Whofe vilenefs us fhall never awe:
But here our sports shall be: Such as the Golden World first faw, Moft innocent and free.
Of Simples in these Groves that grow,
We'll learn the perfect skill;
The nature of each Herb to know
Which cures, and which can kill.
The waxen Palace of the Bee,
We seeking will surprize,
The curious Workmanship to fee,
Of her full laden thighs.
We'll fuck the Sweets out of the Comb,
And make the Gods repine:
As they do Feaft in Jove's great room,
To fee with what we dine.
Yet when there haps a honey fall,
We'll lick the Syrupt leaves:
And tell the Bees that their's is Gall,
To this upon the Greaves.
The nimble Squirrel noting here,
Her moffy Dray that makes,
And laugh to fee the lufty Deer
Come bounding o'er the brakes.
The Spiders Web to watch we'll ftand,
And when it takes the Bee,
We'll help out of the Tyrants hand
The Innocent to free.
Sometime we'll Angle at the Brook,
The freckled Trout to take,
With filken Worms, and bait the hook,
Which him our prey fhall make.
Of meddling with fuch fubtle Tools,
Such dangers that enclose,
The moral is that painted Fools,
Are caught with filken shows.
And when the Moon doth once appear,
We'll trace the lower Grounds
When Fayries in their Ringlets there
Do dance their nightly Rounds:
And have a Flock of Turtle Doves,
A guard on us to keep,
As witness of our honeft Loves,
To watch us till we fleep.
Which spoke, I felt fuch holy fires
To overspread my Breaft,
As lent Life to my Chaft Defires
And gave me endless Reft.
By Cynthia thus do I fubfift,
On Earth Heav'ns only Pride, Let her be mine, and let who lift Take all the world befide.
Verfes by Sir JOHN DENHAM.
Ow Priefts, whofe facred Office 'tis to bring
Kings to obey their God, and Men their King;
By these myfterious links to fix and tie
Them to the foot-ftool of the Deity;
Even by these Men, Religion, that should be
The curb, is made the fpur to Tyranny;
They with their double key of conscience bind
The Subjects Souls, and leave Kings unconfin'd;
While their poor Vaffals Sacrifice their Bloods
'T' Ambition; and to Avarice, their Goods:
Blind with Devotion. They themselves efteem
Made for themselves, and all the World for them;
While Heavens great Law, given for their Guide,
Juft, or unjust, but as it waits on theirs:
Us'd, but to give the Ecchoe to their Words,
Power to their Wills, and Edges to their Swords.
To varnish all their Errors, and fecure
The Ills they act, and all the World endure.
Thus by their Arts Kings awe the World, while they,
Religion, as their Mistress, seem t' obey;
Yet as their Slave command her: while they feem
To rife to Heaven, they make Heaven ftoop to them.
Nor is this all, where feign'd Devotion bends
The highest Things, to ferve the lowest Ends:
For if the many-headed Beaft hath broke,
Or fhaken from his Neck the Royal Yoke,
With popular Rage, Religion doth confpire,
Flows into that, and fwells the Torrent higher;
Then Powers firft Pedigree from Force derives,
And calls to mind the old Prerogatives
Of Free-born Man; and with a faucy Eye
Searches the Heart and Soul of Majefty:
Then to a ftri&t Account, and Cenfure brings-
The Actions, Errours, and the End of Kings,
Treads on Authority, and facred Laws;
Yet all for God, and his pretended Caufe,
Acting fuch things for him, which he in them,
And which themselves in others will condemn;
And thus engag'd, nor fafely can retire,
Nor fafely ftand, but blindly bold afpire,
Forcing their Hopes, even through Defpair, to climb
To new Attempts; difdain the prefent Time,
Grow from Difdain to Threats, fromThreats to Arms;
While they (though Sons of Peace) ftill found
th'Alarms:
Thus whether Kings or People feek Extreams,
Still Confcience and Religion are their Theams :
And whatsoever Change the State invades,
The Pulpit either forces, or perfwades.
Others may give the Fewel, or the Fire;
But they the Breath, that makes the Flame, inspire.
WHAT gives us that Fantaftick Fit,
That all our Judgment and our Wit
To vulgar Custom we submit?
Treafon, Theft, Murder, and the reft
Of that foul Legion we deteft,
Are in their proper Names expreft.
Why is it then taught Sin or Shame,
Thofe neceffary Parts to name,
From whence we went, and whence we came
Nature, what e'er fhe wants, requires;
With Love enflaming our Defires,
Finds Engins fit to quench those fires:
Death fhe abhors; yet when Men die,
We are prefent; but no Stander by
Looks on, when we that lofs fupply:
Forbidden Wares fell twice as dear;
Even Sack prohibited last Year,
A moft abominable rate did bear.
'Tis plain our Eyes and Ears are nice,
Only to raise, by that Device,
Of those Commodities the Price.
Thus Reason's Shadows us betray;
By Tropes and Figures led aftray
From Nature, both her Guide and Way,
On Mr. ABRAHAM COWLEY, his Death and Burial amongst the Ancient Poets.
By the fame Hand.
LD Chaucer, like the Morning-Star,
OLD like the
His light those Mifts and Clouds diffolv'd,
Which our dark Nation long involv'd;
But he defcending to the Shades,
Darkness again the Age invades.
Next (like Aurora) Spencer rofe,
Whofe Purple blush the Day forefhows;
The other Three, with his own Fires,
Phalus, the Poets Gód, inspires;
By Shakespear's, Johnson's, Fletcher's Lines,
Our Stages Luftre Rome's out-fhines :
Thefe Poets near our Princes fleep,
And in one Grave their Mansion keep;
They liv'd to fee fo many Days,
Till Time had blafted all their Bays;
But curfed be the fatal Hour,
That pluckt the Fairest, sweetest Flower,
That in the Mufes Garden grew,
And amongst wither'd Lawrels threw.
Time, which made them their Fame out-live,
To Cowley fcarce did Ripeness give.
Old Mother Wit, and Nature gave
Shakespear and Fletcher all they have;
In Spencer, and in Johnson, Art
Of flower Nature got the ftart;
But both in him fo equal are,
None knows which bears the happy'st share;
To him no Author was unknown,
Yet what he wrote was all his own;
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