24 Though Sol'mon with a thousand wives, To get a wise successor strives, But one (and he a fool) survives.

25 Old Rome of children took no care; They with their friends their beds did share, Secure t'adopt a hopeful heir.

26 Love drowsy days and stormy nights Makes; and breaks friendship, whose delights Feed, but not glut our appet.i.tes.

27 Well-chosen friendship, the most n.o.ble Of virtues, all our joys makes double, And into halves divides our trouble.

28 But when th'unlucky knot we tie, Care, av'rice, fear, and jealousy Make friendship languish till it die.

29 The wolf, the lion, and the bear, When they their prey in pieces tear, To quarrel with themselves forbear;

30 Yet tim'rous deer, and harmless sheep, When love into their veins doth creep, That law of Nature cease to keep.

31 Who, then, can blame the am'rous boy, Who, the fair Helen to enjoy, To quench his own, set fire on Troy?

32 Such is the world's prepost'rous fate, Amongst all creatures, mortal hate Love (though immortal) doth create.

33 But love may beasts excuse, for they Their actions not by reason sway, But their brute appet.i.tes obey.

34 But man's that savage beast, whose mind From reason to self-love declined, Delights to prey upon his kind.

[1] 'Whom he bears': his father and son.

ON MR ABRAHAM COWLEY, HIS DEATH, AND BURIAL AMONGST THE ANCIENT POETS.

Old Chaucer, like the morning star, To us discovers day from far; His light those mists and clouds dissolved, Which our dark nation long involved: But he descending to the shades, Darkness again the age invades.

Next (like Aurora) Spenser rose, 7 Whose purple blush the day foreshows; The other three with his own fires Phoebus, the poet's G.o.d, inspires; By Shakespeare's, Jonson's, Fletcher's lines, Our stage's l.u.s.tre Rome's outshines: These poets near our princes sleep, And in one grave their mansion keep.

They lived to see so many days, Till time had blasted all their bays: But cursed be the fatal hour, That pluck'd the fairest, sweetest flower That in the Muses' garden grew, And amongst wither'd laurels threw! 20 Time, which made them their fame outlive, To Cowley scarce did ripeness give.

Old mother Wit, and Nature, gave Shakespeare and Fletcher all they have; In Spenser, and in Jonson, Art Of slower Nature got the start; But both in him so equal are, None knows which bears the happiest share; To him no author was unknown, Yet what he wrote was all his own; 30 He melted not the ancient gold, Nor, with Ben Jonson, did make bold To plunder all the Roman stores Of poets, and of orators: Horace's wit, and Virgil's state, He did not steal, but emulate!

And when he would like them appear, Their garb, but not their clothes, did wear; He not from Rome alone, but Greece, Like Jason, brought the golden fleece; 40 To him that language (though to none Of th'others) as his own was known.

On a stiff gale (as Flaccus[1] sings) The Theban swan extends his wings, When through th'ethereal clouds he flies; To the same pitch our swan doth rise; Old Pindar's flights by him are reach'd, When on that gale his wings are stretch'd; His fancy and his judgment such, Each to the others seem'd too much, 50 His severe judgment (giving law) His modest fancy kept in awe: As rigid husbands jealous are, When they believe their wives too fair.

His English streams so pure did flow As all that saw and tasted know; But for his Latin vein, so clear, Strong,[2] full, and high it doth appear, That were immortal Virgil here, Him, for his judge, he would not fear; 60 Of that great portraiture so true A copy pencil never drew.

My Muse her song had ended here, But both their Genii straight appear, Joy and amazement her did strike: Two twins she never saw so like.

'Twas taught by wise Pythagoras, One soul might through more bodies pa.s.s.

Seeing such transmigration there, She thought it not a fable here. 70 Such a resemblance of all parts, Life, death, age, fortune, nature, arts; Then lights her torch at theirs, to tell, And show the world this parallel: Fix'd and contemplative their looks, Still turning over Nature's books; Their works chaste, moral and divine, Where profit and delight combine; They, gilding dirt, in n.o.ble verse Rustic philosophy rehea.r.s.e. 80 When heroes, G.o.ds, or G.o.d-like kings They praise, on their exalted wings To the celestial orbs they climb, And with th'harmonious spheres keep time.

Nor did their actions fall behind Their words, but with like candour sinned; Each drew fair characters, yet none Of these they feign'd, excels their own.

Both by two gen'rous princes loved, Who knew, and judged what they approved; 90 Yet having each the same desire, Both from the busy throng retire.

Their bodies, to their minds resign'd, Cared not to propagate their kind: Yet though both fell before their hour, Time on their offspring hath no power, Nor fire nor fate their bays shall blast, Nor death's dark veil their day o'ercast.

[1] 'Flaccus Horace': his Pindarics.

[2] 'Strong': his last works.

A SPEECH AGAINST PEACE AT THE CLOSE COMMITTEE.

To the tune of, '_I went from England_.'

1 But will you now to peace incline, And languish in the main design, And leave us in the lurch?

I would not monarchy destroy, But as the only way t'enjoy The ruin of the church.

2 Is not the Bishops' bill denied, And we still threaten'd to be tried?

You see the King embraces Those counsels he approved before: Nor doth he promise, which is more, That we shall have their places.

3 Did I for this bring in the Scot?

(For 'tis no secret now) the plot Was Saye's and mine together; Did I for this return again, And spend a winter there in vain, Once more t'invite them hither?

4 Though more our money than our cause Their brotherly a.s.sistance draws, My labour was not lost.

At my return I brought you thence Necessity, their strong pretence, And these shall quit the cost.

5 Did I for this my country bring To help their knight against their King, And raise the first sedition?

Though I the business did decline, Yet I contrived the whole design, And sent them their pet.i.tion.

6 So many nights spent in the City In that invisible Committee, The wheel that governs all; From thence the change in church and state, And all the mischief bears the date From Haberdashers' Hall.

7 Did we force Ireland to despair, Upon the King to cast the war, To make the world abhor him, Because the rebels used his name?

Though we ourselves can do the same, While both alike were for him.

8 Then the same fire we kindled here With what was given to quench it there, And wisely lost that nation: To do as crafty beggars use, To maim themselves, thereby t'abuse The simple man's compa.s.sion.

9 Have I so often pa.s.s'd between Windsor and Westminster, unseen, And did myself divide: To keep his Excellence in awe, And give the Parliament the law?

For they knew none beside.

10 Did I for this take pains to teach Our zealous ignorants to preach, And did their lungs inspire; Gave them their texts, show'd them their parts, And taught them all their little arts, To fling abroad the fire?

11 Sometimes to beg, sometimes to threaten, And say the Cavaliers are beaten, To stroke the people's ears; Then straight, when victory grows cheap, And will no more advance the heap, To raise the price of fears.

12 And now the books, and now the bells, And now our act, the preacher tells, To edify the people; All our divinity is news, And we have made of equal use The pulpit and the steeple.

13 And shall we kindle all this flame Only to put it out again, And must we now give o'er, And only end where we begun?

In vain this mischief we have done, If we can do no more.

14 If men in peace can have their right, Where's the necessity to fight, That breaks both law and oath?

They'll say they fight not for the cause, Nor to defend the King and laws, But us against them both.

15 Either the cause at first was ill, Or, being good, it is so still; And thence they will infer, That either now or at the first They were deceived; or, which is worst, That we ourselves may err.

16 But plague and famine will come in, For they and we are near of kin, And cannot go asunder: But while the wicked starve, indeed The saints have ready at their need G.o.d's providence, and plunder.

17 Princes we are if we prevail, And gallant villains if we fail.

When to our fame 'tis told, It will not be our least of praise, Since a new state we could not raise, To have destroy'd the old.

18 Then let us stay and fight, and vote, Till London is not worth a groat; Oh! 'tis a patient beast!