From th' rising Sun, obtaining by just suit
A Spring's engender, and an Autumn's fruit.
Who in those volumes, at her motion pen'd,
Unto Creation's Alpha doth extend.,
Again ascend, and view Chronology,
By optic skill pulling far History

Nearer; whose hand the piercing eagle's eye
Strengthens to bring remotest objects nigh.
Under whose feet, you see the setting Sun,
From the dark gnomon, o'er her volumes run,
Drown'd in eternal night, never to rise;
Till Resurrection show it to the eyes

Of earth-worn men; and her shrill trumpet's sound
Affright the bones of mortals from the ground:
The columns both are crown'd with either sphere,
To show Chronology and History bear
No other culmen than the double art,
Astronomy, Geography impart.

OR THUS.

LET hoary Time's vast bowels be the grave
To what his bowels' birth and being gave:
Let Nature die, and (phoenix-like) from death
Revived Nature take a second breath:
If on Time's right hand sit fair History;
If, from the seed of empty ruin, she
Can raise so fair an harvest: let her be
Ne'er so far distant, yet Chronology
(Sharp-sighted as the eagle's eye, that can
Out-stare the broad-beam'd day's meridian)
Will have a perspicil to find her out,
And, thro' the night of errour and dark doubt,
Discern the dawn of Truth's eternal ray,
As when the rosy morn buds into day.

Now that Time's empire might be amply fill'd,
Babel's bold artists strive (below) to build
Ruin a temple; on whose fruitful fall
History rears her pyramids more tall
Than were th' Egyptian (by the life, these give,
The Egyptian pyramids themselves must live :)
On these she lifts the world; and on their base
Shows the two terms and limits of Time's race:
That, the Creation is; the Judgement this;
That, the world's morning; this her midnight is.

AN EPITAPH UPON MR. ASHTON,

A CONFORMABLE CITIZEN.

THE modest front of this small floor,
Believe me, reader, can say more
Than many a braver marble can,
"Here lies a truly honest mau:"
One whose conscience was a thing,
That troubled neither church nor king.
One of those few that in this town
Honour all preachers, hear their own.
Sermons he heard, yet not so many
As left no time to practise any.
He heard them reverendly, and then
His practice preach'd them o'er agen.
His parlour-sermons rather were
Those to the eye, than to the ear.

His prayers took their price and strength
Not from the loudness, nor the length.

He was a Protestant at home,

Not only in despite of Rome.
He lov'd his father, yet his zealTM
Tore not off his mother's veil.

To th' church he did allow her dress,
True beauty to true holiness.

Peace, which he lov'd in life, did lend
Her hand to bring him to his end:
When Age and Death call'd for the score,
No surfeits were to reckon for;
Death tore not (therefore) but sans strife
Gently untwin'd his thread of life.
What remains, then, but that thou
Write these lines, reader, in thy brow,
And by his fair example's light,
Burn in thy imitation bright.

So while these lines can but bequeath
A life perhaps unto his death,
His better epitaph shall be,
His life still kept alive in thee.

OUT OF CATULLUS.
COME, and let us live, my dear,
Let us love, and never fear
What the sourest fathers say:
Brightest Sol, that dies to day,
Lives again as blithe to morrow;
But if we, dark sons of sorrow
Set; O! then how long a night
Shuts the eyes of our short light!
Then let amorous kisses dwell
On our lips, begin and tell

A thousand and a hundred score,
An hundred and a thousand more,
Till another thousand smother
That, and that wipe of another.
Thus, at last, when we have numbred
Many a thousand, many a hundred;
We'll confound the reckoning quite,
And lose our selves in wild delight:
While our joys so multiply,
As shall mock the envious eye.

WISHES,

TO HIS (SUPPOSED) MISTRESS.

WHO e'er she be,

That not impossible she,

That shall command my heart and me;
Where e'er she lye,

Lock'd up from mortal eye,
In shady leaves of destiny:

Till that ripe birth

Of studied Fate stand forth,

And teach her fair steps to our Earth; Till that divine

Idæa take a shrine

Each ruby there,

Or pearl that dare appear,

Be its own blush, be its own tear.

A well-tam'd heart,

For whose more noble smart

Love may be long choosing a dart. Eyes, that bestow

Full quivers on Love's bow;

Yet pay less arrows than they owe,
Smiles, that can warm

The blood, yet teach a charm,
That chastity shall take no harm.
Blushes, that bin

The burnish of no sin,

Nor flames of aught too hot within.

Joys, that confess

Virtue their mistress,

And have no other head to dress.

Fears, fond and flight,

As the coy bride's, when night

First does the longing lover right.

Tears, quickly fled,

And vain, as those are shed
For a dying maidenhead.

Days, that need borrow

No part of their good morrow,

From a fore-spent night of sorrow,
Days, that in spight

Of darkness, by the light

Of a clear mind are day all night,

Nights, sweet as they,

Made short by lovers' play,

Yet long by th' absence of the day. Life, that dares send

A challenge to his end,

And when it comes, say, "Welcome, friend.”

Perge intempestiva atque importuna videri;
Inque uteri titulos sic rape cuncta tui.
Sit nobis sit sæpe hyemes sic cernere nostras
Exhæredatas floribus ire tuis.

Sæpe sit has vernas hyemes Majosq; Decembres,
Has per te roseas sæpe videre nives.
Altera gens varium per sydera computet annum,
Atq; suos ducant per vaga signa dies.
Nos deceat nimiis tantum permittere nimbis?
Temporatam tetricas ferre Britanna vices?
Quin nostrum tibi nos omnem donabimus annum:
In partus omnem expende, Maria, tuos.
Sit tuus ille uterus nostri bonus arbiter anui:

Tempus & in titulos transeat omne tuos.
Namque alia indueret tam dulcia homina mensis?
Aut qua tam posset candidus ire toga?
Hanc laurum Junus sibi vertice vellet utroque;
Hanc sibi vel tota Chloride Majus emet.
Tota suam (vere expulso) respublica florum
Reginam cuperent te, sobolemve tuam.

O bona sors anni, cum cuncti ex ordine menses Hic mihi Carolides, hic Marianus erit!

AD REGINAM.

Er vero jam tempus erat tibi, maxima mater,
Dulcibus his oculis accelerare diem:
Témpus erat, ne qua tibi basia blanda vacarent;
Sarcina ne collo sit minus apta tuo.
Scilicet ille tuus, timor & spes ille suorum,

Quo primum es felix pignore facta parens,
Ille ferox iras jam nunc meditatur & enses,

Jam patris magis est, jam magis ille suus.
Indolis O stimulos! vix dum illi transiit infans;
Jamque sibi impatiens arripit ille virum.
Improbus ille suis adeo negat ire sub annis:
Jam nondum puer est, major & est puero.
Si quis in aulæis pictas animat us in iras

Stat leo, quem docta cuspide lusit acus, Hostis (io!) est; neq; enim ille alium dignabitur hostem;

Nempe decet tantas non minor ira manus.
Tunc hasta gravis adversum furit; hasta bacillum
Mox falsum vero vulnere pcetus hiat. [est:
Stat leo, ceu stupeat tali bene fixus ab hoste;
Ceu quid in his oculis vel timeat vel amet,
Tam torvum, tam dulce micant: nescire fatetur
Mars ne sub his oculis esset, an esset Amor.
Quippe illic Mars est, sed qui bene possit amari;
Est & Amor certe, sed metuendus Amor:
Talis Amor, talis Mars est ibi cernere; qualis
Seu puer hic esset, sive vir ille deus.
Hic tibi jam scitus succedit in oscula fratris,
Res (ecce!) in lusus non operosa tuos.
Basia jam veniant tua quantacunque caterva;
Jam quocunque tuus murmure Judat amor.
En! Tibi materies tenera & tractabilis hic est:
Hic ad-blanditias est tibi cera satis.
Salve infans, tot basiolis, molle argumentum,
Maternis labiis dulce negotiolum,

O salve! Nam te nato, puer auree, natus
Et Carolo & Mariæ tertius est oculus.

Vultus adhuc suus, & vultu sua purpura tantum

Vivit, & admixtas pergit amare nives. Tune illas violare genas? tune illa profanis, Morbe ferox, tentas ire per orà notis ? Tu Phoebi faciem tentas, vanissime? Nostra Nec Phoebe maculas novit habere suas. Ipsa sui vindex facies morbum indignatur; Ipsa sedet radiis O bene tuta suis: Quippe illic deus est, cœlumque & sanctius astrum; Quippe sub his totus ridet Apollo genis. Quod facie rex tutus erat, quod cætera tactus: Hinc hominem rex est fassus, & inde deum.

REX REDUX.

ILLE redit, redit. Hoc populi bona murmura volvunt;

Publicus hoc (audin'?) plausus ad astra refert: Hoc omni sedet in vultu commune serenum; Omnibus hinc una est lætitiæ facies.

Rex noster, lux nostra redit; redeuntis ad ora
Arridet totis Anglia læta genis;
Quisque suos oculos oculis accendit ab istis;
Atque novum sacro sumit ab ore diem.
Forte roges tanto quæ digna pericula plausu
Evadat Carolus, quæ mala, quosve metus:
Anne perrerati male fida volumina ponti

Ausa illum terris pene negare suis:
Hospitis an nimii rursus sibii conscia tellus
Vix bene speratum reddat Ibera caput.
Nil horum; nec enim male fida volumina ponti
Aut sacrum tellus vidit Ibera caput.
Verus amor tamen hæc sibi falsa pericula fingit:
(Falsa peric'la solet fingere verus amor)
At Carolo qui falsa timet, nec vera timeret:
(Vera peric❜la solet temnere verus amor)
Illi falsa timens, sibi vera pericula temnens,

Non solum est fidus, sed quoque fortis amor. Interea nostri satis ille est causa triumphi: Et satis (ah!) nostri causa doloris erat. Causa doloris erat Carolus, sospes licet esset; Et satis est nostri Carolus nunc causa triumphi: Anglia quod saltem discere posset, Abest. Dicere quod saltem possumus, Ille redit.

AD PRINCIPEM NONDUM NATUM.

NASCERE nunc; O nunc! quid enim, puer alme, moraris ?

Nulla tibi dederit dulcior hora diem. Ergone tot tardos (O lente!) morabere menses? Rex redit, ipse veni, & dic bone, Gratus ades. Nam quid Ave nostrum? quid nostri verba

Vagitu melius dixeris ista tuo.. [triumphi? At maneas tamen : & nobis nova causa triumphi Sic demum fueris; nec nova causa tamen: Nam, quoties Carolo novus aut nova nascitur infans, Revera toties Carolus ipse redit.

IN FACIEM AUGUSTISS. REGIS A MORBILLIS

INTEGRAM.

MUSA redi; vocat alma parens Academia: Noster En redit, ore suo noster Apollo redit.

CARMEN DEO NOSTRO,

TE DECET HYMNUS.

SACRED POEMS,

COLLECTED, CORRECTED, AUGMENTED, MOST HUMBLY PRESENTED, TO MY LADY,

THE COUNTESS OF DENBIGH.

By her most devoted servant,

RICHARD CRASHAW.

In hearty acknowledgment of his immortal obligation to her goodness and charity.

CRASHAWE,

THE ANAGRAM

HE WAS CAR.

WAS Car then Crashaw, or was Crashaw Car,
Since both within one name combined are?
Yes, Car's Crashaw, he Car; 'tis love alone
Which melts two hearts, of both composing one,
So Crashaw's still the same: so much desired
By strongest wits; so honour'd, so admired;
Car was but he that enter'd as a friend
With whom he shar'd his thoughts, and did com-
mend

[other:

(While yet he liv'd) this work; they lov'd each Sweet Crashaw was his friend; he Crashaw's brother: So Car hath title then; 'twas his intent

That what his riches pen'd, poor Car should print;
Nor fears he check, praising that happy one
Who was belov'd by all, disprais'd by none.
To wit, being pleas'd with all things, he pleas'd all;
Nor would he give, nor take offence; befal
What might, he would possess himself; and live
As dead (devoid of interest) t' all might give
Disease t' his well composed mind; forestall'd
With heavenly riches; which had wholly call'd
His thoughts from Earth, to live above in th' air,
A very bird of paradise. No care

Had he of earthly trash. What might suffice
To fit his soul to heavenly exercise,
Sufficed him; and may we guess his heart
By what his lips bring forth, his only part
Is God and godly thoughts. Leaves doubt to none
But that to whom one God is all; all's one.
What he might eat or wear he took no thought,
His needful food he rather found than sought.
He seeks no downs; no sheets, his bed's still made;
If he can find a chair or stool, he's laid;
When day peeps in, he quits his restless rest;
And still, poor soul, before he's up he's drest.
Thus dying did he live, yet liv'd to die
In th' virgin's lap, to whom he did apply

His virgin thoughts and words, and thence was styl'd
By foes, the chaplain of the virgin mild,
While yet he liv'd without: his modesty
Imparted this to some, and they to me.

Live happy then, dear soul; enjoy thy rest
Eternally by pains thou purchasedst,
While Car must live in care, who was thy friend;
Nor cares he how he live, so in the end

He may enjoy his dearest Lord and thee;
And sit and sing more skilful songs eternally.

THOMAS CAR.

TO THE NOBLEST AND BEST OF LADIES, THE COUNTESS OF DENBIGH. PERSUADING HER TO RESOLUTION IN RELIGION, AND TO RENDER HER SELF WITHOUT FURTHER DELAY INTO THE COMMUNION OF THE CATHOLIC CHURCH.

WHAT Heaven-entreated heart is this? Stands trembling at the gate of bliss; Holds fast the door, yet dares not venture Fairly to open it and enter, Whose definition is a doubt 'Twixt life and death, 'twixt in and out. Say, lingering fair! why comes the birth Of your brave soul so slowly forth? Plead your pretences (O you strong In weakness) why you choose so long In labour of your self to lie, Nor daring quite to live nor die: Ah linger not, lov'd soul! a slow And late consent was a long no, Who grants at last, long time try'd And did his best to have deny'd, What magic bolts, what mystic bars Maintain the will in these strange wars! What fatal, what fantastic bands, Keep the free heart from its own hands! So when the year takes cold, we see Poor waters their own prisoners be, Fetter'd, and lock'd up fast they lie In a sad self-captivity, [plore Th' astonisht nymphs their floods' strange fate deTo see themselves their own severer shore. Thou that alone canst thaw this cold, And fetch the heart from its strong hold; Almighty Love! end this long war, And of a meteor make a star. O fix this fair indefinite,

And mongst thy shafts of soveraign light
Choose out that sure decisive dart
Which has the key of this close heart,
Knows all the corners of 't, and can control
The self-shut cabinet of an unsearcht soul.
O let it be at last, love's hour;
Raise this tall trophy of thy pow'r;

Come once the conquering way; not to confute
But kill this rebel-word, irresolute,

That so, in spight of all this peevish strength
Of weakness, she may write "Resolv'd at length."
Unfold at length, unfold fair flow'r,

And use the season of Love's show'r,
Meet his well-meaning wounds, wise heart!
And haste to drink the wholsome dart;