The Works of the British Poets: With Prefaces, Biographical and Critical ...

For children, house, provision, taking pain,
They're all but ants, carrying eggs, ftraw, and
grain;

And church-yards are our cities, into which
The most repair that are in goodness rich;
There is the beft concourse and confluence,
There are the holy fuburbs, and from thence
Begins God's city, New Jerufalem,
Which doth extend her utmoft gates to them:
At that gate then, triumphant Soul! doft thou
Begin thy triumph: but fince laws allow
That at the triumph-day the people may
All that they will 'gainst the triumpher say,
Let me here ufe that freedom, and exprefs
My grief, though not to make thy triumph lefs.
By law to triumphs none admitted be
Till they, as magiftrates, get victory;
Though then to thy force all youth's foes did
field,

Yet till fit time had brought thee to that field
To which thy rank in this ftate deftin'd thee,
That there thy counfels might get victory,
And fo in that capacity remove

All jealoufies 'twixt prince and fubjects love,
Thou couldst no title to this triumph have,
Thou didst intrude on death, ufurp a grave.
Then (though victoriously) thou hadst fought as yet
But with thine own affections, with the heat
Of youth's defires, and colds of ignorance,
But till thou shouldft fuccessfully advance
Thine arms 'gainst foreign enemies, which are,
Both envy and acclamations popular,
(For both these engines equally defeat,
Though by a diverfe mine, those which are great)
Till then thy war was but a Civil war,
For which to triumph none admitted are;
No more are they, who though with good fuccefs,
In a defenfive war their power express.
Before men triumph, the dominion
Must be enlarg'd, and not preferv'd alone:
Why shouldst thou then, whose battles were to win
Thyfelf from thofe ftraits Nature put thee in,
And to deliver up to God that state
Of which he gave thee the vicariate,
(W Which is thy foul and body) as entire
As he who takes indentures doth require;
But didft not stay t' enlarge his kingdom too,
By making others what thou didit to do:
Why shouldst thou triumph now, when heav'n

no more

Hath got, by getting thee, than 't had before?
For heav'n and thou, even when thou livedit here,
Of one another in poffeffion were:
But this from triumph most disables thee,
That that place which is conquered must be
Left fafe from prefent war, and likely doubt
Of imminent commotions to break out.
And hath he left us fo? or can it be
This territory was no more than he?
No; we were all his charge: the diocese
Of every exemplar man the whole world is;
And he was joined in commiffion
With tutelar angels, fent to every one.
But though this freedom to upbraid and chide
Him who triumph'd were lawful, it was ty'd

With this, that it might never reference have
Unto the Senate, who this triumph gave :
Men might at Pompey jeft, but they might n
At that authority by which he got
Leave to triumph before by age he might ;
So though, triumphant Soul! I dare to write,
Mov'd with a reverential anger, thus,
That thou fo early wouldst abandon us,
Yet I am far from daring to dispute
With that great Sovereignty, whofe abfolute
Prerogative hath thus difpens'd with thee
'Gainft Nature's laws, which juft impughers b
Of early triumphs: and I (though with pain)
Leffen our lofs to magnify thy gain
Of triumph, when I fay it was more fit
That all men fhould lack thee than thou lack
Though then in our times be not suffered
That teftimony of love unto the dead.
To die with them, and in their graves be hid,
As Saxon wives and French foldarii did;
And though in no degree I can exprefs
Grief in great Alexander's great excess,
Who at his friend's death made whole towns di
Their walls and bulwarks which became them b
Do not, fair foul! this facrifice refuse,
That in thy grave I do inter my Muse,
Which by my grief, great as thy worth, being
Behind hand, yet hath spoke, and spoke her la

AN ELEGY

On the LRDY MARKHAM.

MAN is the world, and death the ocean,
To which God gives the lower parts of man.
This fea environs all, and though as yet
God hath fet marks and bounds 'twixt us and
Yet doth it roar, and gnaw, and still pretend
To break our bank whene'er it takes a friend
Then our land-waters (tears of paffion) vent;
Our waters then above our firmament
(Tears, which our foul doth for our fins let fa
Take all a brackish taste and suneral,
And even thofe tears which fhould wash fin are
We, after God, new-drown our world again.
Nothing but man, of all envenom'd things,
Doth work upon itself with inborn stings.
Tears are falfe fpectacles; we cannot fee
Through paflion's mist what we are, or what
In her this fea of death hath made no breach;
But as the tide doth wash the flimy beach,
And leaves embroider'd works upon the fand,
So is her flesh refin'd by Death's cold hand.
As men of China, after an age's stay,

Do take up porc'lane where they buried clay,
So at this grave, her limbeck, (which refines
The diamonds, rubies, fapphires, pearls, and mi
Of which this flesh was) her foul fhall infpire
Flesh of fuch stuff as God, when his last fire
Annuls this world, to recompence it, fhall
Make and name them th' Elixir of this all.
They fay the fea when it gains loseth too.
1. carnal Death (the younger brother) do

Ufurp the body, our foul, which subject is
To th' elder Death by fin, is freed by this;
They perish both when they attempt the juft;
For graves our trophies are, and both Death's duft.
So, unobnoxious now, fhe 'ath buried both;
For none to death fins that to fin is loth;
Nor do they die which are not loth to die;
So hath the this and that virginity.
Grace was in her extremely diligent,
That kept her from fin, yet made her repent.
Of what small spots pure white complains!
How little poifon cracks a crystal glafs!
She sinn'd, but just enough to let us fee

Alas!

For we to live our bellows wear and breath,
Nor are we mortal, dying, dead, but death:
And though thou beeft (O mighty bird of prey!)
So much reclaim'd by God, that thou must lay
All that thou kill'st at his feet, yet doth he
Referve but few, and leaves the most for thee;
And of those few, now thou haft overthrown
One whom thy blow makes not ours nor thine own
She was more stories high hopeless to come
To her foul, thou haft offer'd at her lower room.
Her foul and body was a king and court,
But thou haft both of captain mifs'd and fort.
As houses fall not, though the kings remove,

That God's Word must be true," All finners be." Bodies of faints reft for their fouls above.

So much did zeal her conscience rarify,
That extreme truth lack'd little of a lie,
Making omiflions acts, laying the touch

of fin on things that fome time may be fuch.
As Mofes' cherubims, whose natures do
Surpafs all speed, by him are winged too;
So would her foul, already in,heav'n, seem then
To climb by tears the common stairs of men.
How fit fhe was for God I am content

To speak, that Death his vain hafte may repent
How fit for us, how even and how sweet,
How good in all her titles, and how meet
To have reform'd this forward herefy,
That women can no parts of friendship be:
How moral, how divine, shall not be told,
Left they that hear her virtues think her old,
And left we take Death's part, and make him glad
Offach a prey, and to his triumph add.

ELEGY ON MRS. BOULSTRED.

DEATH! I recant, and fay, unfaid by me
Whate'er hath flipt that might diminish thee.
Spiritual treason, atheism, 't is, to fay
That any can thy fummons difobey.

Th' earth's face is but thy table; there are fet
Plants, cattle, men, dishes for Death to eat.
In a rude hunger now he millions draws
Into his bloody, or plaguy, or ftarv'd jaws :
Now he will feem to fpare, and doth more wafte,
Eating the best first, well preferv'd to laft :
Now wantonly he spoils and eats us not,
But breaks off friends, and lets us piecemeal rot.
Nor will this earth serve him; he finks the deep,
Where harmless fish monaftic filence keep;
Who (were Death dead) the rows of living fand
Might fpunge that element, and make it land.
He rounds the air, and breaks the hymnic notes
In birds (heav'n's chotifters) organic throats,
Which (if they did not die) might feem to be
A tenth rank in the heav'nly hierachy.
O ftrong and long-liv'd Death! how cam'ft thou
And how without creation didst begin?
Thou hast and fhalt fee dead before thou dy't
All the four monarchies and Antichrifti
How could I think thee nothing, that fee now
In all this all nothing elfe is but thou?
Our births and lives, vices and virtues, be
Wafteful confumptions and degrees of thee;

[in?

Death gets 'twixt fouls and bodies fuch a place
As fin infinuates 'twixt juft men and grace:
Both work a feparation, no divorce:
Her foul is gone to usher up her corse,
Which thall be almoft another foul, for there
Bodies are purer than beft fouls are here.
Because in her her virtues did outgo,
Her years, would'st thou, O emulous Death! do fo,
And kill her young to thy lofs? Muft the coft
Of beauty and wit, apt to do harm, be loft?
What though thou found't her proof 'gainst fina
of youth?

Oh! every age a diverfe fin purfu'th.
Thou should'st have stay'd, and taken better hold;
Shortly ambitious, covetous when old,
She might have prov'd; and fuch devotion
Might once have ftray'd to fuperftition.
If all her virtues might have grown, yet might
Abundant virtue have bred a proud delight.
Had the perfever'd juft, there would have been
Some that would fin, mif-thinking fhe did fin;
Such as would call her friendship Love, and feign
To fociableness a name profane,

Or fin by tempting, or, not daring that,
By wishing, though they never told her what.
Thus might'ft thou 'ave flain more souls, hadft
thou not croft

Thyfelf, and to triumph thine army loft.
Yet though thefe ways be loft, thou haft left one,"
Which is, immoderate grief that she is gone:
But we may 'scape that fin, yet weep as much;
Our tears are due, because we are not fuch.
Some tears, that knot of friends, her death muft coft,
Because the chain is broke, though no link lost.

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And, waited on by angels, home was brought,
To joy that it through many dangers fought :
The key of mercy gently did unlock

The door 'twixt heav'n and it when life did knock.
Nor boaft the faireft frame was made thy prey,
Becaufe to mortal eyes it did decay;
A better witnefs than thou art affures,
That though diffolv'd it yet a space endures;
No dram thereof fhall want, or lofs sustain,
When her beft foul inhabits it again.
Go then to people turft before they were,
Their fouls in triumph to thy conquest bear.
Glory not thou thyfelf in these hot tears,
Which our face not for her, but our harm, wears.
The mourning livery giv'n by Grace, not thee,
Which wills our fouls in thefe ftreams wafht
fhould be,

And on our hearts, her memory's best tomb,
In this her epitaph doth write thy doom.
Blind were thofe eyes faw not how bright did fhine,
Through flesh's mifty veil, those beams divine;
Deaf were the ears not charm'd with that sweet
found

Which did i' th' fpirit's inftructed voice abound;
Of flint the conscience did not yield and melt
At what in her last act it faw and felt. [fight,
Weep not, nor grudge, then, to have loft her
Taught thus our after-stay 's but a short night;
But by all fouls not by corruption chok'd,
Let in high rais'd notes that pow'r be invok'd,
Calm the rough feas by which the fails to rest,
From forrows here t' a kingdom ever bleft;
And teach this hymn of her with joy, and fing,
"The Grave no conqueft gets, Death hath no fting."

ELEGY ON HIS MISTRESS.

By our firft ftrange and fatal interview,
By all defires which thereof did enfue;
By our long-ftriving hopes; by that remorfe
Which my words mafculine perfuafive forge
Begot in thee, and by the memory

Of hurts which fpies and rivals threaten'd me,
I calmaly beg but by thy father's wrath,
By all pains which want and divorcement hath,
I conjure thee, and all the oaths which I
And thou have sworn to feal joint constancy,
I here unfwear, and overfwear them thus;
Thou shalt not love by means fo dangerous.
Temper, O fair Love! love's impetuous rage;
Be my true mistress, not my feigned page.
I'll go, and, by thy kind leave leave behind
'Thee, only worthy to nurfe in my mind
Thirst to come back. O! if thou die before,
My foul from other lands to thee shall foar :
Thy (elfe almighty) beauty cannot move
Rage from the feas, nor thy love teach them love,
Nor tame wild Boreas' harfhnefs: thou haft read
How roughly he in pieces fhivered
Fair Orithea, whom he fwore he lov'd.
Fall ill or good, 't is madnefs have prov'd
Dangers unurg'd: feed on this flattery,
That abfent lovers one in th' other be.

Diffemble nothing, not a boy, nor change
Thy body's habit nor mind: be not frange
To thyfelf only all will Ipy in thy face
A blushing womanly discovering grace.
Richly cloth'd apes are call'd apes; and as foon
Eclips'd as bright we call the moon the moon.
Men of France changeable cameleons,
Spitties of difeafes, fhops of fashions,
Love's fuellers, and th' righteft company
Of players which upon the world's stage be,
Will too too quickly know thee : and, alas !
Th' indifferent Italian, as we pass

His warm land, well content to think thee page,
Will hunt thee with fuch luft and hideous rage
As Lot's fair guests were vext: but none of these,
Nor spongy hydroptic Dutch, fhall thee difplease
If thou stay here. Oh! ftay here; for for thee
England is only a worthy gallery
To walk in expectation, till from thence
Our greatest King call thee to his prefence.
When I am gone dream me fome happiness,
Nor let thy looks our long hid love confefs:
Nor praife nor difpraise me; nor bless nor curfe
Openly Love's force; nor in bed fright thy nurse
With midnight's startings, crying out, Oh! oh!
Nurfe, oh! my love is flain! I faw him go
O'er the white Alps alone; I faw him, I,
Affail'd, taken, fight, ftabb'd, bleed, fall, and die.
Augur me better chance, except dread Jove
Think it enough for me to have had thy love.

ON HIMSELF.

My fortune and my choice this custom break, When we are speechlefs grown to make frones

speak;

Though no stone tell thee what I was, yet thou
In my grave's infide feeft what thou art now :
Yet thou'rt not yet fo good; till death us lay
To ripe and mellow, here we're stubborn clay.
Parents make us earth, and fouls dignify
Us to be glafs; here to grow gold we lie..
Whilk in our fouls fin bred and pamper'd is,
Our fouls become worm-caten carcaffes;
So we ourselves miraculously deftroy,
Here bodies with lefs miracle enjoy
Such privileges, qnabled here to feale
Heav'n, when the trumpet's air fhall them exhale.
Hear this, and mend thy felf, and thou mend’ft me,
By making me, being dead, do good for thee;
And think me well compos'd, that I could now
A laft-fick hour to fyllables allow.

MADAM,

ELEGY.

THAT I might make your cabinet my tomb, And for my fame, which I love next my soul, Next to my foul provide the happiest room, Admit to that place this last funeral scroll.

Others by wills give legacies, but I,
Dying, of you do beg a legacy.

My fortune and my will this custom break, When we are fenfelefs grown, to make ftones fpeak:

Though no ftone tell thee what I was, yet thou
In my grave's infide see what thou art now.
Yet thou'rt not yet so good; till us death lay
To ripe and mellow there we are stubborn clay.
Parents make us earth, and fouls dignify
Us to be glass; here to grow gold we lic.
Whilft in our fouls fin bred and pamper'd is,
Our fouls become worm-eaten carcafies.

ELEGY ON THE LORD C.

SORROW, that to this house scarce knew the way,
Is, oh! heir of it; o'er all is his pay.
This ftrange chance claims ftrange wonder, and

to us

Nothing can be fo frange as to weep thus. 16

'Tis well his life's loud-fpeaking works deferve And give praise too; our cold tongues could not ferve :

'Tis well he kept tears from our eyes before,
That to fit this deep ill we might have store.
Oh! if a fweet-brier climb up by a tree,
If to a paradife that transplanted be,
Or fell'd and burnt for holy facrifice,
Yet that must wither which by it did rife,
As we for him, though no family
E'er rigg'd a foul for heav'n's discovery,
With whom more venturers more boldly dare
Venture their states, with him in joy to share.
We lofe, what all friends lov'd, him; he gains now
But life by death, which worst foes would allow ;
If he could have foes in whofe practice grew
All virtues whose name subtle schoolmen knew.
What ease can hope that we shall see him beget,
When we muft die first, and cannot die yet?
His children are his pictures: oh! they be
Pictures of him dead, fenfelefs, cold as he.
Here needs no marble tomb fince he is gone;
He, and about him his, are turn'd to stone.

LETTERS

TO SEVERAL PERSONAGES.

THE STORM.

TO MR. CHRISTOPHER BROOK,

From the land Voyage with the Earl of Effex.

THOU, which art I, ('t is nothing to be se)
Thou, which art ftill thyself, by this fhalt know
Part of our paffage; and a hand or eye
By Hilliard drawn is worth a history
By a worse painter made; and (without pride)
When by thy judgment they are dignify'd
My lines are fuch. "Tis the pre-eminence
Of friendship only t' impute excellence.
England, t' whom we owe what we be and have,
Sad that her fons did feek a foreign grave,
(For Fate or Fortune's drifts none can gainsay,
Honour and mis'ry have one face one way)
From out her pregnant entrails figh'd a wind,
Which at th' air's middle marble room did find
Such strong refiftance, that itself it threw
Downward again; and fo when it did view
How in the port our fleet dear time did leese,
Withering like pris'ners, which lie but for fees,
Mildly it kifs'd our fails, and, fresh and sweet,
As to a ftomach ftary'd, whose infides meet;
Meat comes, it came, and fwole our fails, when

Then like two mighty kings, which dwelling far
Afunder meet against a third to war,

The fouth and weft winds join'd, and, as they blew,
Waves like a rolling trench before them threw.
Sooner than you read this line did the gale,
Like fhot not fear'd till felt, our fails affail;
And what at first was call'd a guft, the fame
Hath now a ftorm's, anon a tempeft's name.
Jonas! I pity thee, and curfe thofe men

Sleep is pain's easiest salve, and doth fulfil
All offices of death except to kill.

But when I wak'd, I faw that I faw not;
I and the fun, which should teach me, had forgot
East, weft, day, night; and I could only fay,
Had the world lafted, that it had been day.
Thousands our noifes were, yet we 'mongst all
Could none by his right name but thunder call.
Lightning was all our light, and it rain'd more
Than if the fun had drunk the fea before.
Some coffin'd in their cabbins lie, equally
Griev'd that they are not dead, and yet muft die;
And as fin-burden'd fouls from graves will creep
At the last day, fome forth their cabbins peep,
And, trembling, afk what news? and do hear fo
As jealous husbands, what they would not know.
Some, fitting on the hatches, would seem there,
With hideous gazing, to fear away Fear:
There note they the fhip's ficknesses, the mast
Shak'd with an ague, and the hold and waist
With a falt dropfy clogg'd, and our tacklings
Snapping, like to too high-ftretch'd treble ftrings,
And from our tatter'd fails rags drop down fo
As from one hang'd in chains a year ago:
Yea, ev'n our ordnance, plac'd for our defence,
Strives to break loofe, and 'fcape away from
thence:

Pumping hath tir'd our men, and what's the gain?

Seas into feas thrown we fuck in again :
Hearing hath deaf'd our failors; and if they
Knew how to hear, there's none knows what to say.
Compar'd to these storms, death is but a qualm,
Hell fomewhat lightfome, the Bermuda's calm.
Darkness, Light's eldest brother, his birth-right
Claims o'er the world, and to heav'n hath chas'd
light.

All things are one; and that one none can be,
Since all forms uniform deformity
Doth cover; fo that we, except God fay
Another Fiat, shall have no more day:
So violent yet long these furies be,

Who, when the ftorm rag'd moft, did wake thee That though thine abfence starve me I wish not

then.

thee.

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