Still, superstitious lovers beauty paint,
(Thinking themselves but devils) so divine,
As if the thing belov'd were all a saint;

And ev'ry place she enter'd were a shrine.

And though last night were the auspicious time When they resolv'd to quit their bashful fears; Yet soon (as to the Sun when eaglets climbe) They stoop'd, and quench'd their daring eyes in tears.

And now (for hope, that formal centry, stands All winds and showrs, though where but vain-` ly plac'd)

They to Verona beg her dear commands;

And look to be with parting kindness grac'd,

Both daily journies meant, 'twixt this and court:
For taking leave is twice love's sweet repast;
In being sweet, and then in being short;

Like manna, ready still, but cannot last.
Her favours not in lib'ral looks she gave,
But in a kinde respectful lowliness,
Them honour gives, yet did her honour save;
Which gently thus, she did to both express.
"High Heav'n that did direct your eyes the way
To choose so well, when you your friendship
made,

Still keep you joyn'd, that daring envy may
Fear such united vertue to invade!
"In your safe brests, the noble Gondibert

Does trust the secret treasure of his love;
And I (grown conscious of my low desert)
Would not, you should that wealth for me
improve.

"I am a flow'r that merit not the spring!

And he (the world's warm Sun !) in passing by Should think, when such as I leave flourishing, His beams to cedars haste, which else would die.

"This from his humble maid you may declare
To him, on whom the good of humane kinde
Depends; and as his greatning is your care,
So u.ay your early love successes finde!
"So may that beautious she, whom either's heart
For vertue and delight of life shall choose,
Quit in your siege the long defence of art,
And Nature's freedom in a treaty lose."

This gave cold Ulfinore in love's long night

Some hope of day; as sca-men that are run Far northward finde long winters to be light, And in the cynosure adore the Sun.

It show'd to Goltho, not alone like day,

But like a wedding noon; who now grows strong Enough to speak; but that her beauties stay

His eyes, whose wonder soon arrests his tongue.

Yet something he at parting seem'd to say,

In pretty flow'rs of love's wild rhetorick; Which mov'd not her, though orators thus sway Assemblies, which since wilde, wilde musick like.

GONDIBERT.

CANTO THE SIXTH.

THE ARGUMENT.

Here Ulfin reads the art to Ulfinore
Of wisely getting, and increasing power.
The rivals to Verona haste, and there
Young Goltho's frailty does too soon appear.
Black Dalga's fatal beauty is reveal'd;
But her descent and story is conceal'd.

OLD Ulfin parting now with Ulfinore,

His study'd thoughts, and of a grave import, Thus utter'd, as well read in ancient lore; When prudence kept up greatness in the court, "Heav'n guide thee, son, through honour's slipp'ry way;

The hill, which wary painfulness must climbe; And often rest, to take a full survey

Of every path, trod by experienc'd time. "Rise glorious with thy master's hopeful morn! His favour calls thee to his secret breast; Great Gondibert ! to spacious empire born;

Whose careful head will in thy bosome rest.
"Be good! and then in pitty soon be great!
For vertuous men should toile to compass pow'r
Least when the bad possess dominion's seat,

We vainly weep for those whom they devour.
"Our vertue without pow'r, but harmless is!
The good, who lazily are good at home,
And safely rest in doing not amiss,

Fly from the bad, for fear of martyrdome! "Be in thy greatness easie, and thy brow

Still cleer, and comforting as breaking light; The great, with bus'ness troubled, weakly bow; Pow'r should with publick burdens walk upright! "We chearfulness, as innocence commend!

The great, may with benigne and civil eyes The people wrong, yet not the wrong'd offend; Who feel most wrong, from those who them despise!

"Since wrongs must be, complaints must shew the griev'd;

And favorites should walk still open ear'd; For of the suing croud half are reliev'd

With the innate delight of being heard. "Thy greatness be in armes! who else are great,' Move but like pageants in the people's view; And in foul weather make a scorn'd retreat; The Grecks their painted gods in armour drew! "Yield not in storms of state to that dislike Which from the people does to rulers grow; Pow'r (fortune's sail) should not for threatnings strike;

In boats bestorm'd all check at those that row. "Courts little arts contemn! dark holes to save Retreated pow'r, when fear does friendship feigne; [brave, Poor theeves retire to woods! chiefs, great, and Draw out their forces to the open plaine!

"Be by thy vertue bold! when that Sun shines, All art's false lights are with disgrace put out; Her straightness shows it self and crooked lines, And her plain text the scepticks dare not doubt. "Revenge (weak women's valour, and in men,

The ruffian's cowardise) keep from thy breast! The factious palace is that serpent's den,

Whom cowards there with secret slaughter feast. "Revenge is but a name for fear, no t

'Tis Indians' furious fear, when they are fed With valiant foes, whose hearts their teeth must

tear

Before they boldly dare believe them dead. "When thou giv'st death, thy banners be display'd! And move not till an open foe appears! Court's lurking war shows justice is afraid,

And no broad sword, but a close ponyard, wears, "To kill, shows fear does not more fears endure ! When wrong'd, destroy not with thy foes thy The valiant, by forgiving mischief, cure; [fame; And it is Heav'n's great conquest to reclame! "Be by thy bounty known! for since the needs Of life so rudely press the bold and wise; The bountious heart, all but his God exceeds, Whom bounty best makes known to mortal eies! 46 And to be bountiful, be rich! for those

Fam'd talkers, who in schools did wealth despise, Taught doctrine, which at home would empire lose, If not believ'd first by their enemies. "And though in ruling ministers of state,

The people wretched poverty adore, (Which fools call innocence, and wise men hate As sloth) yet they rebell for being poore. "And to be rich, be diligent! move on

Like Heav'n's great movers that inrich the Earth,

Whose moment's sloth would show the world undone,

And make the Spring straight bury all her birth. "Rich are the diligent! who can command Time, Nature's stock! and could his hour-glass fall,

Would, as for seeds of stars, stoop for the sand, And by incessant labour gather all.

"Be kinde to beauty! that unlucky shrine! Where all Love's thieves come bowing to their prey,

And honour steal, which beauty makes divine:
Be thou still kinde, but never to betray!
"Heav'n study more in Nature than in schools!
Let Nature's image never by thee pass
Like unmark'd time; but those unthinking fools
Despise, who spie not Godhead thro' her glass!"
These precepts Ulfinore, with dutious care;

In his heart's closet lock'd, his faithful brest!
And now the rival-friends for court prepare,
And much their youth is by their haste exprest.
They yet ne'r saw Verona nor the court,

And expectation lengthens much their way;
Since by that great inviter urg'd, Report,
And thither fly on coursers of relay.

E're to his western mines the Sun retir'd,

They his great mint for all those mines behold, Verona, which in towres to Heav'n aspir'd,

Gilt doubly, for the Sun now gilt their gold.

They make their entry through the western gate!
A Gothick arch! where, on an elephant,
Bold Clephes as the second founder sate,
Made to mock life, and onely life did want.
Still strange and divers seem their objects now,
And still increase, where ere their eyes they cast;
Of lazy pag'ant-greatness, moving slow,

And angry business, rushing on in haste.

All strange to them, as they to all appear;
Yet less like strangers gaz'd than those they see,
Who this glad day the duke's spectators were,
To mark how with his fame his looks agree.
And guess
that these are of his fighting train,
Renown'd in youth, who by their wonder stay'd,
And by their own but slowly passage gain,

But now much more their progress is delay'd: For a black beauty did her pride display

Thro' a large window, and in jewels shon, As if to please the world, weeping for day, Night had put all her starry jewels on. This beauty gaz'd on both, and Ulfinore Hung down his head, but yet did lift his eyes, As if he fain would see a little more:

For much, tho' bashful, he did beauty prise. Goltho did like a blushless statue stare,

Boldly her practis'd boldness did out-look; And even, for fear she would mistrust her snare, Was ready to cry out, that he was took! She, with a wicked woman's prosp'rous art, A seeming modesty, the window clos'd; Wisely delay'd his eyes, since of his heart

She thought she had sufficiently dispos'd. And he thus straight complain'd: "Ah, Ulfinore! The winde which blowes us from the happy shore, How vainly glory has our youth misled? And drives us from the living to the dead! "To bloody slaughters, and perhaps of those Who might beget such beauties as this maid, The sleepy here are never wak'd with foes,

[breed

Nor are of aught but ladies' frowns afraid." Ere he could 'more lament, a little page, Clean, and perfum'd, (one whom this dame did To guess at ills, too manly for his age)

Steps swiftly to him, and arrests his steed. With civil whisper cries, "My lady, sir !”At this, Goltho alights as swiftly post As posters mount; by lingring loath to err, [lost. As wind-bound men, whose sloth their first wind And when his friend advis'd him to take care, He gravely, as a man new potent grown, Protests he shall in all his fortunes share,

And to the house invites him as his own. And, with a rival's wisdom, Ulfinore

[astray,

Does hope, since this blinde love leads him Where a false saint he can so soon adore,

That he to Birtha ce'r will finde the way. They enter, and ascend; and enter then Where Dalga with black eyes does sinners draw; And with her voice holds fast repenting men, To whose warm jett, light Goltho is but straw. Nicely as bridegroom's was her chamber drest,

Her bed as bride's, and richer than a throne; And sweeter seem'd than the circania's nest, Though built in eastern groves of cinamon.

The price of princes' pleasures, who her love
(Tho' but false ware) at rates so costly bought;
The wealth of many, but may hourly prove
Spoils to some one by whom her self is caught.
She, sway'd by sinful beauty's destiny,

Findes her tyrannick pow'r must now expire,
Who ment to kindle Goltho with her eye,
But to her breast has brought the raging fire.
Yet even in simple love she uses art:

Tho' weepings are from looser eyes but leaks, Yet oldest lovers scarce would doubt her heart,

So well she weeps, and thus to Goltho speaks: "I might, if I should ask your pardon, sir, Suspect that pity which the noble feel When women fail; but since in this I err

To all my sex, I would to women knecl. "Yet happy were our sex, could they excuse All breach of modesty, as I can mine; Since 'tis from passion which a saint might use, And not appear less worthy of a shrine. "For my dear brother you resemble so

[fell;

Throughout your shape, who late in combate

As you in that an inward vertue show,

By which to me you all the world excel. "All was he, which the good as greatness see, Or love can like! in judgment match'd by none, Unless it fail'd in being kind to me ;

A crime forbid to all since he is gone. "For tho' I send my eyes abroad, in hope

Amongst the streams of men still flowing here, To finde (which is my passion's utmost scope) Some one that does his noble image bear: "Yet still I live recluse, unless it seem A liberty too rude, that I in you His likeness at so high a rate esteem,

As to believe your heart is kinde and true." She casts on Ulfinore a sudden look;

Stares like a mountebank, who had forgot His viol, and the cursed poison took

By dire mistake before his antidote.

Prays Goltho that his friend may straight forbear Her presence; who (she said) resembled so Her noble brother's cruel murderer,

As she must now expire, unless he go! Goltho, still gravely vain, with formal face Bids Ulfinore retire; and does pretend Almost to know her parents, and the place, And even to swear her brother was his friend. But wary Ulfinore (whose beautious truth

Did never but in plainest dress behold) Smiles, and remembers tales, to forward youth In winter nights by country matrons told: Of witches' townes, where seeming beauties dwell, All hair, and black within, maides that can fly ! Whose palaces at night are smoky Hell,

And in their beds their slaughter'd lovers lie. And though, the Sun now setting, he no lights Saw burning blew, nor steam of sulphur smelt, Nor took her two black Meroen maids for sprites, Yet he a secret touch of honour felt. For not the craft of rivalship (though more Than states, wise rivals study interest) Can make him leave his friend, till he restore Some cold discretion to his burning breast.

Though to his fears this cause now serious shows,
Yet smiles he at his solemn loving eye;
For lust in reading beauty solemn grows
As old physitians in anatomie.

"Goltho," (said he) " 'tis easie to discern

That you are grave, and think you should be so ; Since you have bus'ness here of grave concern, And think that you this house and lady know. "You'll stay, and have your sleep with musiek fed, But little think to wake with mandrakes' grones; And by a ghost be to a garden led

At midnight, strew'd with simple lovers' bones:

This, Goltho, is inchantment, and so strange, So subt'ly false, that, whilst I tell it you, I fear the spell will my opinion change, And make me think the pleasant vision true. "Her dire black eyes are like the oxe's eye, Which in the Indian ocean tempest brings: Let's go! before our horses learn to fly,

Ere she shew cloven feet, and they get wings!" But high rebellious love, when counsell'd, soou As sullen as rebuk'd ambition grows; And Goltho would pursue what he should shun, But that his happier fate did interpose : For at the garden gate a summons, loud

Enough to show authority and haste, Brought cares to Dalga's brow, which like a cloud Did soon her shining beauty over-cast. Like thieves surpris'd whilst they divide their prise, Her maids run and return thro' ev'ry room, Still seeming doubtful where their safety lies;

All speaking with their looks, and all are dumb. She, who to dangers could more boldly wake,

With words, swift as those errands which her

heart

Sends out in glances, thus to Goltho spake : "My mother, sir! Alas! you must depart! "She is severe as dying confessors,

As jealous as unable husbands are ; She youth in men like age in maids abhors, And has more spies than any civil warre. "Yet would you but submit to be conceal'd, I have a closet secret as my brest, Which is to men, nor day, no more reveal'd, Than a close swallow in his winter's nest. To this good Goltho did begin to yield; But Ulfinore (who doubts that it may tend To base retreat, unless they quit the field) Does by example govern and defend. And now his eyes even ake with longingness, Ready to break their strings, to get abroad To see this matron, by whose sole access Dalga in all her furious hopes is aw'd. And as he watch'd her civil Mercury, The hopeful page, he saw him entrance give, Not to a matron, still prepar'd to die,

But to a youth wholly design'd to live. He seem'd the heir to prosp'rous parents' toiles, Gay as young kings, that woo in forraign courts; Or youthful victors in their Persian spoiles,

He seem'd, like love and musick, made for sports. But wore his clothing loose, and wildly cast, As princes high with feasting, who to wine Are seldom us'd: show'd warm, and more unbrac't Than ravishers, oppos'd in their designe.

This Ulfinore observ'd, and would not yet,

In civil pity, undeceive his friend; But watch'd the signes of his departing fit, Which quickly did in bashful silence end. To the duke's palace they inquir'd their way; And as they slowly rode, a grave excuse Griev'd Goltho frames, vowing he made this stay For a discov'ry of important use. "If, sir," (said he) "we heedlesly pass by

Great towns, like birds that from the country But to be skar'd, and on to forrests fly, [come Let's be no travail'd fools, but roost at home." "I see" (reply'd his friend)" you nothing lack Of what is painful, curious, and discreet In travaillers, else would you not look back So often to observe this house and street: "Drawing your city mapp with coasters' care; Not onely marking where safe channels run, But where the shelves, and rocks, and dangers are, To teach weak strangers what they ought to shun.

"But, Goltho, fly from lust's experiments!

Whose heat we quench much sooner than as

I AM here arrived at the middle of the third book, which makes an equal half of the poem; and I was now by degrees to present you (as I promised in the preface) the several keys of the main building, which should convey you through such short walks as give an easie view of the whole frame. But it is high time to strike sail, and cast anchor, (though I have run but halfe my course) when at the helme I am threatned with Death; who, though he can visit us but once, seems troublesome; and even in the innocent may beget such a gravity, as diverts the musick of verse. And I beseech thee (if thou art so civill as to be pleased with what is written) not to take ill, that I run not on till ny last gasp. For though I intended in this poem to strip Nature naked, and clothe her again in the perfect shape of Vertue; yet even in so worthy a designe I shall ask leave to desist, when I am interrupted by so great an experiment as dying: and it is an experiment to the most experienced; for no man (though his mortifications may be much greater than mine) can say, he has already dyed.

It may he objected by some, (who look not on verse with the eyes of the ancients, nor with the reverence which it still preserves amongst other nations) that I beget a poem in an unseasonable

draw men from the noble and beautifull arts, to gaze wholly upon them; neither would the conquered continue their wonder till it involve them in sorrow, which is then the minde's incurable disease, when the patient grows so sullen, as not to listen to remedy: and poesie was that harp of David, which removed from Saul the melancholy spirit, that put him in a continual remembrance of the revolution of empire.

I shall not think I instruct military men, by saying, that with poesie, in heroick songs, the wiser ancients prepared their batails; nor would I offend the austerity of such as vex themselves with the manage of civil affairs, by putting them in minde, that whilst the plays of children are punished, the plays of men are but excused under the title of business.

But I will gravely tell thee, (reader) he who writes an heroick poem, leaves an estate entayled, and he gives a greater gift to posterity than to the present age; for a publick benefit is best measured in the number of receivers; and our contemporaries are but few, when reckoned with those who shall succeed.

Nor could I sit idle, and sigh with such as mourn to hear the drum; for if this age be not quiet enough to be taught vertue a pleasant way, the next may be at leisure: nor could I (like men that have civilly slept till they are old in dark cities) think war a novelty for we have all heard, that Alexander walked after the drum from Macedon into India; and I tell thee (reader) he carryed Homer in his pocket; and that after Augustus, by many batails, had changed the government of the world, he and Mecænas often feasted very peaceably with Horace: and that the last wise cardinall (whilst he was sending armies abroad, and preparing against civill invasion) took Virgill and Tasso aside under the Louvre gallery, and at a great expence of time and treasure sent them forth in new ornaments. And, perhaps, if my poem were not so severe a representation of vertue, (undressing Truth even out of those disguises which have been most in fashion throughout the world) it might arrive at fair entertainment, though it make now for a harbour in a storm.

If thou art a malicious reader, thou wilt remember my preface boldly confessed, that a main mo. tive to this undertaking was a desire of fame; and thou maist likewise say, I may very possibly not live to enjoy it. Truly, I have some years ago considered that fame, like time, only gets a reverence by long running; and that, like a river, it is narrowest where it is bred, and broadest afarr off: but this concludes it not unprofitable, for he whose writings divert men from indiscretion and vice, becomes famous, as he is an example to others' endeavours and exemplary writers are wiser than to depend on the gratuities of this world; since the kind looks and praises of the present age, for reclaiming a few, are not mentionable with those solid rewards in Heaven for a long and continual conversion of posterity.

If thou (reader) art one of those, who has been warmed with poetick fire, I reverence thee as my judge; and whilst others tax me with vanity, as if the preface argued my good opinion of the work, I appeal to thy conscience, whether it be more than such a necessary assurance as thou hast made to thy self in like undertakings? For when I ob

ENTERTAINED AT NIGHT BY THE COUNTESS OF
ANGLESEY.

FAIRE as unshaded light, or as the day
In its first birth, when all the year was May;
Sweet as the altar's smoak, or as the new
Unfolded bud, sweld by the early dew;
Smooth as the face of waters first appear'd,
Ere tides began to strive, or winds were heard;
Kind as the willing saints, and calmer farre
Than in their sleeps forgiven hermits are:
You, that are more than our discreter feare [here?
Dares praise, with such full art, what make you
Here, where the Summer is so little seen, [green,
That leaves (her cheapest wealth) scarce reach at
You come, as if the silver planet were
Misled a while from her much injur'd sphere,
And t' ease the travailes of her beames to night,
In this small lanthorn would contract her light.

BEWARE (delighted poets!) when you sing,
To welcome Nature in the early spring,
Your num'rous feet not tread

The banks of Avon; for each flowre
(As it nere knew a Sun or showre)

Hangs there the pensive head.

Each tree, whose thick and spreading growth hath made

Rather a night beneath the boughs than shade,

(Unwilling now to grow)

Looks like the plume a captain weares,
Whose rifled falls are steept i' th' teares
Which from his last rage flow.

The pitious river wept it self away
Long since (alas!) to such a swift decay,
That reach the map, and look

If you a river there can spie:
And for a river your mock'd eye
Will finde a shallow brooke.

Give it Endimion's love, whose glorious eyes
Darken the starry jewels of the skies!
Goe! dive into the southern sea! and when
Th'ast found (to trouble the nice sight of men)
A swelling pearle, and such whose single worth
Boast all the wonders which the seas bring forth,
Give it Endimion's love; whose ev'ry teare
Would more enrich the skilful jeweller.
How I command! how slowly they obey!
The churlish Tartar will not hunt to day:
Nor will that lazy, sallow Indian strive
To climbe the rock, nor that dull Negro dive.
Thus poets, like to kings, (by trust deceiv'd)
Give oftener what is heard of, than receiv'd.

ELEGIE,

ON FRANCIS EARLE OF RUTLAND.

CALL not the winds! nor bid the rivers stay!
For tho' the sighs, the teares, they could repay,
Which injur'd lovers, mourners for the dead,
Captives and saints have breath'd away and shed;
Yet we should want to make our sorrow fit
For such a cause, as now doth silence it.
Rutland! the noble and the just! whose name
Already is, all history, all fame!

[were,

Whom like brave ancestors in battaile lost,
We mention not in pity, but in boast!
How didst thou smile, to see the solemne sport,
Which vexes busie greatness in the court?
T'observe their lawes of faction, place, and time,
Their precepts how, and where, and when to climbe;
Their rules to know, if the sage meaning lies
In the deep breast, i' th' shallow brow, or eyes?
Tho' titles, and thy blood, made thee appeare
(Oft 'gainst thy ease) where these state-rabbins
Yet their philosophy thou knew'st was fit
For thee to pity, more than study it.
Safely thou valu'dst cunning, as 't had been
Wisdome, long since distemper'd into sin:
And knew'st the actions of th' ambitious are
But as the false alarmes in running warre,
Like forlorne scouts (that raise the coyle) they keep
Themselves awake, to hinder others' sleep:
And all they gaine by vex'd expence of breath,
Unquietness, and guilt, is, at their death,
Wonder and mighty noise; whilst things that be
Most deare and pretious to mortalitie,
(Time, and thy self) impatient here of stay,
With a grave silence, seeme to steal away;
Depart from us unheard, and we still mourue
In vaine (though piously) for their returne.
Thy bounties if I name, I'le not admit,
Kings, when they love or wooe, to equall it:
It shew'd like Nature's self, when she doth bring
All she can promise by an early spring;
Or when she pays that promise where she best
Makes summers for mankind, in the rich East.
And as the wise Sun silently imployes
His lib'ral beames, and ripens without noise;
As precious dewes doe undiscover'd fall,
And growth insensibly doth steale on all;
So what he gave, conceal'd in private came,
(As in the dark) from one that had no name;
Like fayries' wealth, not given to restore,
Or if reveal'd, it visited no more.

If these live, and be read, (as who shall dare
Suspect, truth and thy fame immortall are ?)