on by no full influence, Hath hung e'r since unminded in suspence, As doubtfull whether 't should escheated be To ruine, or redeem'd to majesty.
But great intents stop seconds, and we owe To larger wants, that bounty is so slow. A lordship here, like Curtius, might be cast Into one hole, and yet not seen at last. Two sacred things were thought (by judging souls) Beyond the kingdome's pow'r, Christ-church and
Till, by a light from Heaven shown, the one Did gain his second renovation,
And some good star ere long, we do not fear, Will guide the wise to offer some gifts here. But ruines yet stand ruines, as if none Durst be so good, as first to cast a stone. Alas! we ask not prodigies: wee'd boast, Had we but what is at one horse-race lost; Nor is our house (as Nature in the fal! Is thought by some) void and bereft of all
But what's new giv'n: unto our selves we owe That sculs are not our churches' pavement now; That that's made yet good way; that to his cup And table Christ may come, and not ride up; That no one stumbling fears a worse event, Nor, when he bows, falls lower than he meant ; That now our windows may for doctrine pass, And we (as Paul) see mysteries in a glass; That something elsewhere is perform'd, whereby 'Tis seen we can adorn, though not supply.
But if to all great buildings (as to Troy) A god must needs be sent, and we enjoy No help but miracle, if so it stand Decreed by Heaven, that the same gracious hand That perfected our statutes, must be sent To finish Christ-church too, we are content; Knowing that he who in the mount did give Those laws, by which his people were to live, If they had needed then, as now we do, Would have bestow'd the stone for tables too.
HIS MAJESTIE'S RECOVERY FROM THE SMALL POX. 1633.
DO confess the over-forward tongue Of publick duty turns into a wrong, And after-ages, which could ne'r conceive Our happy CHARLES SO frail as to receive Such a disease, will know it by the noyse Which we have made, in showting forth our joyes; And our informing duty only be
A well-meant spight, or loyall injury. Let then the name be alter'd, let us say They were small stars fixt in a milky-way, Or faithfull turquoises, which Heaven sent For a discovery, not a punishment; To show the ill, not make it; and to tell By their pale looks the bearer was not well. Let the disease forgotten be, but may The joy return as yearly as the day; Let there be new computes, let reckoning be
A CONTINUATION OF THE SAME TO THE PRINCE OF Solemnly made from his recovery;
BUT turn we hence to you, as some there be Who in the coppy wooe the Deity; Who think then most successfull steps are trod When they approach the image for the god. Our king hath shewn his bounty, sir, in you, By giving whom, h' hath giv'n us buildings too. For we see harvests in a showre, and when Heav'n drops a dew, say it drops flowers then, Whiles all that blessed fatness doth not fall To fill that basket, or this barn, but all.
We know y' have vertues in you now, which stand
Eager for action, and expect command; Vertues now ripe, train'd up, and nurtur'd so, That they wait only when you'l bid them flow. Indulge you, then, our rising Sun, we may Say, your first rayes broke here to make a day: For though the light, when grown, powrs fuller streams,
'Tis yet more precious in its virgin beams; And though the third or fourth may do the cure, The eldest tear of balsam's still most pare. "Tis only then our pride that we may dwell As vertues do in you, compleat and well; That when a college finish'd, is the sport And pastime only of your yonger court, An act, to which some could not well arive After their fifty, done by you at five, The late and tardy stock of nephews may, Reading your story, think you were born gray. This is the thread weaves all our hopes: for since All better vertues now are call'd the Prince, (As smaller rivers lose their words, and beare ⚫No name but ocean when they come in there) Thence we expect them, as these streams, we know, Can from no other womb or bosome flow. Limne you our Venus then throughout, be she Christned, some part at least, your deity; That when to take you painters go about, They be compell'd to leave some of you out; Whiles you shew something here that won't admit Colours and shape, something that cannot fit. Thus shall you nourish future writers, who May give Fame back those things you do bestow: Where merits too will be your work, and then That age will think you gave not stones, but men.
Let not the kingdom's acts hereafter run From his (though happy) coronation, But from his health, as in a better strain; That plac'd him in his throne, this makes him raign. '
ON HIS MAJESTIE'S RETURN FROM SCOTLAND. 1633.
WE are a people now again, and may Stile our selves subjects: your prolong'd delay Had almost made our jealousy engross New fears, and raise your absence into loss. 'Tis true, the kingdom's manners and the law Retain'd their wonted rigour, the same awe And love still kept us loyall: but 'twas so As clocks once set in motion do yet go, The hand being absent; or as when the quill Ceaseth to strike, the string yet trembles still.
count our sighs and fears! there shall not be Again such absence, though sure victory Would waite on every step, and would repay A severall conquest for each severall day. We do not crown your welcome with a name Coyn'd from the journey; nor shall soothing Fame Call't an adventure: heretofore, when rude And haughty power was known by solitude; When all that subjects felt of majesty, Was the oppressing yoke and tyranuy; Then it had pass'd for valour, and had been Thought prowesse to have dar'd to have been seen; And the approaching to a neighbour region No progresse but an expedition.
But here's no cause of a triumphant dance, 'Tis a return, not a deliverance.
Your pious faith secur'd your throne; your life Was guard unto your scepter; no rude strife, No violence there disturb'd the pomp, unless Their eager love and loyalty did press To see and know, whiles lawfull majesty Spread forth its presence, and its piety. So hath the God, that lay hid in the voice Of his directing oracle, made choice To come in person, and untouch'd hath crown'd The supplicant with his glory, not his sound.
TO THE QUEEN, ON THE SAME OCCASION.
We do presume our duty to no eare Will better sound, than yours, who most did fear. We know your busie eye perus'd the glass, And chid the lazy sands as they did pass ; We know no hour stole by with present wing, But heard one sigh dispatch'd unto your king: We know his faith too; how that other faces Were view'd as pictures only; how their graces Did in this only call his eye, that seen They might present some parcell of his queen. You were both maim'd whiles sever'd: none could
Whole maj'sty; y'are perfect, when thus joyn'd. We do not think this absence can add more Flames, but call forth those that lay hid before: As when in thirsty flowers a gentle dew Awakes the sent which slept, not gives a new. As for our joy, 'tis not a sudden heat Starts into noise; but 'tis as true as great; We will be tri'd by yours; for we dare strive Here, and acknowledge no prerogative. We then proclaime this triumph be as bright And large to all, as was your marriage-night. Cry we a second Hymen then; and sing, Whiles you receive the husband, we the king.
View we the manger and the babe, we thence Beleeve the very threeds have innocence; Then on the cross such love and grief we find, As 'twere a transcript of our Saviour's mind; Each parcell so expressive, and so fit, That the whole seems not so much wrought, as writ. "Tis sacred text all, we may quoat, and thence Extract what may be press'd in our defence.
Blest mother of the church, be in the list Reckon'd from hence the she evangelist: Nor can the style be profanation, when The needle may convert more than the pen. When faith may come by seeing, and each leaf Rightly perus'd prove gospell to the deaf. Had not Saint Hellen happ'ly found the cross, By this your work you had repair'd that loss. Tell me not of Penelope, we do
See a web here more chaste, and sacred too. Where are ye now, O women! you that sow Temptations, labouring to express the bow And the blind archer, you that rarely set, To please your loves, a Venus in a net? Turn your skill hither: then we shall (no doubt) See the king's daughter glorious too without. Women sew'd idle fig-leaves hithertoo, Eve's nakedness is truly cloath'd by you.
Kill'd before known, perhaps, 'mongst heathen hath Been thought the deed and valour of the swath." Far be such monsters hence; the buckler here Is not the cradle, nor the dart and spear The infant's rattles; 'tis a son of mirth, Of peace and friendship, 'tis a quiet birth; Yet if hereafter unfil'd people shall Call on his sword, and so provoke their fall, Let him look bak on that admired name, That spirit of dispatch, that soul of fame, His grandsire Henry, tread his steps, in all Be fully like to him, except his fall.
Although in royall births, the subject's lot Be to enjoy what's by the prince begot; Yet fasten, Charles, fasten those eyes you ow Unto a people, on this son, to show You can be tender too, in this one thing Suffer the father to depose the king. See what delight your queen takes to peruse Those fair unspotted volumes, when she views In him that glance, in her that decent grace, In this sweet innocence, in all the face
Of both the parents. May this blessing prove A welcome trouble, puzzling equal love How to dispence embraces, whiles that she Strives to divide the mother 'twixt all three.
THEN DEAN OF CHRIST-CHURCH, AND TUTOR TO THE PRINCE OF WALES.
WILL you not stay, then, and vouchsafe to be Honour'd a little more contractedly? The reverence here's as much, tho' not the prease; Our love as tender, though the tumult less; And your great vertues in the narrow sphere, Tho' not so bright, shine yet as strong as there : As sun-beams drawn into a point, do flow With greater force by being fettred so. Things may a while in this same order run, As wheeles once turn'd continue motion; And we enjoy a light, as when the eye O'th' world is set, all lustre doth not dye: But yet this course, this light, will so appear, As only to convince you have been here.
He's ours you ask, (great soveraign) ours, whom Will gladly ransome with a subsidy. Ask of us lands, our college, all; we do Profer what's built, nay, what's intended too : For he being absent, 'tis an heap, and we Only a number, no society.
Hard rival! for we dare contest, and use Such language, now w' have nothing left to lose. Y' are only ours, as some great ship, that's gone A voyage i'th king's service, doth still run Under the name o'th' company but we Think it th' indulgence of his majesty, That y' are not whole engross'd, that yet you are Permitted to be something that we dare Call ours, being honour'd to retain you thus, That one rale may direct the prince, and us. Go, then, another nature to him; go, A genius wisht by all, except the foe: Fashion those ductile manners, and inspire That ample breast with clean and active fire; That when his limbs shall write him man, his deeds May write him yours; that from those richer seeds
And we're encourag'd in't, the statutes do't, Which bind some men, to shew they cann't dispute. Suffer me, sir, to tell you that we do Owe these few daies' solemnity to you; For had you not among our gowns been seen Enlivening all, Oxford had only been A peopled village, and our Act at best A learned wake, or glorious shepheards' feast: Where (in my judgement) the best thing to see Had been Jerusalem or Nineveh,
Where, for true exercise, none could surpass The puppets, and Great Britaine's looking-glass. Nor are those names unusuall: July here Doth put forth all th' inventions of the year: Bare works, and rarer beasts do meet; we see In the same street Africk and Germany. Trumpets 'gainst trumpets blow, the faction's much,
These cry the monster-masters, those the Dutch: All arts find welcome, all men come to do Their tricks and slights; juglers, and curats too, Cura;s that threaten markets with their looks, Arm'd with two weapons, knives and table-books; Men that do itch (when they have eate) to note The chief distinction 'twixt the sheep and goat; That do no questions relish, but what be Bord'ring upon the absolute decree,
And then haste home, lest they should miss the lot When Heaven drops some smaller showers, our sense
Of venting reprobation, whiles 'tis hot.
But, above all good sports, give me the sight
Of the lay exercise on Monday night. Where a reserved stomach doth profess A zeal-prepared hunger, of no less Than ten days' laying up, where we may see How they repaire, how ev'ry man comes three, Where, to the envy of our townsmen, some Among the rest do by prescription come, Men that themselves do victuall twice a year, At Christmas with their landlords, and once here. None praise the Act more, and say less; they do Make all wine good by drinking, all beer too; This was their Christian freedom here: nay, we Our selves too, then, durst plead a liberty: We reform'd nature, and awak'd the night, Making it spring as glorious as the light; That, like the day did dawn, and break forth here, Though in a lower, yet as bright a sphere: Sleep was a thing unheard of, unless 'twere At sermon after dinner, all wink'd there; No brother then known by the rowling white, Ev'n they sate there as children of the night; None come to see and to be seen; none heares, My lord's fee-buck closeth both eyes and eares; No health did single, but our chancellors pass, Viscounts and earles throng'd seven in a glass. Manners and language ne'r more free; some meant Scarce one thing, and did yet all idioms vent; Spoke Minshew in a breath; the inceptor's wine Made Latine native: gray coats then spoke fine, And thought that wiser statute had done wrong T'allot us four years yet to learn the tongue.
But Oxford, tho' throng'd with such people, was A court where e'r you only pleas'd to pass; We reckon'd this your gift, and that this way Part of the progress, not your journey lay.
I could relate you more, but that I fear You'l find the dregs o'th' time surviving here; And that gets some excuse: think then you see Some reliques of the Act move yet in me.
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