« ZurückWeiter »
Of freemen would turn us slaves;
With rebellion's wicked name?
Then on gibbets strai use hing 'em.
In these times so passing holy,
They their substance will not give,
Libertines that we may live.
Hold those subjects too, too wanton,
Under an old king dare canton.
Neglect they do our circ'lar tables,
Scorn our acts and laws as fables ; THRICE, royal sir, here I do you beseech,
Of our battles talk but meekly, Who art a lion, to hear a lion's speech.
With four sermons pleas'd are weekly ; A miracle; for, since the days of Æsop,
Swear king Charles is neither papist, No lion till these times his voice dar'd raise up
Arminian, Lutheran, or atheist. To such a majesty: then, king of men,
But that in his chamber-pray'rs, The king of beasts speaks to thee from his den;
Which are pour'd ’midst sighs and tears, Who, though he now enclosed be in plaster,
To avert God's fearful wrath,
Threat'ning us with blood and death;
This king too holy is and good.
They avouch we'll weep and groan
When hundred kings we serve for one;
That each shire but blood affords,
To serve th' ambition of young lords ;
Whose debts ere now had been redoubled, That horse's hair between her thighs would grow.
If the state had not been troubled.
They swear that for religion's sake
Sprang from the ill-sped A B Cs, “Ah! mother, you have ridden on the mane!"
For servants that it is not well
That that devotion is but slight,
Doth force men first to swear, then fight.
That monies should men's daughters marry,
At last who will spatch all away.
And, as times turn worse and worse,
Catechise us by the purse.
That debts are paid with bold stern looks;
That Justice dumb and sullen frowns,
To see in croslets hang'd her gowns;
That preachers' ordinary theme Who 'plains he came to Hell without a cause. Is 'gainst monarchy to declaim.
That, since leagues we'gan to swear,
II. HEARING. Vice did ne'er so black appear';
From jests prophane and flattering tongues,
From baudy tales and beastly songs,
From after-supper suits, that fear
A parliament or council's ear;
From Spanish treaties, that may wound They tell by devils, and some sad chance,
The country's peace, the gospel's sound; That that detested league of France,
From Job's false friends, that would entice Which cost so many thousand lives,
My sovereign from Heaven's paradise; And two kings, by religious knives,
From prophets such as Achab's were, Is amongst us, though few descry;
Whose flatterings sooth my sovereign's ear; Though they speak truth, yet say they lie.
His frowns more than his Maker's fearing,
Bless my sovereign and his hearing.
From all fruit that is forbidden,
Such for which old Eve was chidden; Ropes make of the rainy bow,
From bread of labours, sweat and toil; That the foxes keep not sheep,
From the poor widow's meal and oil; That men waking do not sleep,
From blood of innocents oft wrangled That all's not gold doth gold appear
From their estates, and from that's strangled ; Believe him not, although he swear.
From the candid poison'd baits
Of Jesuits, and their deceits; To such syrens stop your ear,
Italian sallads, Romish drugs, Their societies forbear.
The milk of Babel's proud whore's Jugs; Ye may be tossed like a wave,
From wine that can destroy the brain; Verity may you deceive;
And from the dangerous figs of Spain; Just fools they may make of you ;
At all banquets, and all feasting,
Bless my sovereign and his tasting.
From prick of conscience, such a sting
As slays the soul, Heav'n bless the king ; Poor men possess their own again;
From such a bribe as may withdraw
His thoughts from equity or law;
From such a smooth and beardless chin
As may provoke or tempt to sin;
From such a hand, whose moist palm may And charity amongst us stay ;
My sovereign lead out of the way; Peace and plenty should us nourish,
From things polluted and unclean, True religion ’mongst us flourish?
From all things beastly and obscene ; When you find these lying fellows,
From that may set his soul a reeling,
Bless my sovereiga and his feeling.
WHERB myrrh and frankincense are thrown,
Let no such scent his nostrils stain;
From smells that poison can the brain
Heav'ns still preserve him. Next I crave,
Thou wilt be pleas'd, great God! to save
My sov’reign from a Ganymede,
Whose whorish breath hath pow'r to lead
His excellence which way it list
O let such lips be never kiss'd! Whose skilless and unstayed hand
From a breath so far excelling,
Bless my sovereign and his smelling.
And now, just God, I humbly pray,
That thou wilt take the slime away,
That keeps my sovereign's eyes from seeing
Who whilst he liv'd spoke evil of all;
Only of God the arrant Scot As well of men as of his hounds.
Nought said, but that he knew him not.
ON A DRUNKARD.
Alas! ye look but up the hill on me,
Which shows to you a fair and smooth ascent ; Nor amaranths por roses do bequeath
The precipice behind ye cannot see, Unto this hearse, but tamarists and wine;
On which high fortunes are too pronely bent : Forthat same thirst, though dead, yet doth him pine, If there I slip, what former joy or bliss Which made him so carouse while he drew breath. Can beal the bruise of such a fall as this?
ON ONE NÁMED MARGARET.
Who love enjoys, and placed hath his mind
Where fairer virtues fairest beauties grace; All those rich gems the Indies both send forth;
Then in himself such store of worth doth fiad, Who, had she liv'd when good was lov'd of men,
That he deserves to find so good a place; Had made the Graces four, the Muses ten; And forc'd those happy times her days that claim'd, whose fears condemn his own, doubt others' worth?
To chilling fears how can he be set forth From ber, to be the Age of Pearl still nam'd; She was the richest jewel of her kind, Grac'd with more lustre than she left behind, Desire, as flames of zeal, fear, horrours meets, All goodness, virtue, bounty; and could cheer They rise who fall of falling never prov'd. The saddest minds; now Nature knowing here Who is so dainty, satiate with sweets, How things but shown, then hidden, are lov'd best, To murmur when the banquet is remov'd ? This Margaret 'shrin'd in this marble chest. The fairest hopes time in the bud destroys,
When sweet are memories of ruin'd joys.
ON A YOUNG LADY.
It is no hill, but Heaven where you remain; This beauty fair, which death in dust did turn,
And whom desert advanced hath so high And clos'd so soon within a coffin sad,
To reach the guerdon of his burning pain, Did pass like lightning, like the thunder burn,
Must not repine to fall, and falling die : So little life, so much of worth it had.
His hopes are crown'd. What years of tedious breath Heav'ns, but toshow their might, here made it shine; Can them compare with such a happy death? And, when admir'd, then in the world's disdain, O tears! O grief! did call it back again, Lest Earth should vaunt she kept what was divine.
UPON THE DEATH OF JOHN EARL OF LAUDERWhat can we hope for more, what more enjoy,
Of those rare worthies who adorn'd our north,
And shone like constellations, thou alone She is not dead, she lives where she did love, Remainedst last, great Maitland! charg'd with worth, Her memory on Earth, her soul above.
Second, in virtue's theatre, to none.
But finding all eccentric in our times,
Most debonnaire, in courtesy supreme; Religion into superstition turnd,
Lord of the mean, and honour'd by the great; Justice silenc'd, exiled, or in-uru'd;
Ne'er dash'd by fortune, nor cast down by fate; Truth, faith, and charity reputed crimes;
To present and to after times a theme. The young men destinate by sword to fall,
Aithen, thy tears pour on this silent grave, And trophies of their country's spoils to rear;
And drop them in thy alabaster cave, Strange laws the ag'd and prudent to appal,
And Niobe's imagery here become; And forc'd sad yokes of tyranny to bear;
And when thou hast distilled here a tomb, And for no great nor virtuous minds a room
Enchase in it thy pearls, and let it bear, Disdaining life, thou shroud'st into thy tomb.
“ Aithen's best gem and honour shrin'd lies bere." When misdevotion every where shall take place, And lofty orators, in thund'ring terms,
Pame, register of time, Shall move you, people, to arise in arms,
Write in thy scroll, that I, And churches hallow'd policy deface;
Of wisdom lover, and sweet poesy, When you shall but one general sepulchre Was cropped in my prime; (As Arerioes did one general soul)
And ripe in worth, though green in years, did die. On high, on low, on good, on bad confer, And your dull predecessors rites controulAh! spare this monument, great guests! it keeps Justice, Truth, Peace and Hospitality, Three great justiciars, whom true worth did raise; Friendship, and Love being resolved to die, The Muses' darlings, whose loss Phoebus weeps; In these lewd times, have chosen here to have Best men's delight, the glory of their days.
With just, true, pious
their grare; More we would say, but fear, and stand in awe
Them cherished he so much, so much did grace, To turn idolaters, and break your law.
That they on Earth would chuse none other place.
Do not repine, bless'd soul, that humble wits
Whex Death, to deck his trophies, stopt thy breath, No high-straju'd Muse our times and sorrows fits;
Rare ornament and glory of these parts! And we do sigh, not sing, to crown thy hearse.
All with moist eyes might say, and ruthful hearts, The wisest prince e'er manag'd Britain's state
That things immortal vassal'd were to Death. Did not disdain, in numbers clear and brave, What good in parts on many shar'd we see, The virtues of thy sire to celebrate,
From Nature, gracious Heaven, or Fortune flow; And fix a rich memorial on his grave.
To make a master-piece of worth below, Thou didst deserve no less; and here in jet, Heaven, Nature, Fortune gave in gross to thee. Gold, touch, brass, porphyry, or Parian stone, That by a prince's hand no lines are set
In honour, bounty, rich-in valour, wit, for thee-the cause is, now this land hath none.
In courtesy ; born of an ancient race;
With bays in war, with olives crown'd in peace;
Match'd great with offspring for great actions fit.
In this new age, like fate thou fixed staid,
As erst this kingdom given was to thy sire,
The prince his daughter trusted to thy care, AITHEN, thy pearly coronet let fall;
And well the credit of a gem so rare Clad ju sad robes, upon thy temples set
Thy loyalty and merit did require. The weeping cypress, or the sable jet.
Years cannot wrong thy worth, that now appears Mourn this thy nurseling's loss, a loss which all By others set as diamonds among pearls : Apollo's choir bemoans, which many years
A queen's dear foster, father to three earls, Cannot repair, nor influence of spheres.
Enough on Earth to triumph are o'er years.
Life a sea voyage is, death is the haven,
For a frail life, which bere thou didst enjoy,
OBSEQUIES OF THE BLESSED PRINCE JAMES
He fram'd to mildness thy half-barbarous swains;
KING OF GREAT BRITAIN.
And bow before thy lanrel's anadem;
Virtue is but a name abstractly trimm'd,
Thou whom free-willor chance hath hither brought, Justice weeps out her eyes, now truly blind;
And read'st, here lies a branch of Maitland's stem, To Niobes the remnant virtues turn; Fame but to blaze thy glories stays behind
And Seyton's offspring; know that either name l'th' world, which late was golden by thy breath,
Desigos all worth yet reach'd by human thought. Is iron turu’d, and horrid by thy death.
Tombs elsewhere use life to their guests to give,
These ashes can frail monuments make live.
ANOTHER ON THE SAME SUBJECT.
Like to the garden's eye, the flow'r of flow'rs, One it enshrineth eprung of ancient stem,
With purple pomp that dazzle doth the sight; And (if that blood nobility can make)
Or, as among the lesser gems of night, From which some kings have not disdain'd to take The usher of the planet of the hours; Their prond descent, a rare and matchless gem.
Sweet maid, thou shinedst on this world of ours,
Of all perfections having trac'd the height; A beauty here it holds by full assurance,
Thine outward frame was fair, fair inward pow'rs, Than which no blooming rose was more refin'd,
A sapphire lanthorn, and an incense light. Nor morning's blush more radiant ever shin'd ;
Hence the enamour'd Heaven, as too, too good Ah! too, too like to morn and rose at last !
On Earth's all-thorny soil long to abide, It holds her who in wit's ascendant far
Transplanted to their fields so rare a bud, Did years and sex transcend; to whom the Heaven Where from thy Sun no cloud thee now can hide. More virtue than to all this age had given ; Earth moan'd her loss, and wish'd she had the grace For virtue meteor turn'd, when she a star.
Not to have known, or known thee longer space. Fair mirth, sweet conversation, modesty, And what those kings of numbers did conceive By Muses nine, and Graces more than three,
Hard laws of mortal life! Lie clos'd within the compass of this grave.
To which made thralls we come without consent,
Like tapers, lighted to be early spent, Thus death all earthly glories doth confound, Our griefs are always rife, Lo! how much worth a little dust doth bound. When joys but halting march, and swiftly fly,
Like shadows in ihe eye:
The shadow do h not yield unto the Sun, “ Far from these banks exiled be all joys,
Bat joys and life do waste e'en 'when begin.
Lie all those graces a good wife could have:
But on this marble they shall not be read, And read thy hyacinth amidst our groans ;
For then the living envy would the dead. Plain, Echo, thy Narcissus from our rocks. * Lost have our meals their beauty, hills their gems,
The daughter of a king of princely parts, Our brooks their crystal, groves their pleasant shade:
In beauty eminent, in virtues chief; The fairest flow'r of all our anadems
Loadsiar of love, and loadstone of all hearts, Death cropped hath; the Lesbia chaste is dead !!!
Her friends' and husband's only joy, now grief; Thus sigh’d the Tyne, then shrunk beneath his urn;
Is here pent up within a marble frame, And meads, brooks, rivers, hills, about did mourn.
Whose parallel no times, no climates claim.
Verses frail records are to keep a name, The pow'r of virgins, in her prime of years, Or raise from dust men to a life of fame; By ruthless destinies is ta’en away,
The sport and spoil of ignorance; but far And rap'd from Earth, poor Earth! before this day | More frail the frames of touch and marble are, Which ne'er was rightly nam'd a vale of tears. Which envy, avarice, time, ere long confound,
Or misdevotion equals with the ground, Beauty to Heaven is fled, sweet modesty
Virtue alone doth last, frees man from death; No more appears; she whose harinonious sounds Did ravish sense, and charm mind's deepest wounds, And, though despis’d, and scorned here bencath,
Stands grav’n in angels' diamantine rolls, Embalm’d with many a tear now low doth lie!
And blazed in the courts above the poles. Fair hopes now vanish'd arc. She would have grac'u Thou wast fair virtue's temple, they did dwell, A prince's marriage-bed! but, lo! in Heaven And live ador'd in thee; nought did excel, Elest paramours to her were to be given !
But what thou either didst possess or love, She liv'd an angel, now is with thein plac'd. The Graces' darling, and the maids of Jore;