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Amidst thy arms and trophies thou
Wert valiant and gentle too;

Woundedst thyself, when thou didst kill thy foe.
Like steel, when it much work has past,
That which was rough does shine at last,
Thy arms by being oftener us'd did smoother grow.
Nor did thy battles make thee proud or high,
Thy conquest rais'd the state, not thee:
Thou overcam'st thyself in every victory.
As when the Sun in a directer line

Upon a polish'd golden shield doth shine,

The shield reflects unto the Sun again his light:
So when the Heavens smil'd on thee in fight;
When thy propitious God hath lent
Success and victory to thy tent;

To Heaven again the victory was sent.

England, till thou didst come,

Confin'd her valour home;
Then our own rocks did stand
Bounds to our fame as well as land,
And were to us as well

As to our enemies unpassable:
We were asham'd at what we read,
And blush'd at what our fathers did,
Because we came so far behind the dead.

The British lion hung his mane, and droop'd,
To slavery and burthen stoop'd,
With a degenerate sleep and fear
Lay in his den and languish'd there;
At whose least voice before,

A trembling echo ran through every shore,
And shook the world at every roar:
Thou his subdued courage didst restore,
Sharpen'd his claws, and from his eyes
Mad'st the same dreadful lightning rise;
Mad'st him again affright the neighbouring floods.
His mighty thunder sounds through all the woods:
Thou hast our military fame redeem'd,
Which was lost, or clouded seem'd:
Nay, more, Heaven did by thee bestow
On us, at once an iron age and happy too.

Till thou command'st, that azure chain of waves,
Which Nature round about us sent,

Made us to every pirate slaves,
Was rather burthen than an ornament;
Those fields of sea, that wash'd our shores,

Were plough'd and reap'd by other hands than ours:
To us the liquid mass,

Which doth about us run,
As it is to the Sun,

Only a bed to sleep on was:

And not as now a powerful throne,

To shake and sway the world thereon.

Our princes in their hand a globe did show,
But not a perfect one,
Compos'd of earth and water too.
But thy commands the floods obey'd,
Thou all the wilderness of water sway'd:
Thou didst not only wed the sea,
Not make her equal, but a slave to thee.
Neptune himself did bear thy yoke,
Stoop'd, and trembled at thy stroke:
He that ruled all the main,
Acknowledg'd thee his sovereign:
And now the conquer'd sea doth pay
More tribute to thy Thames than that unto the sea.
Tifl now our valour did ourselves more burt;

Our wounds to other nations were a sport;

And as the earth, our land produc'd

Iron and steel, which should to tear ourselves be us'd:
Our strength within itself did break,

Like thundering cannons crack,
And kill'd those that were near,

While th' enemies secure and untouch'd were.
But now our trumpets thou hast made to sound
Against their enemies walls in foreign ground;
And yet no echo back to us returning found,
England is now the happy peaceful isle,

And all the world the while

Is exercising arms and wars
With foreign or intestine jars.

The torch extinguish'd here, we lent to others oil.
We give to all, yet know ourselves no fear;
We reach the flame of ruin and of death,
Where'er we please our swords t' unsheath,
Whilst we in calm and temperate regions breathe:
Like to the Sun, whose heat is hurl'd

Through every corner of the world;
Whose flame through all the air doth go,
And yet the Sun himself the while no fire does know,
Besides, the glories of thy peace

Are not in number nor in value less.
Thy hand did cure, and close the scars
Of our bloody civil wars;

Not only lanc'd but heal'd the wound,
Made us again as healthy and as sound:
When now the ship was well nigh lost,

After the storm upon the coast,
By its mariners endanger'd most;
When they their ropes and helms had left,
When the planks asunder cleft,

And floods came roaring in with mighty sound,
Thou a safe land and harbour for us found, [drown'd;
And savedst those that would themselves have
A work which none but Heaven and thou could do,
Thou mad'st us happy whether we would or no:
Thy judgment, mercy, temperance so great,
As if those virtues only in thy mind had seat:
Thy piety not only in the field, but peace,
When Heaven seem'd to be wanted least;
Thy temples not like Janus only were

Open in time of war,

When thou hadst greater cause to fear:
Religion and the awe of Heaven possest
All places and all times alike thy breast.
Nor didst thou only for thy age provide,
But for the years to come beside;

Our after-times and late posterity
Shall pay unto thy fame as much as we;

They too are made by thee.

When Fate did call thee to a higher throne,

And when thy mortal work was done, When Heaven did say it, and thou must be gone, Thou him to bear thy burthen chose,

Who might (if any could) make us forget thy loss; Nor hadst thou him design'd,

Had he not been

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TO A

PERSON OF HONOUR

(MR. EDWARD HOWARD),

UPON HIS INCOMPARABLE, INCOMPREHENSIBLE POEM, ENTITULED,

THE BRITISH PRINCES.

YOUR book our old knight-errants' fame revives,
Writ in a stile agreeing with their lives.
'All rumours' strength their prowess did out-go,
All rumours' skill your verses far out-do:

To praise the Welsh the world must now combine,

Since to their leeks you do your laurel join:
Such lofty strains your country's story fit,
Whose mountain nothing equals but your wit.

Bonduca, were she such as here we see
(In British paint), none could more dreadful be:
With naked armies she encounter'd Rome,
Whose strength with naked Nature you o'er-

come.

Nor let small critics blame this mighty queen,
That in king Arthur's time she here is seen:
You that can make immortal by your song,
May well one life four hundred years prolong.
Thus Virgil bravely dar'd for Dido's love,
The settled course of time and years to move,
Though him you imitate in this alone,
In all things else you borrow help from none:
No antique tale of Greece or Rome you take,
Their fables and examples you forsake.
With true heroic glory you display
A subject new, writ in the newest way.

Go forth, great author, for the world's delight; Teach it, for none e'er taught you, how to write;

They talk strange things that ancient poets did,
How streets and stones they into buildings lead:
For poems to raise cities, now, 'tis hard,
But yours, at least, will build half Paul's church-
yard.

ON HIS MISTRESS DROWN'D. SWEET stream, that dost with equal pace Both thyself fly and thyself chase,

Forbear awhile to flow,

And listen to my woe.

Then go and tell the sea that all its brine
Is fresh, compar'd to mine:

Inform it that the gentler dame,
Who was the life of all my flame,
I' th' glory of her bud
Has pass'd the fatal flood,
Death by this only stroke triumphs above
The greatest power of love:
Alas, alas! I must give o'er,
My sighs will let me add no more.

Go on, sweet stream, and henceforth rest
No more than does my troubled breast;
And if my sad complaints have made thee stay,
These tears, these tears, shall mend thy way.

THE

PLAGUE OF ATHENS,

WHICH HAPPENED IN THE SECOND YEAR OF THE PELOPONNESIAN WAR:

First described in Greek by Thucydides; then in Latin by Lucretius.

To my worthy and learned friend Dr. Walter Pope, late proctor of the University of Oxford.

I

SIR,

KNOW not what pleasure you could take in bestowing your commands so unprofitably, unless it be that for which nature sometimes cherishes and allows monsters, the love of variety. This only delight you will receive by turning over this rude and unpolished copy, and comparing it with my excellent patterns, the Greek and Latin. By this you will see how much a noble subject is changed and disfigured by an ill hand, and what reason Alexander had to forbid his picture to be drawn but by some celebrated pencil. In Greek, Thacydides so well and so lively expresses it, that I know not which is more a poem, bis description or that of Lucretius. Though it must be said, that the historian had a vast advantage over the poet; he, having been present on the place, and assaulted by the disease himself, had the horrour familiar to his eyes, and all the shapes of the misery still remaining on his mind, which mast needs make a great impression on his pen and fancy; whereas the poet was forced to follow his footsteps, and only work on that matter he allowed him. This I speak, because it may in some measure too excuse my own defects: for being so far removed from the place whereon the disease acted his tragedy, and time having denied us many of the circumstances, customs of the country, and other small things which would be of great use to any one who did intend to be perfect on the subject; besides only writing by an idea of that which i never yet saw, nor care to feel (being not of the humour of the painter in sir Philip Sidney, who thrust himself into the midst of a fight, that he might the better delineate it). Haying, I say, all these disadvantages, and many more for which I must only blame myself, it cannot be expected that I should come near equalling him, in whom none of the contrary advantages were wanting. Thus then, sir, by emboldening me to this rash attempt, you have given opportunity to the Greek and Latin to triumph over our mother-tongue. Yet I would not have the honour of the countries or languages engaged in the comparison, but that the inequality should reach no farther than the authors. But I have much reason to fear the just indignation of that excellent person (the present ornament and honour of our nation) whose way of writing I imitate: for he may think himself as much injured by my following him, as were the Heavens by that bold man's counterfeiting the sacred and unimitable noise of thunder, by the sound of brass and horses hoofs. I shall only say for myself, that I took Cicero's advice, who bids us, in imitation, propose the noblest pattern to our thoughts; for so we may be sure to be raised above the common level, though we come infinitely short of what we

aim at. Yet I hope that renowned poet will have none of my crimes any way reflect on himself; for it was not any fault in the excellent musician, that the weak bird, endeavouring by straining its throat to follow his notes, destroyed itself in the attempt. Well, sir, by this, that I have chosen rather to expose myself than to be disobedient, you may guess with what zeal and hazard I strive to approve myself,

Sir, your most humble and

affectionate servant,

THO. SPRAT.

THUCYDIDES, Lib. II.

AS IT IS EXCELLENTLY TRANSLATED BY MR. HOBBES.

and their breath noisome and unsavoury. Upon this followed a sneezing and hoarseness, and not long after, the pain, together with a mighty cough, came down into the breast. And when once it was settled in the stomach, it caused vomit, and with great torment came up all manner of bilious purgation that physicians ever named. Most of them had also the hickyexe, which brought with it a strong convulsion, and in some ceased quickly, but in others was long before it gave over. Their bodies outwardly to the touch were neither very hot nor pale, but reddish, livid, and beflowered with little pimples and whelks; but so burned inwardly, as not to endure any the lightest clothes or linen garment to be upon them, nor any thing but mere nakedness, but rather most willingly to have cast themselves into the cold water. And many of them that were not looked to, possessed with insatiate thirst, ran unto the wells; and to drink much or little was indifferent, being still from ease and power to sleep as far as ever.

In the very beginning of summer, the Peloponnesians, and their confederates, with two-thirds As long as the disease was at the height, their of their forces, as before, invaded Attica, under bodies wasted not, but resisted the torment bethe conduct of Archidamus, the son of Zeuxida-yond all expectation, insomuch as the most of mas, king of Lacedemon: and after they had encamped themselves, wasted the country about them.

They had not been many days in Attica, when the plague first began amongst the Athenians, said also to have seized formerly on divers other parts, as about Lemnos, and elsewhere; but so great a plague, and mortality of men, was never remembered to have happened in any place before. For at first neither were the physicians able to cure it, through ignorance of what it was, but died fastest themselves, as being the men that most approached the sick, nor any other art of man availed whatsoever. All supplications to the gods, and inquiries of oracles, and whatsoever other means they used of that kind, proved all unprofitable, insomuch as, subdued with the greatness of the evil, they gave them all over. It began (by report) first in that part of Ethiopia that lieth upon Egypt, and thence fell down into Egypt and Afric, and into the greatest part of the territories of the king. It invaded Athens on a sudden, and touched first upon those that dwelt in Pyræus, insomuch as they reported that the Peloponnesians had cast poison into their wells; for springs there were not any in that place. But afterwards it came up into the high city, and then they died a great deal faster. Now let every man, physician or other, concerning the ground of this sickness, whence it sprung, and what causes he thinks able to produce so great an alteration, speak according to his. own knowledge; for my own part, I will deliver but the manner of it, and lay open only such things as one may take his mark by to discover the same if it come again, having been both sick of it myself, and seen others sick of the same. This year, by confession of all men, was of all other, for other diseases, most free and healthful. If any man were sick before, his disease turned to this; if not, yet suddenly, without any apparent cause preceding, and being in perfect health, they were taken first with an extreme ache in their heads, redness and inflammation in the eyes; and then inwardly their throats and tongues grew presently bloody,

them either died of their inward burning in nine or seven days, whilst they had yet strength; or if they escaped that, then, the disease falling down in their bellies, and causing there great exulcerations and immoderate looseness, they died many of them afterwards through weakness: for the disease (which first took the head) began above, and came down, and passed through the whole body: and he that overcame the worst of it was yet marked with the loss of his extreme parts; for, breaking out both at their privy members, and at their fingers and toes, many with the loss of these escaped. There were also some that lost their eyes, and many that presently upon their recovery were taken with such an oblivion of all things whatsoever, as they neither knew themselves nor their acquaintance. For this was a kind of sickness which far surmounted all expression of words, and both exceeded human nature in the cruelty wherewith it handled, each one, and appeared also otherwise to be none of those diseases that are bred among us, and that especially by this: for all, both birds and beasts, that used to feed on human flesh, though many men lay abroad unburied, either came not at them, or tasting, perished. An argument whereof, as touching the birds, was the manifest defect of such fowl, which were not then seen, either about the carcases, or any where else; but by the dogs, because they are familiar with men, this effect was seen much clearer. So that this disease (to pass over many strange particulars of the accidents that some had differently from others) was in general such as I have shown; and for other usual sicknesses at that time, no man was troubled with any. Now they died, some for want of attendance, and some again with all the care and physic that could be used. Nor was there any, to say, certain medicine, that applied must have helped them; for if it did good to on, it did harm to another; nor any difference of body for strength or weakness that was able to resist it; but carried all away, what physic soever was administered. But the greatest misery of all was, the defection of mind, in such as found themselves

beginning to be sick (for they grew presently desperate, and gave themselves over without making any resistance); as also their dying thus like sheep, infected by mutual visitation: for if men forbore to visit them for fear, then they died forlorn, whereby many families became empty, for want of such as should take care of them. If they forbore not, then they died themselves, and principally the honestest men: for out of shame they would not spare themselves, but went in unto their friends, especially after it was come to that pass, that even their domestics, wearied with the lamentations of them that died, and overcome with the greatness of the calamity, But those that were no longer moved therewith.

crimes by judgment. But they thought there was now over their heads some far greater judg ment decreed against them; before which fell, they thought to enjoy some little part of their lives.

THE PLAGUE OF ATHENS.

UNHAPPY man! by Nature made to sway,
And yet is every creature's prey,
Destroy'd by those that should his power obey.
Of the whole world we call mankind the lords,
Flattering ourselves with mighty words;
Of all things we the monarchs are,
And so we rule, and so we domineer;
All creatures else about us stand
Like some pretorian band,

To guard, to help, and to defend ;
Yet they sometimes prove enemies,
Sometimes against us rise;

Our very guards rebel, and tyrannize.
Thousand diseases sent by Fate
(Unhappy servants!) on us wait;
A thousand treacheries within
Are laid, weak life to win;
Huge troops of maladies without

grim, a meagre, and a dreadful rout!)
Some formal sieges make,

And with sure slowness do our bodies take;
Some with quick violence storm the town,
And throw all in a moment down:
Some one peculiar fort assail,
Some by general attempts prevail.
Small herbs, alas, can only us relieve,
And sinall is the assistance they can give:
How can the fading offspring of the field
Sure health and succour yield?
What strong and certain remedy,
What firm and lasting life can ours be, [die?
When that which makes us live doth every winter
Nor is this all: we do not only breed

were recovered, had much compassion both on
them that died, and on them that lay sick, as
having both known the misery themselves, and
now no more subject to the like danger; for this
disease never took a man a second time so as to
be mortal. And these men were both by others
counted happy; and they also themselves, through
excess of present joy, conceived a kind of light
hope never to die of any other sickness hereafter.
Besides the present affliction, the reception of
the country people and of their substance into
the city, oppressed both them, and much more
the people themselves that so came in: for, hav-(A
ing no houses, but dwelling at that time of the
year in stifling booths, the mortality was now
without all form; and dying men lay tumbling
oné upon another in the streets, and men half
dead about every conduit through desire of water.
The temples also where they dwelt in tents were
all full of the dead that died within them; for,
oppressed with the violence of the calamity, and
not knowing what to do, men grew careless, both
of holy and profane things alike. And the laws
which they formerly used touching funerals were
all now broken, every one burying where he
could find room. And many for want of things
necessary, after so many deaths before, were
forced to become impudent in the funerals of
their friends. For when one had made a funeral
pile, another getting before him would throw on
his dead, and give it fire. And when one was in
burning, another would come, and, having cast
thereon him whom he carried, go his way again.
And the great licentiousness, which also in other
kinds was used in the city, began at first from
this disease. For that which a man before would
dissemble, and not acknowledge to be done for
voluptuousness, he durst now do freely, seeing
before his eyes such quick revolution; of the rich
dying and men worth nothing inheriting their
estates; insomuch as they justified a speedy
fruition of their goods, even for their pleasure, as
men that thought they held their lives but by the
day. As for pains, no man was forward in any
action of honour, to take any, because they
thought it uncertain whether they should die or
not before they achieved it. But what any man
knew to be delightful, and to be profitable to
pleasure, that was made both profitable and ho-
nourable. Neither the fear of the gods, nor laws
of men, awed any man. Not the former, because
they concluded it was alike to worship or not
worship, from seeing that alike they all perished:
nor the latter, because no man expected that his
life would last till he received punishment of his

Within ourselves the fatal seed

Of change, and of decrease in every part,
Head, belly, stomach, and root of life, the heart;
Not only have our autumn, when we must

Of our own nature turn to dust,
When leaves and fruit must fall;

But are expos'd to mighty tempests too,
Which do at once what they would slowly do,
Which throw down fruit and tree of life witha!.
From ruin we in vain
Our bodies by repair maintain,
Bodies compos'd of stuff
Mouldering and frail enough;
Yet from without as well we fear
A dangerous and destructive war.
From heaven, from earth, from sea, from air,
We like the Roman empire shall decay,

And our own force would melt away
By the intestine jar

Of elements, which on each other prey,
The Caesars and the Pompeys within which we bear:
Yet are (like that) in danger too
Of foreign armies, and external foe.
Sometimes the Gothish and the barbarous rage
Of plague or pestilence attends man's age,

Which neither force nor arts asswage;
Which cannot be avoided or withstood,
But drowns, and over-runs with unexpected flood.

On Ethiopia, and the southern sands,

The unfrequented coasts, and parched lands, Whither the Sun too kind a heat doth send, (The Sun, which the worst neighbour is, and the best friend)

Hither a mortal influence came,

A fatal and unhappy flame,
Kindled by Heaven's angry beam.

With dreadful frowns, the Heavens scatter'd here
Cruel infectious heats into the air:
Now all the stores of poison sent,

Threatening at once a general doom,
Lavish'd out all their hate, and meant

In future ages to be innocent,

Not to disturb the world for many years to come. Hold, Heavens! hold; why should your sacred

fire

Which doth to all things life inspire,
By whose kind beams you bring
Forth yearly every thing,
Which doth th' original seed

Of all things in the womb of earth that breed,
With vital heat and quickening seed;
Why should you now that heat employ,

The earth, the air, the fields, the cities to annoy?

That which before reviv'd, why should it now destroy?

Those Afric deserts straight were double deserts

grown,

The ravenous beasts were left alone,

The ravenous beasts then first began
To pity their old enemy, man,

And blam'd the Plague for what they would themselves have done.

Nor staid the cruel evil there,

Nor could be long confin'd unto one air;
Plagues presently forsake

The wilderness which they themselves do make.
Away the deadly breaths their journey take,
Driven by a mighty wind,

They a new booty and fresh forage find:

The loaded wind went swiftly on,

And as it pass'd, was heard to sigh and groan. On Egypt next it seiz'd,

Nor could but by a general ruin be appeas'd, Egypt, in rage, back on the south did look, And wonder'd thence should come th' unhappy stroke,

From whence before her fruitfulness she took.

Egypt did now curse and revile

Those very lands from whence she has her Nile; Egypt now fear'd another Hebrew god, Another angel's hand, a second Aaron's rod.

Then on it goes, and through the sacred land
Its angry forces did command;
But God did place an angel there
Its violence to withstand,

And turn into another road the putrid air.
To Tyre it came, and there did all devour;
Though that by seas might think itself secure.
Nor staid, as the great conqueror did,
Till it had fill'd and stopp'd the tide,
Which did it from the shore divide,
But pass'd the waters, and did all possess,
And quickly all was wilderness.
Thence it did Persia over-run,
And all that sacrifice unto the Sun:
VOL. IX.

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Glutted with ruin of the east,

She took her wings, and down to Athens pass'd;
Just Plague! which dost no parties take,
But Greece as well as Persia sack,
While in unnatural quarrels they

(Like frogs and mice) each other slay;
Thou in thy ravenous claws took'st both away.
Thither it came, and did destroy the town,
Whilst all its ships and soldiers looked on;

And now the Asian plague did more
Than all the Asian force could do before.
Without the wall the Spartan army sate,
The Spartan army came too late:
For now there was no further work for Fate.
They saw the city open lay,

An easy and a bootless prey;

They saw the rampires empty stand, The fleets, the walls, the forts unmann'd. No need of cruelty or slaughters now, The plague had finish'd what they came to do; They might now unresisted enter there,

Did they not the very air

More than the Athenians fear.

The air itself to them was wall and bulwarks too.

Unhappy Athens! it is true thou wert
The proudest work of Nature and of Art:
Learning and strength did thee compose,
As soul and body us:

But yet thou only thence art made
A nobler prey for Fates t' invade;

Those mighty numbers that within thee
breathe,

Do only serve to make a fatter feast for Death.
Death in the most frequented places lives ;
Most tribute from the crowd receives;
And though it bears a scythe, and seems to own
A rustic life alone,

It loves no wilderness,

No scatter'd villages,

But mighty populous palaces,

The throng, the tumult, and the town. What strange unheard-of conqueror is this, Which by the forces that resist it doth increase! When other conquerors are

Oblig'd to make a slower war,

Nay sometimes for themselves may fear, And must proceed with watchful care, When thicker troops of enemies appear; This stronger still, and more successful grows, Down sooner all before it throws,

If greater multitudes of men do it oppose.

The tyrant first the haven did subdue;
Lately th' Athenians (it knew)
Themselves by wooden walls did save,
And therefore first to them th' infection gave

Lest they new succour thence receive.
Cruel Pyræus! now thou hast undone
The honour thou before hadst won;
Not all thy merchandize,
Thy wealth, thy treasuries,

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