ON MY LORD CROFT'S AND MY JOURNEY INTO POLAND,

FROM WHENCE WE BROUGHT L10,000 FOR HIS MAJESTY, BY THE DECIMATION OF HIS SCOTTISH SUBJECTS THERE.

1 Toll, toll, Gentle bell, for the soul Of the pure ones in Pole, Which are damn'd in our scroll.

2 Who having felt a touch Of Cockram's greedy clutch, Which though it was not much, Yet their stubbornness was such,

3 That when we did arrive, 'Gainst the stream we did strive; They would neither lead nor drive;

4 Nor lend An ear to a friend, Nor an answer would send To our letter so well penn'd;

5 Nor assist our affairs With their moneys nor their wares, As their answer now declares, But only with their prayers.

6 Thus they did persist Did and said what they list, 'Till the Diet was dismiss'd; But then our breech they kiss'd.

7 For when It was moved there and then, They should pay one in ten, The Diet said, Amen.

8 And because they are both To discover the troth, They must give word and oath, Though they will forfeit both.

9 Thus the constitution Condemns them every one, From the father to the son.

10 But John (Our friend) Mollesson Thought us to have outgone With a quaint invention.

11 Like the prophets of yore, He complain'd long before, Of the mischiefs in store, Ay, and thrice as much more;

12 And with that wicked lie, A letter they came by From our King's majesty.

13 But fate Brought the letter too late, 'Twas of too old a date To relieve their damn'd state.

14 The letter's to be seen, With seal of wax so green, At Dantzig, where 't has been Turn'd into good Latin.

15 But he that gave the hint, This letter for to print, Must also pay his stint.

16 That trick, Had it come in the nick, Had touch'd us to the quick; But the messenger fell sick.

17 Had it later been wrote, And sooner been brought, They had got what they sought; But now it serves for nought.

18 On Sandys they ran aground, And our return was crown'd With full ten thousand pound.



ON MR THOMAS KILLIGREW'S RETURN FROM VENICE, AND MR WILLIAM MURREY'S FROM SCOTLAND.

1 Our resident Tom, From Venice is come, And hath left the statesman behind him; Talks at the same pitch, Is as wise, is as rich; And just where you left him, you find him.

2 But who says he was not A man of much plot, May repent that false accusation; Having plotted and penn'd Six plays, to attend The farce of his negotiation.

3 Before you were told How Satan[1] the old Came here with a beard to his middle; Though he changed face and name, Old Will was the same, At the noise of a can and a fiddle.

4 These statesmen, you believe, Send straight for the shrieve, For he is one too, or would be; But he drinks no wine, Which is a shrewd sign That all's not so well as it should be.

5 These three, when they drink, How little do they think Of banishment, debts, or dying? Not old with their years, Nor cold with their fears; But their angry stars still defying.

6 Mirth makes them not mad, Nor sobriety sad; But of that they are seldom in danger; At Paris, at Rome, At the Hague, they're at home; The good fellow is no where a stranger.

[1] 'Satan': Mr. W. Murrey.



TO SIR JOHN MENNIS,

BEING INVITED FROM CALAIS TO BOULOGNE, TO EAT A PIG.

1 All on a weeping Monday, With a fat vulgarian sloven, Little admiral John To Boulogne is gone, Whom I think they call old Loven.

2 Hadst thou not thy fill of carting,[1] Will Aubrey, Count of Oxon, When nose lay in breech, And breech made a speech, So often cried, A pox on?

3 A knight by land and water Esteem'd at such a high rate, When 'tis told in Kent, In a cart that he went, They'll say now, Hang him, pirate.

4 Thou might'st have ta'en example From what thou read'st in story; Being as worthy to sit On an ambling tit As thy predecessor Dory.

5 But, oh, the roof of linen, Intended for a shelter! But the rain made an ass Of tilt and canvas, And the snow, which you know is a melter.

6 But with thee to inveigle That tender stripling Astcot, Who was soak'd to the skin, Through drugget so thin, Having neither coat nor waistcoat.

7 He being proudly mounted, Clad in cloak of Plymouth, Defied cart so base, For thief without grace, That goes to make a wry mouth.

8 Nor did he like the omen, For fear it might be his doom One day for to sing, With gullet in string, A hymn of Robert Wisdom.

9 But what was all this business? For sure it was important; For who rides i' th'wet When affairs are not great, The neighbours make but a sport on't.

10 To a goodly fat sow's baby, O John! thou hadst a malice; The old driver of swine That day sure was thine, Or thou hadst not quitted Calais.

[1] 'Fill of carting': we three riding in a cart from Dunkirk to Calais, with a fat Dutch woman.



NATURA NATURATA.

1 What gives us that fantastic fit, That all our judgment and our wit To vulgar custom we submit?

2 Treason, theft, murder, and all the rest Of that foul legion we so detest, Are in their proper names express'd.

3 Why is it then thought sin or shame Those necessary parts to name, From whence we went, and whence we came?

4 Nature, whate'er she wants, requires; With love inflaming our desires, Finds engines fit to quench those fires.

5 Death she abhors; yet when men die We are present; but no stander by Looks on when we that loss supply.

6 Forbidden wares sell twice as dear; Even sack, prohibited last year, A most abominable rate did bear.

7 'Tis plain our eyes and ears are nice, Only to raise, by that device, Of those commodities the price.

8 Thus reason's shadows us betray, By tropes and figures led astray, From Nature, both her guide and way.



SARPEDON'S SPEECH TO GLAUCUS, IN THE TWELFTH BOOK OF HOMER.

Thus to Glaucus spake Divine Sarpedon, since he did not find Others, as great in place, as great in mind:— Above the rest why is our pomp, our power? Our flocks, our herds, and our possessions more? Why all the tributes land and sea affords Heap'd in great chargers, load our sumptuous boards? Our cheerful guests carouse the sparkling tears Of the rich grape, while music charms their ears? Why, as we pass, do those on Xanthus' shore, 10 As gods behold us, and as gods adore? But that, as well in danger as degree, We stand the first; that when our Licians see Our brave examples, they admiring say, Behold our gallant leaders! These are they Deserve the greatness, and unenvied stand, Since what they act transcends what they command. Could the declining of this fate (O friend!) Our date to immortality extend? Or if death sought not them who seek not death, 20 Would I advance? or should my vainer breath With such a glorious folly thee inspire? But since with Fortune Nature doth conspire, Since age, disease, or some less noble end, Though not less certain, does our days attend; Since 'tis decreed, and to this period lead A thousand ways, the noblest path we'll tread, And bravely on, till they, or we, or all, A common sacrifice to honour fall.



FRIENDSHIP AND SINGLE LIFE, AGAINST LOVE AND MARRIAGE.

1 Love! in what poison is thy dart Dipp'd, when it makes a bleeding heart? None know but they who feel the smart.

2 It is not thou, but we are blind, And our corporeal eyes (we find) Dazzle the optics of our mind.

3 Love to our citadel resorts; Through those deceitful sally-ports, Our sentinels betrays our forts.

4 What subtle witchcraft man constrains, To change his pleasure into pains, And all his freedom into chains?

5 May not a prison, or a grave, Like wedlock, honour's title have That word makes freeborn man a slave.

6 How happy he that loves not, lives! Him neither hope nor fear deceives, To Fortune who no hostage gives.

7 How unconcern'd in things to come! If here uneasy, finds at Rome, At Paris, or Madrid, his home.

8 Secure from low and private ends, His life, his zeal, his wealth attends His prince, his country, and his friends.

9 Danger and honour are his joy; But a fond wife, or wanton boy, May all those gen'rous thoughts destroy.

10 Then he lays by the public care; Thinks of providing for an heir; Learns how to get, and how to spare.

11 Nor fire, nor foe, nor fate, nor night, The Trojan hero did affright, Who bravely twice renew'd the fight.

12 Though still his foes in number grew, Thicker their darts and arrows flew, Yet, left alone, no fear he knew.

13 But Death in all her forms appears, From every thing he sees and hears, For whom he leads, and whom he bears.[1]

14 Love, making all things else his foes, Like a fierce torrent, overflows Whatever doth his course oppose.

15 This was the cause, the poets sung, Thy mother from the sea was sprung; But they were mad to make thee young.

16 Her father, not her son, art thou: From our desires our actions grow; And from the cause th'effect must flow.

17 Love is as old as place or time; 'Twas he the fatal tree did climb, Grandsire of father Adam's crime.

18 Well may'st thou keep this world in awe; Religion, wisdom, honour, law, The tyrant in his triumph draw.

19 'Tis he commands the powers above; Phoebus resigns his darts, and Jove His thunder to the god of Love.

20 To him doth his feign'd mother yield; Nor Mars (her champion's) flaming shield Guards him, when Cupid takes the field.

21 He clips Hope's wings, whose airy bliss Much higher than fruition is, But less than nothing if it miss.

22 When matches Love alone projects, The cause transcending the effects, That wild fire's quench'd in cold neglects;

23 Whilst those conjunctions prove the best, Where Love's of blindness dispossess'd By perspectives of interest.

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 appetites.

27 Well-chosen friendship, the most noble 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 appetites 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 god, inspires; By Shakespeare's, Jonson's, Fletcher's lines, Our stage's lustre 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 pass. 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 noble verse Rustic philosophy rehearse. 80 When heroes, gods, or god-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 assistance 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 petition.

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 compassion.

9 Have I so often pass'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 God'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! When we have gall'd and tired the mule, And can no longer have the rule, We'll have the spoil at least.



TO THE FIVE MEMBERS OF THE HONOURABLE HOUSE OF COMMONS, THE HUMBLE PETITION OF THE POETS.

After so many concurring petitions From all ages and sexes, and all conditions, We come in the rear to present our follies To Pym, Stroud, Haslerig, Hampden, and Hollis. Though set form of prayer be an abomination, Set forms of petitions find great approbation; Therefore, as others from th'bottom of their souls, So we from the depth and bottom of our bowels, According unto the bless'd form you have taught us, We thank you first for the ills you have brought us: 10 For the good we receive we thank him that gave it, And you for the confidence only to crave it. Next in course, we complain of the great violation Of privilege (like the rest of our nation), But 'tis none of yours of which we have spoken, Which never had being until they were broken; But ours is a privilege ancient and native, Hangs not on an ord'nance, or power legislative. And, first, 'tis to speak whatever we please, Without fear of a prison or pursuivants' fees. 20 Next, that we only may lie by authority; But in that also you have got the priority. Next, an old custom, our fathers did name it Poetical license, and always did claim it. By this we have power to change age into youth, Turn nonsense to sense, and falsehood to truth; In brief, to make good whatsoever is faulty; This art some poet, or the devil, has taught ye: And this our property you have invaded, And a privilege of both Houses have made it. 30 But that trust above all in poets reposed, That kings by them only are made and deposed, This though you cannot do, yet you are willing: But when we undertake deposing or killing, They're tyrants and monsters; and yet then the poet Takes full revenge on the villains that do it: And when we resume a sceptre or crown, We are modest, and seek not to make it our own. But is't not presumption to write verses to you, Who make better poems by far of the two? 40 For all those pretty knacks you compose, Alas! what are they but poems in prose? And between those and ours there's no difference, But that yours want the rhyme, the wit, and the sense: But for lying (the most noble part of a poet) You have it abundantly, and yourselves know it; And though you are modest and seem to abhor it, 'T has done you good service, and thank Hell for it: Although the old maxim remains still in force, That a sanctified cause must have a sanctified course, 50 If poverty be a part of our trade, So far the whole kingdom poets you have made, Nay, even so far as undoing will do it, You have made King Charles himself a poet: But provoke not his Muse, for all the world knows, Already you have had too much of his prose.



A WESTERN WONDER.

1 Do you not know, not a fortnight ago, How they bragg'd of a Western Wonder? When a hundred and ten slew five thousand men, With the help of lightning and thunder?

2 There Hopton was slain, again and again, Or else my author did lie; With a new thanksgiving, for the dead who are living, To God, and his servant Chidleigh.

3 But now on which side was the miracle tried? I hope we at last are even; For Sir Ralph and his knaves are risen from their graves, To cudgel the clowns of Devon.

4 And there Stamford came, for his honour was lame Of the gout three months together; But it proved, when they fought, but a running gout, For his heels were lighter than ever.

5 For now he outruns his arms and his guns, And leaves all his money behind him; But they follow after; unless he take water, At Plymouth again they will find him.

6 What Reading hath cost, and Stamford hath lost, Goes deep in the sequestrations; These wounds will not heal, with your new great seal, Nor Jephson's declarations.

7 Now, Peters and Case, in your prayer and grace, Remember the new thanksgiving; Isaac and his wife, now dig for your life, Or shortly you'll dig for your living.



A SECOND WESTERN WONDER.

1 You heard of that wonder, of the lightning and thunder, Which made the lie so much the louder: Now list to another, that miracle's brother, Which was done with a firkin of powder.

2 Oh, what a damp it struck through the camp! But as for honest Sir Ralph, It blew him to the Vies without beard or eyes, But at least three heads and a half.

3 When out came the book, which the newsmonger took, From the preaching lady's letter, Where in the first place, stood the conqueror's face, Which made it show much the better.

4 But now, without lying, you may paint him flying, At Bristol they say you may find him, Great William the Con, so fast did he run, That he left half his name behind him.

5 And now came the post, save all that was lost, But, alas! we are past deceiving By a trick so stale, or else such a tale Might amount to a new thanksgiving.

6 This made Mr. Case, with a pitiful face, In the pulpit to fall a weeping, Though his mouth utter'd lies, truth fell from his eyes, Which kept the Lord Mayor from sleeping.

7 Now shut up shops, and spend your last drops, For the laws, not your cause, you that loathe 'em, Lest Essex should start, and play the second part Of worshipful Sir John Hotham.



A SONG.

1 Morpheus! the humble god, that dwells In cottages and smoky cells, Hates gilded roofs and beds of down; And though he fears no prince's frown, Flies from the circle of a crown:

2 Come, I say, thou powerful god, And thy leaden charming rod, Dipp'd in the Lethean lake, O'er his wakeful temples shake, Lest he should sleep, and never wake.

3 Nature, (alas!) why art thou so Obliged to thy greatest foe? Sleep that is thy best repast, Yet of death it bears a taste, And both are the same thing at last.



ON MR JOHN FLETCHER'S WORKS.

So shall we joy, when all whom beasts and worms Have turn'd to their own substances and forms: Whom earth to earth, or fire hath changed to fire, We shall behold more than at first entire; As now we do to see all thine thy own In this my Muse's resurrection, Whose scatter'd parts from thy own race more wounds Hath suffer'd than Actaeon from his hounds; Which first their brains, and then their belly fed, And from their excrements new poets bred. 10 But now thy Muse enraged, from her urn, Like ghosts of murder'd bodies, does return T' accuse the murderers, to right the stage, And undeceive the long-abused age, Which casts thy praise on them, to whom thy wit Gives not more gold than they give dross to it; Who not content, like felons, to purloin, Add treason to it, and debase the coin. But whither am I stray'd? I need not raise Trophies to thee from other men's dispraise; 20 Nor is thy fame on lesser ruins built, Nor needs thy juster title the foul guilt Of eastern kings, who, to secure their reign, Must have their brothers, sons, and kindred slain. Then was wit's empire at the fatal height, When labouring and sinking with its weight, From thence a thousand lesser poets sprung, Like petty princes from the fall of Rome; When Jonson, Shakespeare, and thyself, did sit, And sway'd in the triumvirate of wit. 30 Yet what from Jonson's oil and sweat did flow, Or what more easy Nature did bestow On Shakespeare's gentler Muse, in thee full grown Their graces both appear, yet so that none Can say, Here nature ends, and art begins; But mix'd like th'elements, and born like twins, So interwove, so like, so much the same, None this mere nature, that mere art can name: 'Twas this the ancients meant; nature and skill Are the two tops of their Parnassus' hill. 40



TO SIR RICHARD FANSHAW, UPON HIS TRANSLATION OF 'PASTOR FIDO.'

Such is our pride, our folly, or our fate, That few but such as cannot write, translate. But what in them is want of art or voice, In thee is either modesty or choice. While this great piece, restored by thee, doth stand Free from the blemish of an artless hand, Secure of fame, thou justly dost esteem Less honour to create than to redeem. Nor ought a genius less than his that writ 9 Attempt translation; for transplanted wit All the defects of air and soil doth share, And colder brains like colder climates are: In vain they toil, since nothing can beget A vital spirit but a vital heat. That servile path thou nobly dost decline Of tracing word by word, and line by line. Those are the labour'd births of slavish brains, Not the effect of poetry, but pains; Cheap vulgar arts, whose narrowness affords No flight for thoughts, but poorly sticks at words. 20 A new and nobler way thou dost pursue To make translations and translators too. They but preserve the ashes, thou the flame, True to his sense, but truer to his fame: Fording his current, where thou find'st it low, Let'st in thine own to make it rise and flow; Wisely restoring whatsoever grace It lost by change of times, or tongues, or place. Nor fetter'd to his numbers and his times, Betray'st his music to unhappy rhymes. 30 Nor are the nerves of his compacted strength Stretch'd and dissolved into unsinew'd length: Yet, after all, (lest we should think it thine) Thy spirit to his circle dost confine. New names, new dressings, and the modern cast, Some scenes, some persons alter'd, and outfaced The world, it were thy work; for we have known Some thank'd and praised for what was less their own. That master's hand which to the life can trace The airs, the lines, and features of the face, 40 May with a free and bolder stroke express A varied posture, or a flatt'ring dress; He could have made those like, who made the rest, But that he knew his own design was best.



TO THE HON. EDWARD HOWARD, ON 'THE BRITISH PRINCES.'

What mighty gale hath raised a flight so strong, So high above all vulgar eyes, so long? One single rapture scarce itself confines Within the limits of four thousand lines: And yet I hope to see this noble heat Continue till it makes the piece complete, That to the latter age it may descend, And to the end of time its beams extend. When poesy joins profit with delight, Her images should be most exquisite; 10 Since man to that perfection cannot rise, Of always virtuous, fortunate, and wise; Therefore the patterns man should imitate Above the life our masters should create. Herein if we consult with Greece and Rome, Greece (as in war) by Rome was overcome; Though mighty raptures we in Homer find, Yet, like himself, his characters were blind: Virgil's sublimed eyes not only gazed, But his sublimed thoughts to heaven were raised. 20 Who reads the honours which he paid the gods Would think he had beheld their bless'd abodes; And that his hero might accomplish'd be, From divine blood he draws his pedigree. From that great judge your judgment takes its law, And by the best original does draw Bonduca's honour, with those heroes Time 27 Had in oblivion wrapp'd, his saucy crime: To them and to your nation you are just, In raising up their glories from the dust; And to Old England you that right have done, To show no story nobler than her own.



AN OCCASIONAL IMITATION OF A MODERN AUTHOR UPON THE GAME OF CHESS.

A tablet stood of that abstersive tree, Where Aethiop's swarthy bird did build her nest; Inlaid it was with Libyan ivory, Drawn from the jaws of Afric's prudent beast. Two kings like Saul, much taller than the rest, Their equal armies draw into the field; Till one take th'other pris'ner they contest; Courage and fortune must to conduct yield. This game the Persian Magi did invent, The force of Eastern wisdom to express; 10 From thence to busy Europeans sent, And styled by modern Lombards pensive Chess. Yet some that fled from Troy to Rome report, Penthesilea Priam did oblige; Her Amazons his Trojans taught this sport, To pass the tedious hours of ten years' siege. There she presents herself, whilst kings and peers Look gravely on whilst fierce Bellona fights; Yet maiden modesty her motions steers, Nor rudely skips o'er bishops' heads like knights. 20



THE PASSION OF DIDO FOR AENEAS.

Having at large declared Jove's embassy, Cyllenius[1] from Aeneas straight doth fly; He, loth to disobey the god's command, Nor willing to forsake this pleasant land, Ashamed the kind Eliza to deceive, But more afraid to take a solemn leave, He many ways his lab'ring thoughts revolves; But fear o'ercoming shame, at last resolves (Instructed by the god of thieves)[1] to steal Himself away, and his escape conceal. 10 He calls his captains, bids them rig the fleet, That at the port they privately should meet; And some dissembled colour to project, That Dido should not their design suspect; But all in vain he did his plot disguise; No art a watchful lover can surprise. She the first motion finds; love though most sure, Yet always to itself seems unsecure. That wicked fame which their first love proclaim'd, Foretells the end: the queen with rage inflamed, 20 Thus greets him: 'Thou dissembler! would'st thou fly Out of my arms by stealth perfidiously? Could not the hand I plighted, nor the love, Nor thee the fate of dying Dido move? And in the depth of winter, in the night, Dark as thy black designs to take thy flight, To plough the raging seas to coasts unknown, The kingdom thou pretend'st to not thine own! Were Troy restored, thou shouldst mistrust a wind False as thy vows, and as thy heart unkind. 30 Fly'st thou from me? By these dear drops of brine I thee adjure, by that right hand of thine, By our espousals, by our marriage-bed, If all my kindness ought have merited; If ever I stood fair in thy esteem, From ruin me and my lost house redeem. Cannot my prayers a free acceptance find? Nor my tears soften an obdurate mind? My fame of chastity, by which the skies I reached before, by thee extinguish'd dies. 40 Into my borders now Iarbas falls, And my revengeful brother scales my walls; The wild Numidians will advantage take; For thee both Tyre and Carthage me forsake. Hadst thou before thy flight but left with me A young Aeneas who, resembling thee, Might in my sight have sported, I had then Not wholly lost, nor quite deserted been; By thee, no more my husband, but my guest, Betray'd to mischiefs, of which death's the least.' 50

With fixed looks he stands, and in his breast By Jove's command his struggling care suppress'd. 'Great queen! your favours and deserts so great, Though numberless, I never shall forget; No time, until myself I have forgot, Out of my heart Eliza's name shall blot: But my unwilling flight the gods enforce, And that must justify our sad divorce. Since I must you forsake, would Fate permit, To my desires I might my fortune fit; 60 Troy to her ancient splendour I would raise, And where I first began, would end my days. But since the Lycian lots, and Delphic god Have destined Italy for our abode; Since you proud Carthage (fled from Tyre) enjoy, Why should not Latium us receive from Troy? As for my son, my father's angry ghost Tells me his hopes by my delays are cross'd, And mighty Jove's ambassador appear'd With the same message, whom I saw and heard; 70 We both are grieved when you or I complain, But much the more when all complaints are vain; I call to witness all the gods, and thy Beloved head, the coast of Italy Against my will I seek.'

Whilst thus he speaks, she rolls her sparkling eyes, Surveys him round, and thus incensed replies; 'Thy mother was no goddess, nor thy stock From Dardanus, but in some horrid rock, Perfidious wretch! rough Caucasus thee bred, 80 And with their milk Hyrcanian tigers fed. Dissimulation I shall now forget, And my reserves of rage in order set, Could all my prayers and soft entreaties force Sighs from his breast, or from his look remorse. Where shall I first complain? can mighty Jove Or Juno such impieties approve? The just Astraea sure is fled to hell; Nor more in earth, nor heaven itself will dwell. Oh, Faith! him on my coasts by tempest cast, 90 Receiving madly, on my throne I placed; His men from famine, and his fleet from fire I rescued: now the Lycian lots conspire With Phoebus; now Jove's envoy through the air Brings dismal tidings; as if such low care Could reach their thoughts, or their repose disturb! Thou art a false impostor, and a fourbe; Go, go, pursue thy kingdom through the main; 98 I hope, if Heaven her justice still retain, Thou shalt be wreck'd, or cast upon some rock, Where thou the name of Dido shalt invoke; I'll follow thee in fun'ral flames; when dead My ghost shall thee attend at board and bed, And when the gods on thee their vengeance show, That welcome news shall comfort me below.'

This saying, from his hated sight she fled; Conducted by her damsels to her bed; Yet restless she arose, and looking out, Beholds the fleet, and hears the seamen shout When great Aeneas pass'd before the guard, 110 To make a view how all things were prepared. Ah, cruel Love! to what dost thou enforce Poor mortal breasts! Again she hath recourse To tears and prayers, again she feels the smart Of a fresh wound from his tyrannic dart. That she no ways nor means may leave untried, Thus to her sister she herself applied: 'Dear sister, my resentment had not been So moving, if this fate I had foreseen: Therefore to me this last kind office do, 120 Thou hast some int'rest in our scornful foe; He trusts to thee the counsels of his mind, Thou his soft hours, and free access canst find; Tell him I sent not to the Ilian coast My fleet to aid the Greeks; his father's ghost I never did disturb; ask him to lend To this, the last request that I shall send, A gentle ear; I wish that he may find A happy passage, and a prosp'rous wind. The contract I don't plead, which he betray'd, 130 Nor that his promised conquest be delay'd; All that I ask is but a short reprieve, Till I forget to love, and learn to grieve; Some pause and respite only I require, Till with my tears I shall have quench'd my fire. If thy address can but obtain one day Or two, my death that service shall repay.' Thus she entreats; such messages with tears Condoling Anne to him, and from him bears: But him no prayers, no arguments can move; 140 The Fates resist, his ears are stopp'd by Jove. As when fierce northern blasts from th'Alps descend, From his firm roots with struggling gusts to rend An aged sturdy oak, the rattling sound Grows loud, with leaves and scatter'd arms the ground Is overlaid; yet he stands fixed; as high As his proud head is raised towards the sky, So low t'wards hell his roots descend. With prayers And tears the hero thus assail'd, great cares He smothers in his breast, yet keeps his post, 150 All their addresses and their labour lost. Then she deceives her sister with a smile: 'Anne, in the inner court erect a pile; Thereon his arms and once-loved portrait lay, Thither our fatal marriage-bed convey; All cursed monuments of him with fire We must abolish (so the gods require).' She gives her credit for no worse effect Than from Sichaeus' death she did suspect, And her commands obeys. 160 Aurora now had left Tithonus' bed, And o'er the world her blushing rays did spread; The Queen beheld, as soon as day appear'd, The navy under sail, the haven clear'd; Thrice with her hand her naked breast she knocks, And from her forehead tears her golden locks; 'O Jove!' she cried, 'and shall he thus delude Me and my realm? why is he not pursued? Arm, arm,' she cried, 'and let our Tyrians board With ours his fleet, and carry fire and sword; 170 Leave nothing unattempted to destroy That perjured race, then let us die with joy. What if th'event of war uncertain were? Nor death, nor danger, can the desp'rate fear. But oh, too late! this thing I should have done, When first I placed the traitor on my throne. Behold the faith of him who saved from fire His honour'd household gods, his aged sire His pious shoulders from Troy's flames did bear; Why did I not his carcase piecemeal tear, 180 And cast it in the sea? why not destroy All his companions, and beloved boy Ascanius? and his tender limbs have dress'd, And made the father on the son to feast? Thou Sun! whose lustre all things here below Surveys; and Juno! conscious of my woe; Revengeful Furies! and Queen Hecate! Receive and grant my prayer! If he the sea Must needs escape, and reach th'Ausonian land, If Jove decree it, Jove's decree must stand; 190 When landed, may he be with arms oppress'd By his rebelling people, be distress'd By exile from his country, be divorced From young Ascanius' sight, and be enforced To implore foreign aids, and lose his friends By violent and undeserved ends! When to conditions of unequal peace He shall submit, then may he not possess Kingdom nor life, and find his funeral 199 I' th'sands, when he before his day shall fall! And ye, O Tyrians! with immortal hate Pursue this race, this service dedicate To my deplored ashes; let there be 'Twixt us and them no league nor amity. May from my bones a new Achilles rise, That shall infest the Trojan colonies With fire, and sword, and famine, when at length Time to our great attempts contributes strength; Our seas, our shores, our armies theirs oppose, And may our children be for ever foes!' 210 A ghastly paleness death's approach portends, Then trembling she the fatal pile ascends; Viewing the Trojan relics, she unsheath'd Aeneas' sword, not for that use bequeath'd: Then on the guilty bed she gently lays Herself, and softly thus lamenting prays; 'Dear relics! whilst that Gods and Fates give leave, Free me from cares and my glad soul receive. That date which Fortune gave, I now must end, And to the shades a noble ghost descend. 220 Sichaeus' blood, by his false brother spilt, I have revenged, and a proud city built; Happy, alas! too happy, I had lived, Had not the Trojan on my coast arrived. But shall I die without revenge? yet die Thus, thus with joy to thy Sichaeus fly. My conscious foe my funeral fire shall view From sea, and may that omen him pursue!' Her fainting hand let fall the sword besmear'd With blood, and then the mortal wound appear'd; 230 Through all the court the fright and clamours rise, Which the whole city fills with fears and cries, As loud as if her Carthage, or old Tyre The foe had enter'd, and had set on fire. Amazed Anne with speed ascends the stairs, And in her arms her dying sister rears; 'Did you for this yourself and me beguile? For such an end did I erect this pile? Did you so much despise me, in this fate Myself with you not to associate? 240 Yourself and me, alas! this fatal wound, The senate, and the people, doth confound. I'll wash her wound with tears, and at her death, My lips from hers shall draw her parting breath.' Then with her vest the wound she wipes and dries; Thrice with her arm the Queen attempts to rise, But her strength failing, falls into a swound, Life's last efforts yet striving with her wound; Thrice on her bed she turns, with wand'ring sight Seeking, she groans when she beholds the light. 250 Then Juno, pitying her disastrous fate, Sends Iris down, her pangs to mitigate. (Since if we fall before th'appointed day, Nature and death continue long their fray.) Iris descends; 'This fatal lock' (says she) 'To Pluto I bequeath, and set thee free;' Then clips her hair: cold numbness strait bereaves Her corpse of sense, and th'air her soul receives.

[1] 'Cyllenius'—'God of thieves': Mercury.



[The following two pieces are translated from the Latin of Mancini, an Italian, contemporary with Petrarch.]

OF PRUDENCE.

Wisdom's first progress is to take a view What's decent or indecent, false or true. He's truly prudent who can separate Honest from vile, and still adhere to that; Their difference to measure, and to reach Reason well rectified must Nature teach. And these high scrutinies are subjects fit For man's all-searching and inquiring wit; That search of knowledge did from Adam flow; Who wants it yet abhors his wants to show. 10 Wisdom of what herself approves makes choice, Nor is led captive by the common voice. Clear-sighted Reason Wisdom's judgment leads, And Sense, her vassal, in her footsteps treads. That thou to Truth the perfect way may'st know, To thee all her specific forms I'll show: He that the way to honesty will learn, First what's to be avoided must discern. Thyself from flatt'ring self-conceit defend, Nor what thou dost not know to know pretend. 20 Some secrets deep in abstruse darkness lie: To search them thou wilt need a piercing eye. Not rashly therefore to such things assent, Which, undeceived, thou after may'st repent; Study and time in these must thee instruct, And others' old experience may conduct. Wisdom herself her ear doth often lend To counsel offer'd by a faithful friend. In equal scales two doubtful matters lay, Thou may'st choose safely that which most doth weigh; 'Tis not secure this place or that to guard, 31 If any other entrance stand unbarr'd: He that escapes the serpent's teeth may fail, If he himself secures not from his tail. Who saith, who could such ill events expect? With shame on his own counsels doth reflect. Most in the world doth self-conceit deceive, 37 Who just and good whate'er they act believe; To their wills wedded, to their errors slaves, No man (like them) they think himself behaves. This stiff-neck'd pride nor art nor force can bend, Nor high-flown hopes to Reason's lure descend. Fathers sometimes their children's faults regard With pleasure, and their crimes with gifts reward. Ill painters, when they draw, and poets write, Virgil and Titian (self admiring) slight; Then all they do like gold and pearl appears, And others' actions are but dirt to theirs. They that so highly think themselves above All other men, themselves can only love; 50 Reason and virtue, all that man can boast O'er other creatures, in those brutes are lost. Observe (if thee this fatal error touch, Thou to thyself contributing too much) Those who are gen'rous, humble, just and wise, Who not their gold, nor themselves idolise; To form thyself by their example learn, (For many eyes can more than one discern), But yet beware of councils when too full, Number makes long disputes, and graveness dull; 60 Though their advice be good, their counsel wise, Yet length still loses opportunities: Debate destroys despatch, as fruits we see Rot when they hang too long upon the tree; In vain that husbandman his seed doth sow, If he his crop not in due season mow. A gen'ral sets his army in array In vain, unless he fight and win the day. 'Tis virtuous action that must praise bring forth, Without which, slow advice is little worth. 70 Yet they who give good counsel praise deserve, Though in the active part they cannot serve. In action, learned counsellors their age, Profession, or disease, forbids t'engage. Nor to philosophers is praise denied, Whose wise instructions after ages guide; Yet vainly most their age in study spend; No end of writing books, and to no end: Beating their brains for strange and hidden things, Whose knowledge, nor delight, nor profit brings; 80 Themselves with doubts both day and night perplex, Nor gentle reader please, or teach, but vex. Books should to one of these four ends conduce— For wisdom, piety, delight, or use. What need we gaze upon the spangled sky? Or into matter's hidden causes pry? To describe every city, stream, or hill I' th'world, our fancy with vain arts to fill? What is't to hear a sophister, that pleads, Who by the ears the deceived audience leads? 90 If we were wise, these things we should not mind, But more delight in easy matters find. Learn to live well, that thou may'st die so too; To live and die is all we have to do: The way (if no digression's made) is even, And free access, if we but ask, is given. Then seek to know those things which make us bless'd, And having found them, lock them in thy breast; Inquiring then the way, go on, nor slack, But mend thy pace, nor think of going back. 100 Some their whole age in these inquiries waste, And die like fools before one step they've pass'd; 'Tis strange to know the way, and not t'advance; That knowledge is far worse than ignorance. The learned teach, but what they teach, not do, And standing still themselves, make others go. In vain on study time away we throw, When we forbear to act the things we know. The soldier that philosopher well blamed, Who long and loudly in the schools declaim'd; 110 'Tell' (said the soldier) 'venerable Sir, Why all these words, this clamour, and this stir? Why do disputes in wrangling spend the day, Whilst one says only yea, and t'other nay?' 'Oh,' said the doctor, 'we for wisdom toil'd, For which none toils too much.' The soldier smiled; 'You're gray and old, and to some pious use This mass of treasure you should now reduce: But you your store have hoarded in some bank, For which th'infernal spirits shall you thank.' 120 Let what thou learnest be by practice shown; 'Tis said that wisdom's children make her known. What's good doth open to th'inquirer stand, And itself offers to th'accepting hand; All things by order and true measures done, Wisdom will end, as well as she begun. Let early care thy main concerns secure, Things of less moment may delays endure: Men do not for their servants first prepare, And of their wives and children quit the care; 130 Yet when we're sick, the doctor's fetch'd in haste, Leaving our great concernment to the last. When we are well, our hearts are only set (Which way we care not) to be rich, or great; What shall become of all that we have got? We only know that us it follows not; And what a trifle is a moment's breath, Laid in the scale with everlasting death! What's time when on eternity we think! 139 A thousand ages in that sea must sink. Time's nothing but a word; a million Is full as far from infinite as one. To whom thou much dost owe, thou much must pay, Think on the debt against th'accounting day. God, who to thee reason and knowledge lent, Will ask how these two talents have been spent. Let not low pleasures thy high reason blind, He's mad, that seeks what no man e'er could find. Why should we fondly please our sense, wherein Beasts us exceed, nor feel the stings of sin? 150 What thoughts man's reason better can become, Than th'expectation of his welcome home? Lords of the world have but for life their lease, And that too (if the lessor please) must cease. Death cancels nature's bonds, but for our deeds (That debt first paid) a strict account succeeds; If here not clear'd, no suretyship can bail Condemned debtors from th'eternal jail; Christ's blood's our balsam; if that cure us here, Him, when our judge, we shall not find severe; 160 His yoke is easy when by us embraced, But loads and galls, if on our necks 'tis cast. Be just in all thy actions, and if join'd With those that are not, never change thy mind. If ought obstruct thy course, yet stand not still, But wind about, till you have topp'd the hill; To the same end men sev'ral paths may tread, As many doors into one temple lead; And the same hand into a fist may close, Which, instantly a palm expanded shows. 170 Justice and faith never forsake the wise, Yet may occasion put him in disguise; Not turning like the wind; but if the state Of things must change, he is not obstinate; Things past and future with the present weighs, Nor credulous of what vain rumour says. Few things by wisdom are at first believed; An easy ear deceives, and is deceived: For many truths have often pass'd for lies, And lies as often put on truth's disguise; 180 As flattery too oft like friendship shows, So them who speak plain truth we think our foes. No quick reply to dubious questions make, Suspense and caution still prevent mistake. When any great design thou dost intend, Think on the means, the manner, and the end: All great concernments must delays endure; Rashness and haste make all things unsecure; And if uncertain thy pretensions be, Stay till fit time wear out uncertainty; 190 But if to unjust things thou dost pretend, Ere they begin let thy pretensions end. Let thy discourse be such that thou may'st give Profit to others, or from them receive: Instruct the ignorant; to those that live Under thy care, good rules and patterns give; Nor is't the least of virtues, to relieve Those whom afflictions or oppressions grieve. Commend but sparingly whom thou dost love: But less condemn whom thou dost not approve; 200 Thy friend, like flatt'ry, too much praise doth wrong, And too sharp censure shows an evil tongue: But let inviolate truth be always dear To thee; e'en before friendship, truth prefer. Than what thou mean'st to give, still promise less: Hold fast thy power thy promise to increase. Look forward what's to come, and back what's past, Thy life will be with praise and prudence graced: 208 What loss or gain may follow, thou may'st guess, Thou then wilt be secure of the success; Yet be not always on affairs intent, But let thy thoughts be easy, and unbent: When our minds' eyes are disengaged and free, They clearer, farther, and distinctly see; They quicken sloth, perplexities untie, Make roughness smooth, and hardness mollify; And though our hands from labour are released, Yet our minds find (even when we sleep) no rest. Search not to find how other men offend, But by that glass thy own offences mend; 220 Still seek to learn, yet care not much from whom, (So it be learning) or from whence it come. Of thy own actions, others' judgments learn; Often by small, great matters we discern: Youth what man's age is like to be doth show; We may our ends by our beginnings know. Let none direct thee what to do or say, Till thee thy judgment of the matter sway; Let not the pleasing many thee delight, First judge if those whom thou dost please judge right. 230 Search not to find what lies too deeply hid, Nor to know things whose knowledge is forbid; Nor climb on pyramids, which thy head turn round Standing, and whence no safe descent is found. In vain his nerves and faculties he strains To rise, whose raising unsecure remains: They whom desert and favour forwards thrust, Are wise, when they their measures can adjust. When well at ease, and happy, live content, And then consider why that life was lent. 240 When wealthy, show thy wisdom not to be To wealth a servant, but make wealth serve thee. Though all alone, yet nothing think or do, Which nor a witness, nor a judge might know. The highest hill is the most slipp'ry place, And Fortune mocks us with a smiling face; And her unsteady hand hath often placed Men in high power, but seldom holds them fast; Against her then her forces Prudence joins, And to the golden mien herself confines. 250 More in prosperity is reason toss'd, Than ships in storms, their helms and anchors lost: Before fair gales not all our sails we bear, But with side winds into safe harbours steer; More ships in calms, on a deceitful coast, Or unseen rocks, than in high storms are lost. Who casts out threats and frowns no man deceives, Time for resistance and defence he gives; But flatt'ry still in sugar'd words betrays, And poison in high-tasted meats conveys; 260 So Fortune's smiles unguarded man surprise, But when she frowns, he arms, and her defies.



OF JUSTICE.

'Tis the first sanction Nature gave to man, Each other to assist in what they can; Just or unjust, this law for ever stands; All things are good by law which she commands; The first step, man t'wards Christ must justly live, Who t'us himself, and all we have, did give; In vain doth man the name of just expect, If his devotions he to God neglect; So must we rev'rence God, as first to know 9 Justice from Him, not from ourselves, doth flow; God those accepts who to mankind are friends, Whose justice far as their own power extends; In that they imitate the power Divine; The sun alike on good and bad doth shine; And he that doth no good, although no ill, Does not the office of the just fulfil. Virtue doth man to virtuous actions steer, 'Tis not enough that he should vice forbear; We live not only for ourselves to care, Whilst they that want it are denied their share. 20 Wise Plato said, the world with men was stored, That succour each to other might afford; Nor are those succours to one sort confined, But sev'ral parts to sev'ral men consign'd; He that of his own stores no part can give, May with his counsel or his hands relieve. If Fortune make thee powerful, give defence 'Gainst fraud and force, to naked innocence: And when our Justice doth her tributes pay, Method and order must direct the way. 30 First to our God we must with rev'rence bow; The second honour to our prince we owe; Next to wives, parents, children, fit respect, And to our friends and kindred, we direct; Then we must those who groan beneath the weight Of age, disease, or want, commiserate. 'Mongst those whom honest lives can recommend, Our Justice more compassion should extend; To such, who thee in some distress did aid, Thy debt of thanks with int'rest should be paid: 40 As Hesiod sings, spread waters o'er thy field, And a most just and glad increase 'twill yield. But yet take heed, lest doing good to one, Mischief and wrong be to another done; Such moderation with thy bounty join, That thou may'st nothing give that is not thine; That liberality's but cast away, Which makes us borrow what we cannot pay. And no access to wealth let rapine bring; Do nothing that's unjust to be a king. 50 Justice must be from violence exempt, But fraud's her only object of contempt. Fraud in the fox, force in the lion dwells; But Justice both from human hearts expels; But he's the greatest monster (without doubt) Who is a wolf within, a sheep without. Nor only ill injurious actions are, But evil words and slanders bear their share. Truth Justice loves, and truth injustice fears, Truth above all things a just man reveres. 60 Though not by oaths we God to witness call, He sees and hears, and still remembers all; And yet our attestations we may wrest Sometimes to make the truth more manifest; If by a lie a man preserve his faith, He pardon, leave, and absolution hath; Or if I break my promise, which to thee Would bring no good, but prejudice to me. All things committed to thy trust conceal, Nor what's forbid by any means reveal. 70 Express thyself in plain, not doubtful words, That ground for quarrels or disputes affords: Unless thou find occasion, hold thy tongue; Thyself or others careless talk may wrong. When thou art called into public power, And when a crowd of suitors throng thy door, Be sure no great offenders 'scape their dooms; 77 Small praise from lenity and remissness comes; Crimes pardon'd, others to those crimes invite, Whilst lookers-on severe examples fright. When by a pardon'd murd'rer blood is spilt, The judge that pardon'd hath the greatest guilt; Who accuse rigour, make a gross mistake; One criminal pardon'd may an hundred make; When justice on offenders is not done, Law, government, and commerce, are o'erthrown; As besieged traitors with the foe conspire, T' unlock the gates, and set the town on fire. Yet lest the punishment th'offence exceed, Justice with weight and measure must proceed: 90 Yet when pronouncing sentence, seem not glad, Such spectacles, though they are just, are sad; Though what thou dost thou ought'st not to repent, Yet human bowels cannot but relent: Rather than all must suffer, some must die; Yet Nature must condole their misery. And yet, if many equal guilt involve, Thou may'st not these condemn, and those absolve. Justice, when equal scales she holds, is blind; Nor cruelty, nor mercy, change her mind. 100 When some escape for that which others die, Mercy to those, to these is cruelty. A fine and slender net the spider weaves, Which little and light animals receives; And if she catch a common bee or fly, They with a piteous groan and murmur die; But if a wasp or hornet she entrap, They tear her cords like Samson, and escape; So like a fly the poor offender dies, But like the wasp, the rich escapes and flies. 110 Do not, if one but lightly thee offend, The punishment beyond the crime extend; Or after warning the offence forget; So God himself our failings doth remit. Expect not more from servants than is just, Reward them well, if they observe their trust; Nor them with cruelty or pride invade, Since God and Nature them our brothers made; If his offence be great, let that suffice; If light, forgive, for no man's always wise. 120



THE PROGRESS OF LEARNING.

PREFACE.

My early mistress, now my ancient Muse, That strong Circaean liquor cease t'infuse, Wherewith thou didst intoxicate my youth, Now stoop with disenchanted wings to truth; As the dove's flight did guide Aeneas, now May thine conduct me to the golden bough: Tell (like a tall old oak) how learning shoots To heaven her branches, and to hell her roots.

When God from earth form'd Adam in the East, He his own image on the clay impress'd; As subjects then the whole creation came, And from their natures Adam them did name, Not from experience (for the world was new), He only from their cause their natures knew. Had memory been lost with innocence, We had not known the sentence nor th'offence; 'Twas his chief punishment to keep in store The sad remembrance what he was before; 10 And though th'offending part felt mortal pain, Th' immortal part its knowledge did retain. After the flood, arts to Chaldea fell; The father of the faithful there did dwell, Who both their parent and instructor was; From thence did learning into Egypt pass: Moses in all the Egyptian arts was skill'd, When heavenly power that chosen vessel fill'd; And we to his high inspiration owe, That what was done before the flood we know. 20 Prom Egypt, arts their progress made to Greece, Wrapp'd in the fable of the golden fleece. Musaeus first, then Orpheus, civilise Mankind, and gave the world their deities; To many gods they taught devotion, Which were the distinct faculties of one; Th' Eternal Cause, in their immortal lines Was taught, and poets were the first divines: God Moses first, then David, did inspire, To compose anthems, for his heavenly choir; 30 To th'one the style of friend he did impart, On th'other stamp the likeness of his heart: And Moses, in the old original, Even God the poet of the world doth call. Next those old Greeks Pythagoras did rise, Then Socrates, whom th'oracle call'd Wise; The divine Plato moral virtue shows, Then his disciple Aristotle rose, Who Nature's secrets to the world did teach, Yet that great soul our novelists impeach; 40 Too much manuring fill'd that field with weeds, While sects, like locusts, did destroy the seeds; The tree of knowledge, blasted by disputes, Produces sapless leaves instead of fruits; Proud Greece all nations else barbarians held, Boasting her learning all the world excell'd. Flying from thence[1] to Italy it came, 47 And to the realm of Naples gave the name, Till both their nation and their arts did come A welcome trophy to triumphant Rome; Then whereso'er her conqu'ring eagles fled, Arts, learning, and civility were spread; And as in this our microcosm, the heart Heat, spirit, motion gives to every part, So Rome's victorious influence did disperse All her own virtues through the universe. Here some digression I must make, t'accuse Thee, my forgetful, and ingrateful Muse: Couldst thou from Greece to Latium take thy flight, And not to thy great ancestor do right? 60 I can no more believe old Homer blind, Than those who say the sun hath never shined; The age wherein he lived was dark, but he Could not want sight who taught the world to see: They who Minerva from Jove's head derive, Might make old Homer's skull the Muses' hive; And from his brain that Helicon distil Whose racy liquor did his offspring fill. Nor old Anacreon, Hesiod, Theocrite, Must we forget, nor Pindar's lofty flight. 70 Old Homer's soul, at last from Greece retired, In Italy the Mantuan swain inspired. When great Augustus made war's tempest cease, His halcyon days brought forth the arts of peace; He still in his triumphant chariot shines, By Horace drawn, and Virgil's mighty lines. 'Twas certainly mysterious that the name [2] Of prophets and of poets is the same; What the tragedian[3]—wrote, the late success 79 Declares was inspiration, and not guess: As dark a truth that author did unfold, As oracles or prophets e'er foretold: 'At last the ocean shall unlock the bound Of things, and a new world by Tiphys found, Then ages far remote shall understand The Isle of Thule is not the farthest land.' Sure God, by these discov'ries, did design That his clear light through all the world should shine, But the obstruction from that discord springs The prince of darkness made 'twixt Christian kings; 90 That peaceful age with happiness to crown, From heaven the Prince of Peace himself came down, Then the true sun of knowledge first appear'd, And the old dark mysterious clouds were clear'd, The heavy cause of th'old accursed flood Sunk in the sacred deluge of his blood. His passion man from his first fall redeem'd; Once more to paradise restored we seem'd; Satan himself was bound, till th'iron chain Our pride did break, and let him loose again. 100 Still the old sting remain'd, and man began To tempt the serpent, as he tempted man; Then Hell sends forth her furies, Av'rice, Pride, Fraud, Discord, Force, Hypocrisy their guide; Though the foundation on a rock were laid, The church was undermined, and then betray'd: Though the Apostles these events foretold, Yet even the shepherd did devour the fold: The fisher to convert the world began, The pride convincing of vain-glorious man; 110 But soon his followers grew a sovereign lord, And Peter's keys exchanged for Peter's sword, Which still maintains for his adopted son Vast patrimonies, though himself had none; Wresting the text to the old giant's sense, That heaven, once more, must suffer violence. Then subtle doctors Scriptures made their prize; Casuists, like cocks, struck out each others eyes; Then dark distinctions reason's light disguised, And into atoms truth anatomised. 120 Then Mah'met's crescent, by our feuds increased, Blasted the learn'd remainders of the East; That project, when from Greece to Rome it came, Made Mother Ignorance Devotion's dame; Then he whom Lucifer's own pride did swell, His faithful emissary, rose from hell To possess Peter's chair, that Hildebrand Whose foot on mitres, then on crowns, did stand; And before that exalted idol all (Whom we call gods on earth) did prostrate fall. 130 Then darkness Europe's face did overspread From lazy cells where superstition bred, Which, link'd with blind obedience, so increased, That the whole world some ages they oppress'd; Till through these clouds the sun of knowledge brake, And Europe from her lethargy did wake: Then first our monarchs were acknowledged here, That they their churches' nursing fathers were. When Lucifer no longer could advance His works on the false grounds of ignorance, 140 New arts he tries, and new designs he lays, Then his well-studied masterpiece he plays; Loyola, Luther, Calvin he inspires, And kindles with infernal flames their fires, Sends their forerunner (conscious of th'event) Printing, his most pernicious instrument! Wild controversy then, which long had slept, Into the press from ruin'd cloisters leap'd; No longer by implicit faith we err, Whilst every man's his own interpreter; 150 No more conducted now by Aaron's rod, Lay-elders from their ends create their god. But seven wise men the ancient world did know, We scarce know seven who think themselves not so. When man learn'd undefiled religion, We were commanded to be all as one; Fiery disputes that union have calcined; Almost as many minds as men we find, And when that flame finds combustible earth, Thence fatuus fires, and meteors take their birth; 160 Legions of sects and insects come in throngs; To name them all would tire a hundred tongues. So were the Centaurs of Ixion's race, Who a bright cloud for Juno did embrace; And such the monsters of Chimaera's kind, Lions before, and dragons were behind. Then from the clashes between popes and kings, Debate, like sparks from flints' collision, springs: As Jove's loud thunderbolts were forged by heat, The like our Cyclops on their anvils beat; 170 All the rich mines of learning ransack'd are, To furnish ammunition for this war: Uncharitable zeal our reason whets, And double edges on our passion sets; 'Tis the most certain sign the world's accursed, That the best things corrupted are the worst; 'Twas the corrupted light of knowledge hurl'd Sin, death, and ignorance o'er all the world; That sun like this (from which our sight we have), 179 Gazed on too long, resumes the light he gave; And when thick mists of doubts obscure his beams, Our guide is error, and our visions, dreams; 'Twas no false heraldry when madness drew Her pedigree from those who too much knew; Who in deep mines for hidden knowledge toils, Like guns o'ercharged, breaks, misses, or recoils; When subtle wits have spun their thread too fine, 'Tis weak and fragile, like Arachne's line: True piety, without cessation toss'd By theories, the practic part is lost, 190 And like a ball bandied 'twixt pride and wit, Rather than yield, both sides the prize will quit: Then whilst his foe each gladiator foils, The atheist looking on enjoys the spoils. Through seas of knowledge we our course advance, Discov'ring still new worlds of ignorance; And these discov'ries make us all confess That sublunary science is but guess; Matters of fact to man are only known, And what seems more is mere opinion; 200 The standers-by see clearly this event; All parties say they're sure, yet all dissent; With their new light our bold inspectors press, Like Cham, to show their fathers' nakedness, By whose example after ages may Discover we more naked are than they; All human wisdom to divine is folly; This truth the wisest man made melancholy; Hope, or belief, or guess, gives some relief, But to be sure we are deceived brings grief: 210 Who thinks his wife is virtuous, though not so, Is pleased and patient till the truth he know. Our God, when heaven and earth he did create, Form'd man who should of both participate; If our lives' motions theirs must imitate, Our knowledge, like our blood, must circulate. When like a bridegroom from the east, the sun Sets forth, he thither, whence he came, doth run; Into earth's spongy veins the ocean sinks, Those rivers to replenish which he drinks; 220 So learning, which from reason's fountain springs, Back to the source some secret channel brings. 'Tis happy when our streams of knowledge flow To fill their banks, but not to overthrow.

Ut metit Autumnus fruges quas parturit Aestas, Sic ortum Natura, dedit Deus his quoque finem.

[1]'From thence': Gracia Major. [2] 'The name': Vates. [3] 'The tragedian': Seneca.



ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF HENRY LORD HASTINGS, 1650.

Reader, preserve thy peace: those busy eyes Will weep at their own sad discoveries, When every line they add improves thy loss, Till, having view'd the whole, they seem a cross, Such as derides thy passions' best relief, And scorns the succours of thy easy grief; Yet lest thy ignorance betray thy name Of man and pious, read and mourn; the shame Of an exemption from just sense doth show Irrational, beyond excess of woe. 10 Since reason, then, can privilege a tear, Manhood, uncensured, pay that tribute here Upon this noble urn. Here, here remains Dust far more precious than in India's veins; Within those cold embraces, ravish'd, lies That which completes the age's tyrannies; Who weak to such another ill appear, For what destroys our hope secures our fear. What sin, unexpiated in this land Of groans, hath guided so severe a hand? 20 The late great victim[1] that your altars knew, Ye angry gods! might have excused this new Oblation, and have spared one lofty light Of virtue, to inform our steps aright; By whose example good, condemned, we Might have run on to kinder destiny. But as the leader of the herd fell first A sacrifice, to quench the raging thirst Of inflamed vengeance for past crimes, so none But this white, fatted youngling could atone, 30 By his untimely fate, that impious smoke, That sullied earth, and did Heaven's pity choke. Let it suffice for us that we have lost In him more than the widow'd world can boast In any lump of her remaining clay. Fair as the gray-eyed morn he was; the day, Youthful, and climbing upwards still, imparts No haste like that of his increasing parts. Like the meridian beam, his virtue's light Was seen as full of comfort, and as bright. 40 Had his noon been as fixed, as clear—but he, That only wanted immortality To make him perfect, now submits to night, In the black bosom of whose sable spite He leaves a cloud of flesh behind, and flies, Refined, all ray and glory, to the skies. Great saint! shine there in an eternal sphere, 47 And tell those powers to whom thou now draw'st near, That by our trembling sense, in Hastings dead, Their anger and our ugly faults are read, The short lines of whose life did to our eyes Their love and majesty epitomise; Tell them, whose stern decrees impose our laws; The feasted grave may close her hollow jaws. Though Sin search Nature, to provide her here A second entertainment half so dear, She'll never meet a plenty like this hearse, Till Time present her with the universe!

[1] 'Great victim': Charles I.



OF OLD AGE.[1]

CATO, SCIPIO, LAELIUS. SCIPIO TO CATO.

Though all the actions of your life are crown'd With wisdom, nothing makes them more renown'd, Than that those years, which others think extreme, Nor to yourself nor us uneasy seem; Under which weight most, like th'old giants, groan. When Aetna on their backs by Jove was thrown.

CATO. What you urge, Scipio, from right reason flows: All parts of age seem burthensome to those Who virtue's and true wisdom's happiness Cannot discern; but they who those possess, 10 In what's impos'd by Nature find no grief, Of which our age is (next our death) the chief, Which though all equally desire t'obtain, Yet when they have obtain'd it, they complain; Such our inconstancies and follies are, We say it steals upon us unaware: Our want of reas'ning these false measures makes, Youth runs to age, as childhood youth o'ertakes. How much more grievous would our lives appear, To reach th'eighth hundred, than the eightieth year? 20 Of what in that long space of time hath pass'd, To foolish age will no remembrance last. My age's conduct when you seem t'admire (Which that it may deserve, I much desire), 'Tis my first rule, on Nature, as my guide Appointed by the gods, I have relied; And Nature (which all acts of life designs), Not, like ill poets, in the last declines: But some one part must be the last of all, Which like ripe fruits, must either rot or fall. 30 And this from Nature must be gently borne, Else her (as giants did the gods) we scorn.

LAELIUS. But, Sir, 'tis Scipio's and my desire, Since to long life we gladly would aspire, That from your grave instructions we might hear, How we, like you, may this great burthen bear.

CAT. This I resolved before, but now shall do With great delight, since 'tis required by you.

LAEL. If to yourself it will not tedious prove, Nothing in us a greater joy can move, 40 That as old travellers the young instruct, Your long, our short experience may conduct.

CAT. 'Tis true (as the old proverb doth relate), Equals with equals often congregate. Two consuls[2] (who in years my equals were) When senators, lamenting I did hear That age from them had all their pleasures torn, 47 And them their former suppliants now scorn: They what is not to be accused accuse, Not others, but themselves their age abuse; Else this might me concern, and all my friends, Whose cheerful age with honour youth attends, Joy'd that from pleasure's slav'ry they are free, And all respects due to their age they see. In its true colours, this complaint appears The ill effect of manners, not of years; For on their life no grievous burthen lies, Who are well natured, temperate, and wise; But an inhuman and ill-temper'd mind, Not any easy part in life can find. 60

LAEL. This I believe; yet others may dispute, Their age (as yours) can never bear such fruit Of honour, wealth, and power to make them sweet; Not every one such happiness can meet.

CAT. Some weight your argument, my Laelius, bears, But not so much as at first sight appears. This answer by Themistocles was made, (When a Seriphian thus did him upbraid, 'You those great honours to your country owe, Not to yourself')-'Had I at Seripho[3] 70 Been born, such honour I had never seen, Nor you, if an Athenian you had been;' So age, clothed in indecent poverty, To the most prudent cannot easy be; But to a fool, the greater his estate, The more uneasy is his age's weight. Age's chief arts and arms are to grow wise, Virtue to know, and known, to exercise; All just returns to age then virtue makes, 79 Nor her in her extremity forsakes; The sweetest cordial we receive at last, Is conscience of our virtuous actions past. I (when a youth) with reverence did look On Quintus Fabius, who Tarentum took; Yet in his age such cheerfulness was seen, As if his years and mine had equal been; His gravity was mix'd with gentleness, Nor had his age made his good humour less; Then was he well in years (the same that he Was Consul that of my nativity), 90 (A stripling then), in his fourth consulate On him at Capua I in arms did wait. I five years after at Tarentum wan The quaestorship, and then our love began; And four years after, when I praetor was, He pleaded, and the Cincian law[4] did pass. With useful diligence he used t'engage, Yet with the temperate arts of patient age He breaks fierce Hannibal's insulting heats; Of which exploit thus our friend Ennius treats: 100 He by delay restored the commonwealth, Nor preferr'd rumour before public health.

[1] This piece is adapted from Cicero, 'De Seucctute.' [2] 'Two consuls': Caius Salinator, Spurius Albinus. [3] 'Seripho': an isle to which condemned men were banished. [4] 'Cincian law': against bribes.

THE ARGUMENT.

When I reflect on age, I find there are Four causes, which its misery declare. 1. Because our body's strength it much impairs: 2. That it takes off our minds from great affairs: 3. Next, that our sense of pleasure it deprives: 4. Last, that approaching death attends our lives.

Of all these sev'ral causes I'll discourse, 109 And then of each, in order, weigh the force.



THE FIRST PART.

The old from such affairs is only freed, Which vig'rous youth and strength of body need; But to more high affairs our age is lent, Most properly when heats of youth are spent. Did Fabius and your father Scipio (Whose daughter my son married) nothing do? Fabricii, Coruncani, Curii; Whose courage, counsel, and authority, The Roman commonwealth restored did boast, Nor Appius, with whose strength his sight was lost, 120 Who when the Senate was to peace inclined With Pyrrhus, shew'd his reason was not blind, Whither's our courage and our wisdom come When Rome itself conspires the fate of Rome? The rest with ancient gravity and skill He spake (for his oration's extant still). 'Tis seventeen years since he had Consul been The second time, and there were ten between; Therefore their argument's of little force, Who age from great employments would divorce. 130 As in a ship some climb the shrouds, t'unfold The sail, some sweep the deck, some pump the hold; Whilst he that guides the helm employs his skill, And gives the law to them by sitting still. Great actions less from courage, strength, and speed, Than from wise counsels and commands proceed; Those arts age wants not, which to age belong, Not heat but cold experience make us strong. A Consul, Tribune, General, I have been, All sorts of war I have pass'd through and seen; 140 And now grown old, I seem t'abandon it, Yet to the Senate I prescribe what's fit. I every day 'gainst Carthage war proclaim, (For Rome's destruction hath been long her aim) Nor shall I cease till I her ruin see, Which triumph may the gods design for thee; That Scipio may revenge his grandsire's ghost, Whose life at Cannae with great honour lost Is on record; nor had he wearied been With age, if he an hundred years had seen; 150 He had not used excursions, spears, or darts, But counsel, order, and such aged arts, Which, if our ancestors had not retain'd, The Senate's name our council had not gain'd. The Spartans to their highest magistrate The name of Elder did appropriate: Therefore his fame for ever shall remain, How gallantly Tarentum he did gain, With vig'lant conduct; when that sharp reply He gave to Salinator, I stood by, 160 Who to the castle fled, the town being lost, Yet he to Maximus did vainly boast, 'Twas by my means Tarentum you obtain'd;— 'Tis true, had you not lost, I had not gain'd. And as much honour on his gown did wait, As on his arms, in his fifth consulate. When his colleague Carvilius stepp'd aside, The Tribune of the people would divide To them the Gallic and the Picene field; Against the Senate's will he will not yield; 170 When, being angry, boldly he declares Those things were acted under happy stars, From which the commonwealth found good effects, But otherwise they came from bad aspects. Many great things of Fabius I could tell, But his son's death did all the rest excel; (His gallant son, though young, had Consul been) His funeral oration I have seen Often; and when on that I turn my eyes, I all the old philosophers despise. 180 Though he in all the people's eyes seem'd great, Yet greater he appear'd in his retreat; When feasting with his private friends at home, Such counsel, such discourse from him did come, Such science in his art of augury, No Roman ever was more learn'd than he; Knowledge of all things present and to come, Rememb'ring all the wars of ancient Rome, Nor only there, but all the world's beside; Dying in extreme age, I prophesied 190 That which is come to pass, and did discern From his survivors I could nothing learn. This long discourse was but to let you see That his long life could not uneasy be. Few like the Fabii or the Scipios are Takers of cities, conquerors in war. Yet others to like happy age arrive, Who modest, quiet, and with virtue live: Thus Plato writing his philosophy, With honour after ninety years did die. 200 Th' Athenian story writ at ninety-four By Isocrates, who yet lived five years more; His master Gorgias at the hundredth year And seventh, not his studies did forbear: And, ask'd why he no sooner left the stage? Said he saw nothing to accuse old age. None but the foolish, who their lives abuse, Age of their own mistakes and crimes accuse. All commonwealths (as by records is seen) 209 As by age preserved, by youth destroy'd have been. When the tragedian Naevius did demand, Why did your commonwealth no longer stand? 'Twas answer'd, that their senators were new, Foolish, and young, and such as nothing knew; Nature to youth hot rashness doth dispense, But with cold prudence age doth recompense. But age, 'tis said, will memory decay, So (if it be not exercised) it may; Or, if by nature it be dull and slow. Themistocles (when aged) the names did know 220 Of all th'Athenians; and none grow so old, Not to remember where they hid their gold. From age such art of memory we learn, To forget nothing which is our concern; Their interest no priest nor sorcerer Forgets, nor lawyer, nor philosopher; No understanding memory can want, Where wisdom studious industry doth plant. Nor does it only in the active live, But in the quiet and contemplative; 230 When Sophocles (who plays when aged wrote) Was by his sons before the judges brought, Because he paid the Muses such respect, His fortune, wife, and children to neglect; Almost condemn'd, he moved the judges thus, 'Hear, but instead of me, my Oedipus.' The judges hearing with applause, at th'end Freed him, and said, 'No fool such lines had penn'd'. What poets and what orators can I Recount, what princes in philosophy, 240 Whose constant studies with their age did strive? Nor did they those, though those did them survive. Old husbandmen I at Sabinum know, Who for another year dig, plough, and sow. For never any man was yet so old, But hoped his life one winter more might hold. Caecilius vainly said, 'Each day we spend Discovers something, which must needs offend;' But sometimes age may pleasant things behold, And nothing that offends. He should have told 250 This not to age, but youth, who oft'ner see What not alone offends, but hurts, than we. That, I in him, which he in age condemn'd, That us it renders odious, and contemn'd. He knew not virtue, if he thought this truth; For youth delights in age, and age in youth. What to the old can greater pleasure be, Than hopeful and ingenious youth to see, When they with rev'rence follow where we lead, And in straight paths by our directions tread? 260 And e'en my conversation here I see, As well received by you, as yours by me. 'Tis disingenuous to accuse our age Of idleness, who all our powers engage In the same studies, the same course to hold; Nor think our reason for new arts too old. Solon the sage his progress never ceased, But still his learning with his days increased; And I with the same greediness did seek, As water when I thirst, to swallow Greek; 270 Which I did only learn, that I might know Those great examples which I follow now: And I have heard that Socrates the wise, Learn'd on the lute for his last exercise. Though many of the ancients did the same, To improve knowledge was my only aim.



THE SECOND PART.

Now int' our second grievance I must break, 277 'That loss of strength makes understanding weak.' I grieve no more my youthful strength to want, Than, young, that of a bull, or elephant; Then with that force content, which Nature gave, Nor am I now displeased with what I have. When the young wrestlers at their sport grew warm, Old Milo wept, to see his naked arm; And cried, 'twas dead. Trifler! thine heart and head, And all that's in them (not thy arm) are dead; This folly every looker on derides, To glory only in thy arms and sides. Our gallant ancestors let fall no tears, Their strength decreasing by increasing years; 290 But they advanced in wisdom every hour, And made the commonwealth advance in power. But orators may grieve, for in their sides, Rather than heads, their faculty abides; Yet I have heard old voices loud and clear, And still my own sometimes the Senate hear. When th'old with smooth and gentle voices plead, They by the ear their well-pleased audience lead: Which, if I had not strength enough to do, I could (my Laelius, and my Scipio) 300 What's to be done, or not be done, instruct, And to the maxims of good life conduct. Cneius and Publius Scipio, and (that man Of men) your grandsire, the great African, Were joyful when the flower of noble blood Crowded their dwellings, and attending stood, Like oracles their counsels to receive, How in their progress they should act and live. And they whose high examples youth obeys, 309 Are not despised, though their strength decays; And those decays (to speak the naked truth, Though the defects of age) were crimes of youth. Intemp'rate youth (by sad experience found) Ends in an age imperfect and unsound. Cyrus, though aged (if Xenophon say true), Lucius Metellus (whom when young I knew), Who held (after his second consulate) Twenty-two years the high pontificate; Neither of these in body, or in mind, Before their death the least decay did find. 320 I speak not of myself, though none deny To age, to praise their youth the liberty: Such an unwasted strength I cannot boast, Yet now my years are eighty-four almost: And though from what it was my strength is far, Both in the first and second Punic war, Nor at Thermopylae, under Glabrio, Nor when I Consul into Spain did go; But yet I feel no weakness, nor hath length Of winters quite enervated my strength; 330 And I, my guest, my client, or my friend, Still in the courts of justice can defend: Neither must I that proverb's truth allow, 'Who would be ancient, must be early so.' I would be youthful still, and find no need To appear old, till I was so indeed. And yet you see my hours not idle are, Though with your strength I cannot mine compare; Yet this centurion's doth your's surmount, Not therefore him the better man I count. 340 Milo when ent'ring the Olympic game, With a huge ox upon his shoulder came. Would you the force of Milo's body find, Rather than of Pythagoras's mind? The force which Nature gives with care retain, But when decay'd, 'tis folly to complain. In age to wish for youth is full as vain, As for a youth to turn a child again. Simple and certain Nature's ways appear, As she sets forth the seasons of the year. 350 So in all parts of life we find her truth, Weakness to childhood, rashness to our youth; To elder years to be discreet and grave, Then to old age maturity she gave. (Scipio) you know, how Massinissa bears His kingly port at more than ninety years; When marching with his foot, he walks till night; When with his horse, he never will alight; Though cold or wet, his head is always bare; So hot, so dry, his aged members are. 360 You see how exercise and temperance Even to old years a youthful strength advance. Our law (because from age our strength retires) No duty which belongs to strength requires. But age doth many men so feeble make, That they no great design can undertake; Yet that to age not singly is applied, But to all man's infirmities beside. That Scipio, who adopted you, did fall Into such pains, he had no health at all; 370 Who else had equall'd Africanus' parts, Exceeding him in all the lib'ral arts: Why should those errors then imputed be To age alone, from which our youth's not free? Every disease of age we may prevent, Like those of youth, by being diligent. When sick, such mod'rate exercise we use, 377 And diet, as our vital heat renews; And if our body thence refreshment finds, Then must we also exercise our minds. If with continual oil we not supply Our lamp, the light for want of it will die; Though bodies may be tired with exercise, No weariness the mind could e'er surprise. Caecilius the comedian, when of age He represents the follies on the stage, They're credulous, forgetful, dissolute; Neither those crimes to age he doth impute, But to old men, to whom those crimes belong. Lust, petulance, rashness, are in youth more strong 390 Than ago, and yet young men those vices hate, Who virtuous are, discreet, and temperate: And so, what we call dotage seldom breeds In bodies, but where nature sow'd the seeds. There are five daughters, and four gallant sons, In whom the blood of noble Appius runs, With a most num'rous family beside, Whom he alone, though old and blind, did guide. Yet his clear-sighted mind was still intent, And to his business like a bow stood bent: 400 By children, servants, neighbours so esteem'd, He not a master, but a monarch seem'd. All his relations his admirers were, His sons paid rev'rence, and his servants fear: The order and the ancient discipline Of Romans, did in all his actions shine. Authority kept up old age secures, Whose dignity as long as life endures. Something of youth I in old age approve, But more the marks of age in youth I love. 410 Who this observes may in his body find Decrepit age, but never in his mind. The seven volumes of my own reports, Wherein are all the pleadings of our courts; All noble monuments of Greece are come Unto my hands, with those of ancient Rome. The pontificial, and the civil law, I study still, and thence orations draw; And to confirm my memory, at night, What I hear, see, or do, by day, recite. 420 These exercises for my thoughts I find; These labours are the chariots of my mind. To serve my friends, the Senate I frequent, And there what I before digested vent; Which only from my strength of mind proceeds, Not any outward force of body needs; Which, if I could not do, I should delight On what I would to ruminate at night. Who in such practices their minds engage, Nor fear nor think of their approaching age, 430 Which by degrees invisibly doth creep: Nor do we seem to die, but fall asleep.