Minor Poets of the Caroline Period, Vol. III

by Unknown

POEMS.

On the Death of the Right Honourable Thomas Earl of Ossory.

Pindaric Ode.

Stanza I.

No more!—Alas that bitter word, No more!

The Great, the Just, the Generous, the Kind;

The universal Darling of Mankind,

The noble Ossory is now No more!

The mighty man is fall'n—

From Glory's lofty pinnacle,

Meanly like one of us, he fell,

Not in the hot pursuit of victory,

As gallant men would choose to die;

10But tamely, like a poor plebeian, from his bed

To the dark grave a captive led;

Emasculating sighs, and groans around,

His friends in floods of sorrow drown'd;

His awful truncheon and bright arms laid by,

He bow'd his glorious head to Destiny.

II.

Celestial Powers! how unconcern'd you are!

No black eclipse or blazing star

Presag'd the death of this illustrious man,

No deluge, no, nor hurricane;

20In her old wonted course Nature went on,

As if some common thing were done,

One single victim to Death's altar's come,

And not in Ossory an whole hecatomb.

Yet, when the founder of old Rome expir'd,

When the Pellëan youth resign'd his breath,

And when the great Dictator stoop'd to death,

Nature and all her faculties retir'd:

Amaz'd she started when amaz'd she saw

The breaches of her ancient fundamental law,

30Which kept the world in awe:

For men less brave than him, her very heart did ache,

The labouring Earth did quake,

And trees their fix'd foundations did forsake;

Nature in some prodigious way

Gave notice of their fatal day:

Those lesser griefs with pain she thus exprest,

This did confound, and overwhelm her breast.

III.

Shrink, ye crown'd heads, that think yourselves secure,

And from your mould'ring thrones look down,

40Your greatness cannot long endure,

The King of Terrors claims you for his own;

You are but tributaries to his dreadful crown:

Renown'd, Serene, Imperial, most August,

Are only high and mighty epithets for dust.

In vain, in vain so high

Our tow'ring expectations fly,

While th' blossoms of our hopes, so fresh, so gay,

Appear, and promise fruit, then fade away.

From valiant Ossory's ever loyal hands,

50What did we not believe!

We dream'd of yet unconquer'd lands

He to his Prince could give,

And neighbouring crowns retrieve:

Expected that he would in triumph come

Laden with spoils and Afric banners home,

As if an hero's years

Were as unbounded as our fond desires.

IV.

Lament, lament, you that dare Honour love,

60And court her at a noble rate

(Your prowess to approve),

That dare religiously upon her wait,

And blush not to grow good, when you grow great,

Such mourners suit His virtue, such His State.

And you, brave souls, who for your country's good

Did wondrous things in fields and seas of blood,

Lament th' undaunted chief that led you on;

Whose exemplary courage could inspire

The most degenerate heart with martial English fire.

70Your bleeding wounds who shall hereafter dress

With an indulgent tenderness;

Touch'd with a melting sympathy,

Who shall your wants supply,

Since he, your good Samaritan, is gone?

O Charity! thou richest boon of Heaven,

To man in pity given!

(For when well-meaning mortals give,

The poor's and their own bowels they relieve;)

Thou mak'st us with alacrity to die,

80Miss'd and bewail'd like thee, large-hearted Ossory.

V.

Arise, ye blest inhabitants above,

From your immortal seats arise,

And on our wonder, on our love

Gaze with astonish'd eyes.

Arise! Arise! make room,

Th' exalted Shade is come.

See where he comes! What princely port he bears!

How God-like he appears!

His shining temples round

90With wreaths of everlasting laurels bound!

As from the bloody field of Mons he came,

Where he outfought th' hyperboles of Fame.

See how the Guardian-Angel of our isle

Receives the deifi'd champion with a smile!

Welcome, the Guardian-Angel says,

Full of songs of joy and praise,

Welcome thou art to me,

And to these regions of serenity!

Welcome, the wingèd choir resounds,

100While with loud Euge's all the sacred place abounds.

On the Death of the Earl of Ossory.] Thomas Butler (1634-80), by courtesy Earl of Ossory, though not exactly a Marcellus (for he was forty-six when he died), holds a distinguished place among those who have died too soon. He was a soldier, a sailor, a statesman; if not an orator, an effective speaker; and though no milksop or 'good boy', one emphatically, 'of the right sort'. The excellent first line (see Introduction) is well supported by the whole opening quatrain; and it has been left, typographically, as it appears in the original. The rest may undergo the usual law. The poem was first issued in folio in 1681: 'be' was read for 'grow' in l. 63.

58 The French rhyme, as if 'désir', is not uninteresting.

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To the Memory of the Incomparable Orinda.

Pindaric Ode.

Stanza I.

A long adieu to all that's bright,

Noble, or brave in woman-kind;

To all the wonders of their wit,

And trophies of their mind:

The glowing heat of th' holy fire is gone:

To th' altar, whence 'twas kindled, flown;

There's nought on earth, but ashes left behind;

E'er since th' amazing sound was spread,

Orinda's dead;

10Every soft and fragrant word,

All that language could afford;

Every high and lofty thing

That's wont to set the soul on wing,

No longer with this worthless world would stay.

Thus, when the death of the great Pan was told,

Along the shore the dismal tidings roll'd;

The lesser Gods their fanes forsook,

Confounded with the mighty stroke,

They could not overlive that fatal day,

20But sigh'd and groan'd their gasping Oracles away.

II.

How rigid are the laws of Fate

And how severe that black decree!

No sublunary thing is free,

But all must enter th' adamantine gate:

Sooner or later must we come

To Nature's dark retiring room:

And yet 'tis pity, is it not?

The learned, as the fool should die,

One, full as low, as t'other lie,

30Together blended in the general lot!

Distinguish'd only from the common crowd

By an hing'd coffin or an holland shroud,

Though Fame and Honour speak them ne'er so loud.

Alas, Orinda! even thou,

Whose happy verse made others live,

And certain immortality could give;

Blasted are all thy blooming glories now,

The laurel withers o'er thy brow:

Methinks it should disturb thee to conceive

40That when poor I this artless breath resign,

My dust should have as much of Poetry as thine!

III.

Too soon we languish with desire

Of what we never could enough admire.

On th' billows of this world sometimes we rise

So dangerously high,

We are to Heaven too nigh:

When all in rage

(Grown hoary with one minute's age)

The very self-same fickle wave,

50Which the entrancing prospect gave,

Swoln to a mountain, sinks into a grave.

Too happy mortals, if the Powers above

As merciful would be,

And easy to preserve the thing we love,

As in the giving they are free!

But they too oft delude our wearied eyes,

They fix a flaming sword 'twixt us and Paradise!

A weeping evening blurs a smiling day,

Yet why should heads of gold have feet of clay?

60Why should the man that wav'd th' Almighty wand,

That led the murmuring crowd

By pillar and by cloud,

Shivering atop of aery Pisgah stand

Only to see, but never, never tread the Promis'd Land?

IV.

Throw your swords and gauntlets by,

You daring Sons of War!

You cannot purchase ere you die

One honourable scar,

Since that fair hand that gilded all your bays;

70That in heroic numbers wrote your praise,

That you might safely sleep in Honour's bed,

Itself, alas! is wither'd, cold, and dead:

Cold and dead are all those charms

That burnish'd your victorious arms;

Those useless things hereafter must

Blush first in blood, and then in rust:

No oil but that of her smooth words can serve

Weapon and warrior to preserve.

Expect no more from this dull age

80But folly or poetic rage,

Short-liv'd nothings of the stage,

Vented to-day, and cried to-morrow down;

With her the soul of Poesie is gone,

Gone, while our expectations flew

As high a pitch as she has done,

Exhal'd to Heaven like early dew,

Betimes the little shining drops are flown,

Ere th' drowsy world perceiv'd that manna was come down

V.

You of the sex that would be fair,

90Exceeding lovely, hither come,

Would you be pure as Angels are,

Come dress you by Orinda's tomb,

And leave your flattering glass at home.

Within that marble mirror see,

How one day such as she

You must, and yet alas! can never be!

Think on the heights of that vast soul,

And then admire, and then condole.

Think on the wonders of her generous pen,

100'Twas she made Pompey truly great;

Neither the purchase of his sweat

Nor yet Cornelia's kindness made him live again:

With envy think, when to the grave you go,

How very little must be said of you,

Since all that can be said of virtuous woman was her due.

To the memory, &c.] For 'Orinda', or Katharine Philips, see vol. i. This Pindaric was first printed in her Poems of 1667: the chief variants are—

58 blurs] crowns.

71 While you securely sleep.

75 Those useless things] Inglorious arms.

77 can] will.

99 generous om.

101 Neither the expense of blood nor sweat.

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The Review.

Pindaric Ode to the Reverend Dr. William Sancroft, now Lord Archbishop of Canterbury.

Stanza I.

When first I stept into th' alluring maze

To tread this world's mysterious ways,

Alas! I had nor guide, nor clue,

No Ariadne lent her hand,

Not one of Virtue's guards did bid me stand,

Or ask'd me what I meant to do,

Or whither I would go:

This labyrinth so pleasant did appear,

I lost myself with much content,

10Infinite hazards underwent,

Out-straggled Homer's crafty wanderer,

And ten years more than he in fruitless travels spent;

The one half of my life is gone,

The shadow the meridian past;

Death's dismal evening drawing on,

Which must with damps and mists be overcast,

An evening that will surely come,

'Tis time, high time to give myself the welcome home.

II.

Had I but heartily believ'd

20That all the Royal Preacher said was true,)

When first I ent'red on the stage,

And Vanity so hotly did pursue;

Convinc'd by his experience, not my age,

I had myself long since retriev'd,

I should have let the curtain down,

Before the Fool's part had begun:

But I throughout the tedious play have been

Concern'd in every busy scene;

Too too inquisitive I tried

30Now this, anon another face,

And then a third, more odd, took place,

Was everything, but what I was.

Such was my Protean folly, such my pride,

Befool'd through all the tragi-comedy,

Where others met with hissing, to expect a Plaudite.

III.

I had a mind the Pastoral to prove,

Searching for happiness in Love,

And finding Venus painted with a Dove,

A little naked Boy hard by,

40The Dove, which had no gall,

The Boy no dangerous arms at all;

They do thee wrong, great Love, said I,

Much wrong, great Love! ——scarce had I spoke

Ere into my unwary bosom came

An inextinguishable flame:

From fair Amira's eyes the lightning broke,

That left me more than thunder-strook;

She carries tempest in that lovely name:

Love's mighty and tumultuous pain

50Disorders Nature like an hurricane.

Yet couldn't I believe such storms could be,

When I launch'd forth to sea;

Promis'd myself a calm and easy way,

Though I had seen before

Piteous ruins on the shore,

And on the naked beach Leander breathless lay.

IV.

To extricate myself from Love

Which I could ill obey, but worse command,

I took my pencils in my hand,

60With that artillery for conquest strove,

Like wise Pygmalion then did I

Myself design my deity;

Made my own saint, made my own shrine:

If she did frown, one dash could make her smile,

All bickerings one easy stroke could reconcile,

Plato feign'd no idea so divine:

Thus did I quiet many a froward day,

While in my eyes my soul did play,

Thus did the time, and thus myself beguile;

70Till on a day, but then I knew not why,

A tear fall'n from my eye,

Wash'd out my saint, my shrine, my deity:

Prophetic chance! the lines are gone,

And I must mourn o'er what I doted on:

I find even Giotto's circle has not all perfection.

V.

To Poetry I then inclin'd;

Verse that emancipates the mind,

Verse that unbends the soul;

That amulet of sickly fame,

80Verse that from wind articulates a name;

Verse for both fortunes fit, to smile and to condole.

Ere I had long the trial made,

A serious thought made me afraid:

For I had heard Parnassus' sacred hill

Was so prodigiously high,

Its barren top so near the sky;

The ether there

So very pure, so subtil, and so rare,

'Twould a chameleon kill,

90The beast that is all lungs, and feeds on air:

Poets the higher up that hill they go,

Like pilgrims, share the less of what's below:

Hence 'tis they ever go repining on,

And murmur more than their own Helicon.

I heard them curse their stars in ponderous rhymes,

And in grave numbers grumble at the times;

Yet where th' illustrious Cowley led the way,

I thought it great discretion there to go astray.

VI.

From liberal Arts to the litigious Law,

100Obedience, not ambition, did me draw;)

I look'd at awful quoif and scarlet gown

Through others' optics, not my own:

Untie the Gordian knot that will,

I see no rhetoric at all

In them that learnedly can brawl,

And fill with mercenary breath the spacious hall;

Let me be peaceable, let me be still.

The solitary Tishbite heard the wind,

With strength and violence combin'd,

110That rent the mountains, and did make

The solid Earth's foundations shake;

He saw the dreadful fire, and heard the horrid noise,

But found what he expected in the small still voice.

VII.

Nor here did my unbridled fancy rest,

But I must try

A pitch more high,

To read the starry language of the East;

And with Chaldean curiosity

Presum'd to solve the riddles of the sky;

120Impatient till I knew my doom,

Dejected till the good direction come,

I ripp'd up Fate's forbidden womb,

Nor would I stay till it brought forth

An easy and a natural birth,

But was solicitous to know

The yet misshapen embryo

(Preposterous crime!)

Without the formal midwif'ry of time:

Fond man, as if too little grief were given

130On Earth, draws down inquietudes from Heaven!

Permits himself with fear to be unmann'd,

Belshazzar-like, grows wan and pale,

His very heart begins to fail,

Is frighted at that Writing of the Hand,

Which yet nor he, nor all his learn'd magicians understand.

VIII.

And now at last what's the result of all?

Should the strict audit come,

And for th' account too early call;

A num'rous heap of ciphers would be found the total sum.

140When incompassionate age shall plow

The delicate Amira's brow,

And draw his furrows deep and long,

What hardy youth is he

Will after that a reaper be,

Or sing the harvest song?

And what is verse, but an effeminate vent

Either of lust or discontent?

Colours will starve, and all their glories die,

Invented only to deceive the eye;

150And he that wily Law does love

Much more of serpent has than dove,

There's nothing in Astrology,

But Delphic ambiguity;

We are misguided in the dark, and thus

Each star becomes an Ignis fatuus:

Yet pardon me, ye glorious Lamps of light,

'Twas one of you that led the way,

Dispell'd the gloomy night,

Became a Phosphor to th' Eternal Day,

160And show'd the Magi where th' Almighty Infant lay.

IX.

At length the doubtful victory's won,

It was a cunning ambuscade

The World for my felicities had laid;

Yet now at length the day's our own,

Now conqueror-like let us new laws set down.

Henceforth let all our love seraphic turn,

The sprightly and the vigorous flame

On th' altar let it ever burn,

And sacrifice its ancient name:

170A tablet on my heart next I'll prepare

Where I would draw the Holy Sepulchre,

Behind it a soft landskip I would lay

Of melancholy Golgotha!

On th' altar let me all my spoils lay down,

And if I had one, there I'd hang my laurel crown.

Give me the Pandects of the Law Divine,

Such was the Law made Moses' face to shine.

Thus beyond Saturn's heavy orb I'll tower,

And laugh at his malicious power:

180Raptur'd in contemplation thus I'll go

Above unactive earth, and leave the stars below.

X.

Toss'd on the wings of every wind,

After these hoverings to and fro

(And still the waters higher grow),

Not knowing where a resting-place to find,

Whither for sanctuary should I go

But, Reverend Sir, to you?

You that have triumph'd o'er th' impetuous flood,

That, Noah-like, in bad times durst be good,

190And the stiff torrent manfully withstood,

Can save me too;

One that have long in fear of drowning bin,

Surrounded by the rolling waves of sin;

Do you but reach out a propitious hand

And charitably take me in,

I will not yet despair to see dry land.

'Tis done;—and I no longer fluctuate,

I've made the Church my Ark, and Sion's Hill my Ararat.

The Review.] Dated in the Firth MS. December 17, 1666. Entered in the Stationers' Register on December 17, 1673, as 'A poem or copy intituled the Review, To the Reverend my honored freind Dr. Wm. Sancroft, Deane of St. Paules, A Pindarique Ode'. Similarly in the Firth MS. 'The Review. A Pindarique Ode. To the Reverend, my worthy friend, Dr. Wm. Sandcroft, Dean of St. Paul's': the chief variants only are recorded. The words 'now Lord Archbishop of Canterbury' are added in the fourth edition. In the earlier editions—even that of 1682, when Sancroft had been Primate for four years—the poem is addressed 'to Dr. W. S.' The piece is a rather remarkable 'Religio Laici' for the time, and as anticipating Dryden's; and has some, though rather vague, autobiographic interest. It seems (v. Commendatory Poems) to have attracted some attention as such.

16 must] will MS.

40 had] has MS., 1674-82.

46 fair] my MS.

51 couldn't] did not MS.

56 breathless] shipwrack'd MS.

64 could] should MS.

81 fit] apt MS.

93 ever added in 1684.

113 what] whom MS.

114 seq. It is well known that Astrology maintained its hold throughout the seventeenth century. Dryden himself does not seem to have been by any means insensible to its fascination; and Flatman—who, though a slightly younger man, represents an older temper—may well have been a disciple of Lilly.

135 he] we MS. his] our MS.

148 will] must MS. starve] In its proper sense of 'perish'. Italic in original; but, as has been pointed out, this type is used with such utter capriciousness that it affords no evidence whether the term had any technical vogue among artists of the time.

159 Eternal] Immortal MS.

168 let it] shall for MS.

172 soft] fair MS.

187 Sir] Friend 1674-82.

189 A possible but not necessary reminiscence of Fuller's well-known book, Good Thoughts for Bad Times.

193 the rolling waves] a cataclysm MS.

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To my Reverend Friend, Dr. Sam. Woodford, On his Excellent Version of the Psalms.

Pindaric Ode.

Stanza I.

See (worthy friend) what I would do

(Whom neither Muse nor Art inspire),

That have no friend in all the sacred quire,

To show my kindness for your Book, and you,

Forc'd to disparage what I would admire;

Bold man, that dares attempt Pindaric now,

Since the great Pindar's greatest Son

From the ingrateful age is gone,

Cowley has bid th' ingrateful age adieu;

10Apollo's rare Columbus, he

Found out new worlds of Poesy:

He, like an eagle, soar'd aloft,

To seize his noble prey;

Yet as a dove's, his soul was soft,

Quiet as Night, but bright as Day:

To Heaven in a fiery chariot he

Ascended by seraphic Poetry;

Yet which of us dull mortals since can find

Any inspiring mantle, that he left behind?

II.

20His powerful numbers might have done you right;

He could have spar'd you immortality,

Under that Chieftain's banners you might fight

Assur'd of laurels, and of victory

Over devouring Time and sword and fire

And Jove's important ire:

My humble verse would better sing

David the Shepherd, than the King:

And yet methinks 'tis stately to be one

(Though of the meaner sort)

30Of them that may approach a Prince's throne,

If 'twere but to be seen at Court.

Such, Sir, is my ambition for a name,

Which I shall rather take from you, than give,

For in your Book I cannot miss of fame,

But by contact shall live.

Thus on your chariot wheel shall I

Ride safe, and look as big as Aesop's fly,

Who from th' Olympian Race new come,

And now triumphantly flown home,

40To's neighbours of the swarm thus proudly said,

Don't you remember what a dust I made!

III.

Where'er the Son of Jesse's harp shall sound,

Or Israel's sweetest songs be sung,

(Like Samson's lion sweet and strong)

You and your happy Muse shall be renown'd,

To whose kind hand the Son of Jesse owes

His last deliverance from all his foes.

Blood-thirsty Saul, less barbarous than they,

His person only sought to kill;

50These would his deathless poems slay,

And sought immortal blood to spill,

To sing whose songs in Babylon would be

A new Captivity:

Deposèd by these rebels, you alone

Restor'd the glorious David to his throne.

Long in disguise the royal Prophet lay,

Long from his own thoughts banishèd,

Ne'er since his death till this illustrious day

Was sceptre in his hand, or crown plac'd on his head:

60He seem'd as if at Gath he still had bin

As once before proud Achish he appear'd,

His face besmear'd,

With spittle on his sacred beard,

A laughing-stock to the insulting Philistine.

Drest in their rhymes, he look'd as he were mad,

In tissue you, and Tyrian purple have him clad.

To Dr. Sam. Woodford.] First printed in A Paraphrase upon the Psalms of David, 1668. A MS. version is in Rawlinson D. 260 (fol. 27) of the Bodleian. Woodford (1636-1700) though much forgotten now, must have been something more than an ordinary person. As such he might have been, as he was, a St. Paul's boy and an Oxford (Wadham) man, a member of the Inner Temple, an early F.R.S., and later a Canon of Chichester and Winchester. But as such merely he would hardly have been, in the Preface to his Paraphrases of the Canticles (v. inf., [p. 366]), the first, and for a long time the only, 'ingoing' critic of Milton's blank verse. He does not take quite the right view of it, but it is noteworthy that he should have taken any view of an intelligent character.

12 soar'd] tow'red MS.

16 a om. MS.

18 'But which of us poor mortals' 1668, MS.

20, 21, &c. have] ha' 1668.

25 ire] Dire MS., a word of which a unique instance in the sense of 'dire quality' is quoted in the N.E.D. from Anthony à Wood. The scribe may have misunderstood 'important' ( = 'importunate').

39 flown] got MS.

41 This quaint anti-climax is one of the not very few indications which make of Flatman a sort of rough draft of Prior.

42 seq. Translations of the Psalms have been so numerous—and so bad—that it is difficult to know whether Flatman had any particular translator or translators in his mind while writing the last stanza. It may have been merely the usual Sternhold and Hopkins. At any rate his own friend Tate did not join Brady in lèse-poésie (as well as lèse-majesté against the Son of Jesse) till thirty years after Woodford wrote and eight after Flatman's own death.

55 Restor'd] Restore MS.

59 plac'd] set MS.

63 sacred om. MS.

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On the Death of the truly valiant George Duke of Albemarle.

Pindaric Ode.

Stanza I.

Now blush thyself into confusion,

Ridiculous Mortality

With indignation to be trampled on

By them that court Eternity;

Whose generous deeds and prosperous state

Seem poorly set within the reach of Fate,

Whose every trophy, and each laurel wreath

Depends upon a little breath;

Confin'd within the narrow bounds of Time,

10And of uncertain age,

With doubtful hazards they engage,

Thrown down, while victory bids them higher climb;

Their glories are eclips'd by Death.

Hard circumstances of illustrious men

Whom Nature (like the Scythian Prince) detains

Within the body's chains

(Nature, that rigorous Tamberlain).

Stout Bajazet disdain'd the barbarous rage

Of that insulting conqueror,

20Bravely himself usurp'd his own expiring power,

By dashing out his brains against his iron cage.

II.

But 'tis indecent to complain,

And wretched mortals curse their stars in vain,

In vain they waste their tears for them that die,

Themselves involv'd in the same destiny,

No more with sorrow let it then be said

The glorious Albemarle is dead.

Let what is said of him triumphant be,

Words as gay, as is his Fame,

30And as manly as his name,

Words as ample as his praise,

And as verdant as his bays,

An Epinicion, not an Elegy.

Yet why shouldst thou, ambitious Muse, believe

Thy gloomy verse can any splendours give,

Or make him one small moment longer live?

Nothing but what is vulgar thou canst say;

Or misbecoming numbers sing;

What tribute to his memory canst thou pay,

40Whose virtue say'd a Crown, and could oblige a King?

III.

Many a year distressèd Albion lay

By her unnatural offspring torn,

Once the World's terror, then its scorn,

At home a prison, and abroad a prey:

Her valiant Youth, her valiant Youth did kill,

And mutual blood did spill;

Usurpers then, and many a mushroom Peer

Within her palaces did domineer;

There did the vulture build his nest,

50There the owls and satyrs rest,

By Zim and Ohim all possest;

'Till England's Angel-Guardian, thou,

With pity and with anger mov'd

For Albion thy belov'd

(Olive-chaplets on thy brow),

With bloodless hands upheld'st her drooping head,

And with thy trumpets call'dst her from the dead.

Bright Phosphor to the rising Sun!

That Royal Lamp, by thee did first appear

60Usher'd into our happy hemisphere;

O may it still shine bright and clear!

No cloud nor night approach it, but a constant noon!

IV.

Nor thus did thy undaunted valour cease,

Or wither with unactive peace:

Scarce were our civil broils allay'd,

While yet the wound of an intestine war

Had left a tender scar,

When of our new prosperities afraid,

Our jealous neighbours fatal arms prepare;

70In floating groves the enemy drew near.

Loud did the Belgian Lion roar,

Upon our coasts th' Armada did appear,

And boldly durst attempt our native shore,

Till his victorious squadrons check'd their pride,

And did in triumph o'er the Ocean ride.

With thunder, lightning, and with clouds of smoke

He did their insolence restrain,

And gave his dreadful law to all the main,

Whose surly billows trembled when he spoke,

80And put their willing necks under his yoke.

This the stupendious vanquisher has done,

Whose high prerogative it was alone

To raise a ruin'd, and secure an envied throne.

V.

Then angry Heav'n began to frown,

From Heav'n a dreadful pestilence came down,

On every side did lamentations rise;

Baleful sigh, and heavy groan,

All was plaint, and all was moan!

The pious friend with trembling love,

90Scarce had his latest kindness done,

In sealing up his dead friend's eyes,

Ere with his own surprising fate he strove,

And wanted one to close his own.

Death's iron sceptre bore the sway

O'er our imperial Golgotha;

Yet he with kind, though unconcernèd eyes,

Durst stay and see those numerous tragedies.

He in the field had seen Death's grisly shape,

Heard him in volleys talk aloud,

100Beheld his grandeur in a glittering crowd,

And unamaz'd seen him in cannons gape:

Ever unterrified his valour stood

Like some tall rock amidst a sea of blood:

'Twas loyalty from sword and pest kept him alive,

The safest armour and the best preservative.

VI.

The flaming City next implor'd his aid,

And seasonably pray'd

His force against the Fire, whose arms the sea obey'd;

Wide did th' impetuous torrent spread,

110Then those goodly fabrics fell,

Temples themselves promiscuously there

Dropp'd down, and in the common ruin buried were,

The City turn'd into one Mongibel:

The haughty tyrant shook his curlèd head,

His breath with vengeance black, his face with fury red.

Then every cheek grew wan and pale,

Every heart did yield and fail:

Nought but thy presence could its power suppress,

Whose stronger light put out the less.

120As London's noble structures rise,

Together shall his memory grow,

To whom that beauteous town so much does owe.

London! joint Favourite with him thou wert;

As both possess'd a room within one heart,

So now with thine indulgent Sovereign join,

Respect his great friend's ashes, for he wept o'er thine.

VII.

Thus did the Duke perform his mighty stage,

Thus did that Atlas of our State

With his prodigious acts amaze the age,

130While worlds of wonders on his shoulders sate;

Full of glories and of years,

He trod his shining and immortal way,

Whilst Albion, compass'd with new floods of tears,

Besought his longer stay.

Profane that pen that dares describe thy bliss,

Or write thine Apotheosis!

Whom Heaven and thy Prince to pleasure prove,

Entrusted with their armies and their love.

In other Courts 'tis dangerous to deserve,

140Thou didst a kind and grateful Master serve,

Who, to express his gratitude to thee,

Scorn'd those ill-natur'd arts of policy.

Happy had Belisarius bin

(Whose forward fortune was his sin)

By many victories undone,

He had not liv'd neglected, died obscure,

If for thy Prince those battles he had won,

Thy Prince, magnificent above his Emperor.

VIII.

Among the Gods, those Gods that died like thee,

150As great as theirs, and full of majesty,

Thy sacred dust shall sleep secure,

Thy monument as long as theirs endure:

There, free from envy, thou with them

Shall have thy share of diadem;

Among their badges shall be set

Thy Garter and thy coronet;

Or (which is statelier) thou shalt have

A Mausoleum in thy Prince's breast;

There thine embalmèd name shall rest,

160That sanctuary shall thee save

From the dishonours of a regal grave:

And every wondrous history,

Read by incredulous Posterity,

That writes of him, shall honourably mention thee,

Who by an humble loyalty hast shown,

How much sublimer gallantry and renown

'Tis to restore, than to usurp a Monarch's Crown.

On the Death of the Duke of Albemarle.] First printed in small folio in 1670. Monk died that year. There are some important variants, noted below.

40 a Crown] three Realms 1670.

47 The extreme rapidity of Monk's own transition from commonerhood to the highest rank in the peerage makes this allusion to Oliver's mock-lords rather hazardous; but after all Monk was a gentleman, and had richly deserved it.

49 vulture] bloody vulture 1670.

51 Zim and Ohim are the original Hebrew for the 'wild beasts of the desert' and the 'doleful creatures' who accompany owls and satyrs in Isaiah xiii. 21 (A.V.).

61 bright] warm 1670.

After l. 75 ('ride') the following lines appeared in 1670:

Under a gallant Admiral he fought,

York, whose success a taller Muse must sing;

Who so his country loved, that he forgot

He was the Brother of a King;

Whose daring courage might inspire

A meaner soul than his with martial fire.

80 put] crouch'd.

81 stupendious] These forms are always worth noting, when they occur.

94 Death's iron sceptre bore the sway] With iron sceptre Death bore all the sway.

96 unconcerned] undisturbed.

97 tragedies] butcheries.

98 shape] face.

99 volleys] niter.

104 kept] saved.

107 And seasonably pray'd] Successfully it prayed.

113 Mongibel] i.e. Etna.

117 did yield and fail] began to fail.

After 117 come the following lines:

And had not our Anointed's flame

(From heaven towards his subjects sent)

Outblazed the furious element,

What could the furious element tame?

121 His] thy.

After 122 ('owe') there is a line which completes the rhyme with 'rise': 'For its revived tranquillities.'

124 possess'd] took up.

133 floods] seas.

135 Profane] Saucy.

137 prove] strove (so also the texts of 1674, 1676, 1682).

161 a regal] the.

---

The Retirement.

Pindaric Ode made in the time of the Great Sickness, 1665.

Stanza I.

In the mild close of an hot summer's day,

When a cool breeze had fann'd the air,

And heaven's face look'd smooth and fair;

Lovely as sleeping infants be,

That in their slumber smiling lie

Dandled on their mother's knee,

You hear no cry,

No harsh, nor inharmonious voice,

But all is innocence without a noise:

10When every sweet, which the sun's greedy ray

So lately from us drew,

Began to trickle down again in dew;

Weary, and faint, and full of thought,

Though for what cause I knew not well,

What I ail'd I could not tell,

I sate me down at an aged poplar's root,

Whose chiding leaves excepted and my breast,

All the impertinently busied world inclin'd to rest.

II.

I list'ned heedfully around,

20But not a whisper there was found.

The murmuring brook hard by,

As heavy, and as dull as I,

Seem'd drowsily along to creep;

It ran with undiscover'd pace,

And if a pebble stopp'd the lazy race,

'Twas but as if it started in its sleep.

Echo herself, that ever lent an ear

To any piteous moan,

Wont to groan with them that groan,

30Echo herself was speechless here.

Thrice did I sigh, thrice miserably cry,

Ai me! the Nymph, ai me! would not reply,

Or churlish, or she was asleep for company.

III.

There did I sit and sadly call to mind

Far and near, all I could find

All the pleasures, all the cares,

The jealousies, the fears,

All the incertainties of thirty years,

From that most inauspicious hour

40Which gave me breath;

To that in which the fair Amira's power

First made me wish for death:

And yet Amira's not unkind;

She never gave me angry word,

Never my mean address abhorr'd;

Beauteous her face, beauteous her mind:

Yet something dreadful in her eyes I saw

Which ever kept my falt'ring tongue in awe,

And gave my panting soul a law.

50So have I seen a modest beggar stand,

Worn out with age and being oft denied,

On his heart he laid his hand;

And though he look'd as if he would have died

The needy wretch no alms did crave:

He durst not ask for what he fear'd he should not have.

IV.

I thought on every pensive thing,

That might my passion strongly move,

That might the sweetest sadness bring;

Oft did I think on Death, and oft of Love,

60The triumphs of the little God, and that same ghastly King.

The ghastly King, what has he done?

How his pale territories spread!

Strait scantlings now of consecrated ground

His swelling empire cannot bound,

But every day new colonies of dead

Enhance his conquests, and advance his throne.

The mighty City sav'd from storms of War,

Exempted from the crimson flood,

When all the land o'erflow'd with blood,

70Stoops yet once more to a new conqueror:

The City which so many rivals bred,

Sackcloth is on her loins, and ashes on her head.

V.

When will the frowning Heav'n begin to smile?

Those pitchy clouds be overblown,

That hide the mighty town,

That I may see the mighty pile!

When will the angry Angel cease to slay,

And turn his brandish'd sword away

From that illustrious Golgotha,

80London, the great Aceldama!

When will that stately landscape open lie,

The mist withdrawn that intercepts my eye!

That heap of Pyramids appear,

Which, now, too much like those of Egypt are:

Eternal monuments of pride and sin,

Magnificent and tall without, but dead men's bones within.

The Retirement. Exactly dated in the Firth MS., August 17, 1665. Stanza III, found in this MS., was cancelled in 1674, 1676, 1682, but restored in 1686. Stanzas IV and V appear as a separate poem entitled 'Upon the Plague' in Bodley Rawlinson MS. D. 260, fol. 29 verso.

28 moan] tone Firth MS., 1676, 1682.

57 strongly] deeply Firth and Rawlinson MSS.

59 of Love] on Love MSS., 1674, 1676.

66 advance] exalt MSS.

71 rivals MSS.: rival 1682, 1686.

73 begin to om. MSS. Rawlinson reads 'Heavens'.

76 mighty] amazing mighty Rawlinson.

77 angry om. Rawlinson.

85 Eternal] Vast Rawlinson.

---

Translated out of a Part of Petronius Arbiter's Satyricon.

I.

After a blust'ring tedious night,

The wind's now hush'd and the black tempest o'er,

Which th' crazy vessel miserably tore,

Behold a lamentable sight!

Rolling far off, upon a briny wave,

Compassionate Philander spied

A floating carcase ride,

That seem'd to beg the kindness of a grave.

II.

Sad and concern'd, Philander then

10Weigh'd with himself the frail, uncertain state

Of silly, strangely disappointed men,

Whose projects are the sport of Fate.

Perhaps (said he) this poor man's desolate wife,

In a strange country far away,

Expects some happy day

This ghastly thing, the comfort of her life;

III.

His son it may be dreads no harm,

But kindly waits his father's coming home;

Himself secure, he apprehends no storm,

20But fancies that he sees him come.

Perhaps the good old man, that kiss'd this son,

And left a blessing on his head,

His arms about him spread,

Hopes yet to see him ere his glass be run.

IV.

These are the grand intrigues of Man,

These his huge thoughts, and these his vast desires,

Restless, and swelling like the Ocean

From his birth till he expires.

See where the naked, breathless body lies

30To every puff of wind a slave,

At the beck of every wave,

That once perhaps was fair, rich, stout, and wise!

V.

While thus Philander pensive said,

Touch'd only with a pity for mankind,

At nearer view, he thought he knew the dead,

And call'd the wretched man to mind:

Alas, said he, art thou that angry thing,

That with thy looks didst threaten death,

Plagues and destruction breath,

40But two days since, little beneath a King!

VI.

Ai me! where is thy fury now,

Thine insolence, and all thy boundless power,

O most ridiculously dreadful thou!

Expos'd for beasts and fishes to devour.

Go, sottish mortals, let your breasts swell high;

All your designs laid deep as Hell,

A small mischance can quell,

Outwitted by the deeper plots of Destiny.

VII.

This haughty lump a while before

50Sooth'd up itself, perhaps with hopes of life,

What it would do, when it came safe on shore,

What for its son, what for its wife;

See where the man and all his politics lie.

Ye Gods! what gulfs are set between

What we have and what we ween,

Whilst lull'd in dreams of years to come, we die!

VIII.

Nor are we liable alone

To misadventures on the merciless sea,

A thousand other things our Fate bring on,

60And shipwreck'd everywhere we be.

One in the tumult of a battle dies

Big with conceit of victory,

And routing th' enemy,

With garlands deck'd, himself the sacrifice.

IX.

Another, while he pays his vows

On bended knees, and Heaven with tears invokes,

With adorations as he humbly bows,

While with gums the altar smokes,

In th' presence of his God, the temple falls:

70And thus religious in vain

The flatter'd bigot slain,

Breathes out his last within the sacred walls.

X.

Another with gay trophies proud,

From his triumphant chariot overthrown,

Makes pastime for the gazers of the crowd,

That envied him his purchas'd crown.

Some with full meals, and sparkling bowls of wine

(As if it made too long delay),

Spur on their fatal day,

80Whilst others (needy souls) at theirs repine.

XI.

Consider well, and every place

Offers a ready road to thy long home,

Sometimes with frowns, sometimes with smiling face

Th' embassadors of Death do come.

By open force or secret ambuscade,

By unintelligible ways,

We end our anxious days,

And stock the large plantations of the Dead.

XII.

But (some may say) 'tis very hard

90With them, whom heavy chance has cast away,

With no solemnities at all interr'd,

To roam unburied on the sea:

No—'tis all one where we receive our doom,

Since, somewhere, 'tis our certain lot

Our carcases must rot,

And they whom heaven covers need no tomb.

Petronius Arbiter's Satyricon.] This translation-amplification of one of the most famous passages of the Satyricon is the piece referred to by Nahum Tate at the opening of his commendation (sup., [p. 290]).

39 'breath', as in l. 72, a seventeenth-century form.

88 A good line, if I mistake not. There is no suggestion even of it in the original, but, as often in Flatman, much of Sir Thomas Browne.

---

A Thought of Death.

When on my sick bed I languish,

Full of sorrow, full of anguish,

Fainting, gasping, trembling, crying,

Panting, groaning, speechless, dying,

My soul just now about to take her flight

Into the regions of eternal night;

Oh tell me you,

That have been long below,

What shall I do!

10What shall I think, when cruel Death appears,

That may extenuate my fears!

Methinks I hear some gentle Spirit say,

Be not fearful, come away!

Think with thyself that now thou shall be free,

And find thy long-expected liberty;

Better thou mayst, but worse thou canst not be

Than in this vale of tears and misery.

Like Caesar, with assurance then come on,

And unamaz'd attempt the laurel crown,

20That lies on th' other side Death's Rubicon.

A Thought of Death.] Flatman's best-known, if not his only known thing to most people—the knowledge being due to Warton's suggestion of indebtedness to it on Pope's part in his Dying Christian.

---

Psalm xxxix. Vers. 4, 5.

Verse IV.

Lord, let me know the period of my age,

The length of this my weary pilgrimage,

How long this miserable life shall last,

This life that stays so long, yet flies so fast!

Verse V.

Thou by a span measur'st these days of mine,

Eternity's the spacious bound of thine:

Who shall compare his little span with thee,

With thine Incomprehensibility.

Man born to trouble leaves this world with pain,

10His best estate is altogether vain.

---

Hymn for the Morning.

Awake, my soul! Awake, mine eyes!

Awake, my drowsy faculties;

Awake, and see the new-born light

Spring from the darksome womb of Night!

Look up and see th' unwearied Sun,

Already hath his race begun:

The pretty lark is mounted high,

And sings her matins in the sky.

Arise, my soul! and thou my voice

10In songs of praise, early rejoice!

O Great Creator! Heavenly King!

Thy praises let me ever sing!

Thy power has made, Thy goodness kept

This fenceless body while I slept,

Yet one day more hast given me

From all the powers of darkness free:

O keep my heart from sin secure,

My life unblameable and pure,

That when the last of all my days is come,

20Cheerful and fearless I may wait my doom.

Hymn for the Morning.] This Hymn will of course suggest Ken's infinitely better-known one to everybody. The facts are curious and not quite fully given in Mr. Julian's invaluable Dictionary of Hymnology, where it is not mentioned that Ken and Flatman were both Winchester and New College men of almost exactly the same age and standing. Moreover, Sir Thomas Browne—also a Wykehamist and their contemporary, though a senior—has another very similar composition—one of his rare exercises in verse—towards the end of Religio Medici. The triple connexion with Winchester, and with Latin hymns known to be in use there, is pretty striking, though the matter cannot be followed out here. It is enough to say that the resemblance is chiefly confined to the opening. In the Evening hymns of the two this resemblance is still slighter, though there are passages, naturally enough, that approach each other. Ken's hymns were not published till 1695; but in 1674, the very years of Flatman's original issue, they are palpably referred to in the future bishop's and actual prebendary's Manual of Prayers for the use of the Scholars of Winchester College. Browne's piece must be at least forty years older.

6 hath 1676, 1682: has 1686.

---

Anthem for the Evening.

Sleep! downy sleep! come close my eyes,

Tir'd with beholding vanities!

Sweet slumbers come and chase away

The toils and follies of the day:

On your soft bosom will I lie,

Forget the world, and learn to die.

O Israel's watchful Shepherd! spread

Tents of Angels round my bed;

Let not the Spirits of the air,

10While I slumber, me ensnare;

But save Thy suppliant free from harms,

Clasp'd in Thine everlasting Arms.

Clouds and thick darkness is Thy Throne,

Thy wonderful pavilion:

Oh dart from thence a shining ray,

And then my midnight shall be day!

Thus when the morn in crimson drest,

Breaks through the windows of the East,

My hymns of thankful praises shall arise

20Like incense or the morning sacrifice.

Anthem for the Evening.] 19 arise 1682; rise 1686.

---

Death.

SONG.

Oh the sad day,

When friends shall shake their heads and say

Of miserable me,

Hark how he groans, look how he pants for breath,

See how he struggles with the pangs of Death!

When they shall say of these poor eyes,

How hollow, and how dim they be!

Mark how his breast does swell and rise,

Against his potent Enemy!

10When some old friend shall step to my bedside,

Touch my chill face, and thence shall gently slide,

And when his next companions say,

How does he do? what hopes? shall turn away,

Answering only with a lift-up hand,

Who can his fate withstand?

Then shall a gasp or two do more

Than e'er my rhetoric could before,

Persuade the peevish world to trouble me no more!

Death.] This, in my humble judgement, is finer, as it is certainly more original, than the earlier 'thought' on the same subject. The copy in the Firth MS. reads 'dear' for 'poor' (l. 6) and 'hope' (l. 13), omits 'peevish' in l. 18, and notes that the Song was set to music by Captain Sylvanus Taylor.

---

The Happy Man.

Peaceful is he, and most secure,

Whose heart and actions all are pure;

How smooth and pleasant is his way,

Whilst Life's Meander slides away.

If a fierce thunderbolt do fly,

This man can unconcernèd lie;

Knows 'tis not levell'd at his head,

So neither noise nor flash can dread:

Though a swift whirlwind tear in sunder

10Heav'n above him, or earth under;

Though the rocks on heaps do tumble,

Or the world to ashes crumble,

Though the stupendious mountains from on high

Drop down, and in their humble valleys lie;

Should the unruly Ocean roar,

And dash its foam against the shore;

He finds no tempest in his mind,

Fears no billow, feels no wind:

All is serene, all quiet there,

20There's not one blast of troubled air,

Old stars may fall, or new ones blaze,

Yet none of these his soul amaze;

Such is the man can smile at irksome death,

And with an easy sigh give up his breath.

the Happy Man.] In the Firth MS., and dated December 27, 1664.

1 Peaceful] Happy MS.

2 heart] life MS.

13 Though] When MS.

19 all quiet MS., 1674, 1676, 1682: and quiet 1686.

23 at] on MS.

24 give up] resign MS.

---

On Mr. Johnson's Several Shipwrecks.

He that has never yet acquainted been

With cruel Chance, nor Virtue naked seen,

Stripp'd from th' advantages (which vices wear)

Of happy, plausible, successful, fair;

Nor learnt how long the low'ring cloud may last,

Wherewith her beauteous face is overcast,

Till she her native glories does recover,

And shines more bright, after the storm is over;

To be inform'd, he need no further go,

10Than this Divine Epitome of woe.

In Johnson's Life and Writings he may find,

What Homer in his Odysses design'd,

A virtuous man, by miserable fate,

Rend'red ten thousand ways unfortunate;

Sometimes within a leaking vessel tost,

All hopes of life and the lov'd shore quite lost,

While hidden sands, and every greedy wave

With horror gap'd themselves into a grave:

Sometimes upon a rock with fury thrown,

20Moaning himself, where none could hear his moan;

Sometimes cast out upon the barren sand,

Expos'd to th' mercy of a barbarous land:

Such was the pious Johnson, till kind Heaven

A blessèd end to all his toils had given:

To show that virtuous men, though they appear

But Fortune's sport, are Providence's care.

On Mr. Johnson's several Shipwrecks.] First in Deus Nobiscum. A Narrative of a Great Deliverance at Sea,... By William Johnson, D.D., late Chaplain and Sub-Almoner to His Sacred Majesty,... The Third Edition, Corrected, London, 1672, small octavo. These are some minor variants.

---

An Explanation of an Emblem Engraven by V. H.

Seest thou those Rays, the Light 'bove them?

And that gay thing the Diadem?

The Wheel and Balance, which are tied

To th' Gold, black Clouds on either side?

Seest thou the wingèd Trumpeters withal,

That kick the World's blue tottering Ball?

The flying Globe, the Glass thereon,

Those fragments of a Skeleton?

The Bays, the Palms, the Fighting men,

10And written Scroll?—Come tell me then,

Did thy o'er-curious eye e'er see

An apter scheme of Misery?

What's all that Gold and sparkling Stones

To that bald Skull, to those Cross Bones?

What mean those Blades (whom we adore)

To stain the Earth with purple gore?

Sack stately towns, silk banners spread,

Gallop their coursers o'er the dead?

Far more than this? and all to sway

20But till those sands shall glide away.

For when the bubble world shall fly

With stretch'd-out plumes, when the brisk eye

Shall close with anguish, sink with tears,

And th' angels' trumpets pierce our ears,

What's haughty man, or those fine things,

Which Heaven calls men, though men style kings?

Vain World, adieu! and farewell, fond renown!

Give me the Glory, that's above the Crown.

Emblem engraven by V. H.] V. or W[enceslas] H[ollar], I suppose.

13 and sparkling 1674-82: and what those Sparkling 1686.

15 Blades 1674-82: Braves 1686.

---

For Thoughts.

I.

Thoughts! What are they?

They are my constant friends,

Who, when harsh Fate its dull brow bends,

Uncloud me with a smiling ray,

And in the depth of midnight force a day.

II.

When I retire, and flee

The busy throngs of company

To hug myself in privacy;

O the discourse! the pleasant talk,

10'Twixt us (my thoughts) along a lonely walk!

III.

You, like the stupefying wine

The dying malefactors sip

With shivering lip,

T' abate the rigour of their doom,

By a less troublous cut to their long home;

Make me slight crosses, though they pil'd up lie,

All by th' enchantments of an ecstasy.

IV.

Do I desire to see

The Throne and Majesty

20Of that proud one,

Brother and Uncle to the Stars and Sun?

Those can conduct me where such toys reside,

And waft me 'cross the main, sans wind and tide.

V.

Would I descry

Those radiant mansions 'bove the sky,

Invisible by mortal eye?

My Thoughts, my Thoughts can lay

A shining track thereto,

And nimbly fleeting go:

30Through all the eleven orbs can shove a way,

These too, like Jacob's Ladder, are

A most Angelic thoroughfare.

VI.

The wealth that shines

In th' Oriental mines;

Those sparkling gems which Nature keeps

Within her cabinets, the deeps;

The verdant fields,

The rarities the rich World yields;

Rare structures, whose each gilded spire

40Glimmers like lightning; which, while men admire,

They deem the neighbouring sky on fire,—

These can I gaze upon, and glut mine eyes

With myriads of varieties.

As on the front of Pisgah, I

Can th' Holy Land through these my optics spy.

VII.

Contemn we then

The peevish rage of men,

Whose violence ne'er can divorce

Our mutual amity;

50Or lay so damn'd a curse

As Non-addresses, 'twixt my thoughts and me:

For though I sigh in irons, they

Use their old freedom, readily obey;

And when my bosom-friends desert me, stay.

VIII.

Come then, my darlings, I'll embrace

My privilege; make known

The high prerogative I own,

By making all allurements give you place;

Whose sweet society to me

60A sanctuary and a shield shall be

'Gainst the full quivers of my Destiny.

Thoughts.] Dated in the Firth MS. May 13, 1659.

13 shivering] trembling MS.

17 th' enchantments] the magic MS.

19 Majesty] awful Majestie MS.

22 Those] These MS.

26 by] to MS.

27 My Thoughts, my Thoughts can] My Thoughts can eas'ly MS.

29 fleeting] flitting MS.

30 a way MS.: 'away' all editions.

31 These too] My Thoughts] MS.: 1686 stupidly misprints 'two'.

38 The] Those MS.

39 Rare] Huge MS. (cf. 'rarities' 38).

40 Glimmers] Glisters MS., 1674, 1676.

42 gaze ... glut] dwell ... tire MS.

43 myriads] millions MS.: fancies 1676.

48 ne'er can] cannot MS.

---

Against Thoughts.

I.

Intolerable racks!

Distend my soul no more,

Loud as the billows when they roar,

More dreadful than the hideous thunder-cracks.

Foes inappeasable, that slay

My best contents, around me stand,

Each like a Fury, with a torch in hand;

And fright me from the hopes of one good day.

II.

When I seclude myself, and say

10How frolic will I be,

Unfetter'd from my company

I'll bathe me in felicity!

In come these guests,

Which Harpy-like defile my feasts:

Oh the damn'd dialogues, the cursèd talk

'Twixt us (my Thoughts) along a sullen walk.

III.

You, like the poisonous wine

The gallants quaff

To make 'em laugh,

20And yet at last endure

From thence the tortures of a calenture,

Fool me with feign'd refections, till I lie

Stark raving in a Bedlam ecstasy.

IV.

Do I dread

The starry Throne and Majesty

Of that high God,

Who batters kingdoms with an iron rod,

And makes the mountains stagger with a nod?

That sits upon the glorious Bow,

30Smiling at changes here below.

These goad me to his grand tribunal, where

They tell me I with horror must appear,

And antedate amazements by grim fear.

V.

Would I descry

Those happy souls' blest mansions 'bove the sky,

Invisible by mortal eye,

And in a noble speculation trace

A journey to that shining place;

Can I afford a sigh or two,

40Or breathe a wish that I might thither go:

These clip my plumes, and chill my blazing love

That, O, I cannot, cannot soar above.

VI.

The fire that shines

In subterranean mines,

The crystall'd streams,

The sulphur rocks that glow upon

The torrid banks of Phlegeton;

Those sooty fiends which Nature keeps,

Bolted and barr'd up in the deeps;

50Black caves, wide chasms, which who see confess

Types of the pit, so deep, so bottomless!

These mysteries, though I fain would not behold,

You to my view unfold:

Like an old Roman criminal, to the high

Tarpeian Hill you force me up, that I

May so be hurried headlong down, and die.

VII.

Mention not then

The strength and faculties of men;

Whose arts cannot expel

60These anguishes, this bosom-Hell.

When down my aching head I lay,

In hopes to slumber them away;

Perchance I do beguile

The tyranny awhile,

One or two minutes, then they throng again,

And reassault me with a trebled pain:

Nay, though I sob in fetters, they

Spare me not then; perplex me each sad day,

And whom a very Turk would pity, slay.

VIII.

70Hence, hence, my Jailors! Thoughts be gone,

Let my tranquillities alone.

Shall I embrace

A crocodile, or place

My choice affections on the fatal dart,

That stabs me to the heart?

I hate your curst proximity,

Worse than the venom'd arrows-heads that be

Cramm'd in the quivers of my Destiny.

Against Thoughts.] Entitled in the Firth MS. Thoughts: the Answer to the other, and dated May 18, 1659.

2 Distend] O tear MS.

4 More dreadful than] Less dreadful are MS.

5 Foes inappeasable] Too cruel enemies MS.

19 'em] them MS.

20 Yet thence at last procure MS.: Yet chance at last t' endure 1674.

21 From thence the] The burning MS.

22 refections] reflections 1674.

26 high] great MS.

30 changes here] us poor things MS.

31 grand 1674-82, MS.: great 1686.

47 torrid] burning MS.

50 chasms] chasma's MS.

54 old Roman criminal] adjudged offender 1674.

56 headlong] headly 1674-82.

58 and] nor MS.

59 cannot] ne'er could MS.

63 do] may MS.

64 The] Their MS.

65 throng] swarm MS.

66 And reassault] Then they assault MS.

67 sob] groan MS.

68 each sad] every MS.

70 Thoughts be] get ye MS.

75 Directed at my heart MS.

The Firth MS. supplies very interesting evidence of Flatman's care in revision; in l. 54 there is a curious reversion to the original, and more effective, reading.

---

A Dooms-Day Thought.

Anno 1659.

Judgement! two syllables can make

The haughtiest son of Adam shake.

'Tis coming, and 'twill surely come,

The dawning to that Day of Doom;

O th' morning blush of that dread day,

When Heav'n and Earth shall steal away,

Shall in their pristine Chaos hide,

Rather than th' angry Judge abide.

'Tis not far off; methinks I see

10Among the stars some dimmer be;

Some tremble, as their lamps did fear

A neighbouring extinguisher.

The greater luminaries fail,

Their glories by eclipses veil,

Knowing ere long their borrow'd light

Must sink in th' Universal Night.

When I behold a mist arise,

Straight to the same astonish'd eyes

Th' ascending clouds do represent

20A scene of th' smoking firmament.

Oft when I hear a blustering wind

With a tempestuous murmur join'd,

I fancy, Nature in this blast

Practises how to breathe her last,

Or sighs for poor Man's misery,

Or pants for fair Eternity.

Go to the dull church-yard and see

Those hillocks of mortality,

Where proudest Man is only found

30By a small swelling in the ground.

What crowds of carcases are made

Slaves to the pickaxe and the spade!

Dig but a foot, or two, to make

A cold bed, for thy dead friend's sake,

'Tis odds but in that scantling room

Thou robb'st another of his tomb,

Or in thy delving smit'st upon

A shinbone, or a cranion.

When th' prison's full, what next can be

40But the Grand Gaol-Delivery?

The Great Assize, when the pale clay

Shall gape, and render up its prey;

When from the dungeon of the grave

The meagre throng themselves shall heave,

Shake off their linen chains, and gaze

With wonder, when the world shall blaze.

Then climb the mountains, scale the rocks,

Force op'n the deep's eternal locks,

Beseech the clifts to lend an ear—

50Obdurate they, and will not hear.

What? ne'er a cavern, ne'er a grot,

To cover from the common lot?

No quite forgotten hold, to lie

Obscur'd, and pass the reck'ning by?

No—There's a quick all-piercing Eye

Can through the Earth's dark centre pry,

Search into th' bowels of the sea,

And comprehend Eternity.

What shall we do then, when the voice

60Of the shrill trump with strong fierce noise

Shall pierce our ears, and summon all

To th' Universe' wide Judgement Hall?

What shall we do! we cannot hide,

Nor yet that scrutiny abide:

When enlarg'd conscience loudly speaks,

And all our bosom-secrets breaks;

When flames surround, and greedy Hell

Gapes for a booty (who can dwell

With everlasting Burnings!), when

70Irrevocable words shall pass on men;

Poor naked men, who sometimes thought

These frights perhaps would come to nought!

What shall we do! we cannot run

For refuge, or the strict Judge shun.

'Tis too late then to think what course to take;

While we live here, we must provision make.

A Dooms-Day Thought.] This, the last of Flatman's three poems on the Novissima, is perhaps not the worst; except for those who hate 'conceits'. It has a curious genuineness, though in manner it slightly resembles his friend Cotton's 'New Year' poem so highly and rightly praised by Lamb.

---

Virtus sola manet, caetera mortis erunt.

I.

Nunquam sitivi, quae vehit aureo

Pactolus alveo flumina; quo magis

Potatur Hermus, tanto avarae

Mentis Hydrops sitibundus ardet.

II.

Frustrà caduci carceris incola

Molirer Arces; quilibet angulus

Sat ossa post manes reponet;

Exiguum satis est Sepulchrum.

III.

Nil stemma penso, nil titulos moror,

10Cerásve aviti sanguinis indices,

Sunt ista fatorum, inque Lethes

Naufragium patientur undis.

IV.

Ergo in quieto pectoris ambitu

Quid mens anhelas fulgura gloriae,

Laudésque inanes, et loquacem

Quae populi sedet ore famam?

V.

Letho superstes gloria, somnii

Dulcedo vana est, fama malignior

Nil tangit umbras, nec feretrum

20Ingreditur Popularis Aura.

VI.

Mansura sector, sola sed invidi

Expers Sepulchri sidera trajicit,

Spernénsque fatorum tumultus

Pellit humum generosa Virtus.

VII.

Praeceps novorum caetera mensium

Consumet aetas, seraque temporis

Delebit annosi vetustas

Utopicae nova Regna Lunae.

Virtus sola manet.] These Alcaics look like a college exercise, in which kind there have been worse. The third lines, as usual, are the weakest parts. But the English is perhaps better. The decasyllabic quatrain, though practised by Davies, by Davenant, and recently and best of all by Dryden, in Annus Mirabilis, has qualities which it remained for Gray to bring out fully, but which Flatman has not quite missed here. I wonder if Gray knew the piece, especially Stanza III?

---

Translated.

I.

I never thirsted for the Golden Flood,

Which o'er Pactolus' wealthy sands does roll,

From whence the covetous mind receives no good,

But rather swells the dropsy of his soul.

II.

On palaces why should I set my mind,

Imprison'd in this body's mould'ring clay?

Ere long to poor six foot of earth confin'd,

Whose bones must crumble at the fatal day.

III.

Titles and pedigrees, what are they to me,

10Or honour gain'd by our forefathers' toil,

The sport of Fate, whose gaudiest pageantry

Lethe will wash out, dark Oblivion soil?

IV.

Why then, my soul, who fain wouldst be at ease,

Should the World's glory dazzle thy bright eye?

Thyself with vain applause why shouldst thou please,

Or dote on Fame, which fools may take from thee?

V.

Praise after death is but a pleasant dream,

The Dead fare ne'er the worse for ill report;

The Ghosts below know nothing of a name,

20Nor ever popular caresses court.

VI.

Give me the lasting Good, Virtue, that flies

Above the clouds, that tramples on dull earth,

Exempt from Fate's tumultuous mutinies,

Virtue, that cannot need a second birth.

VII.

All other things must bend their heads to Time,

By age's mighty torrent borne away,

Hereafter no more thought on than my rhyme,

Or faery kingdoms in Utopia.

---

Psalm xv. Paraphrased.

Verse I.

Who shall approach the dread Jehovah's Throne

Or dwell within thy courts, O Holy One!

That happy man whose feet shall tread the road

Up Sion's Hill, that holy Hill of God!

Verse II.

He that's devout and strict in all he does,

That through the sinful world uprightly goes,

The desp'rate heights from whence the great ones fall

(Giddy with Fame) turn not his head at all:

Stands firm on Honour's pinnacle, and so

10Fears not the dreadful precipice below.

Of Conscience, not of Man, he stands in awe,

Just to observe each tittle of the Law!

His words and thoughts bear not a double part,

His breast is open, and he speaks his heart.

Verse III.

He that reviles not, or with cruel words

(Deadly as venom, sharp as two-edg'd swords)

Murthers his friend's repute, nor dares believe

That rumour which his neighbour's soul may grieve:

But with kind words embalms his bleeding Name,

20Wipes off the rust, and polishes his fame.

Verse IV.

He in whose eyes the bravest sinners be

Extremely vile, though rob'd in majesty;

But if he spies a righteous man (though poor)

Him he can honour, love, admire, adore:

In Israel's humble plains had rather stay,

Than in the tents of Kedar bear the sway:

He that severely keeps his sacred vow,

No mental reservation dares allow,

But what he swears, intends; will rather die,

30Lose all he has, than tell a solemn lie.

Verse V.

He that extorts not from the needy soul,

When laws his tyranny cannot control;

He whom a thousand empires cannot hire,

Against a guiltless person to conspire.

He that has these perfections, needs no more;

What treasures can be added to his store?

The Pyramids shall turn to dust, to hide

Their own vast bulk, and haughty Founders' pride.

Leviathan shall die within his deep;

40The eyes of Heaven close in eternal sleep;

Confusion may o'erwhelm both sea and land;

Mountains may tumble down, but he shall stand.

Psalm xv.] In the Firth MS.: the chief variant is 'brains' for 'head' in l. 8.

---

Job.

Few be the days that feeble man must breath,

Yet frequent troubles antedate his death:

Gay like a flow'r he comes, which newly grown,

Fades of itself, or is untimely mown:

Like a thin aery shadow does he fly,

Length'ning and short'ning still until he die.

And does Jehovah think on such a one,

Does he behold him from his mighty Throne?

Will he contend with such a worthless thing,

10Or dust and ashes into Judgement bring?

Unclean, unclean is man ev'n from the womb,

Unclean he falls into his drowsy tomb.

Surely, he cannot answer God, nor be

Accounted pure, before such purity.

Job.] In the Firth MS., which records that it was set by William Hawes.

---

Nudus Redibo.

Naked I came, when I began to be

A man among the Sons of Misery,

Tender, unarm'd, helpless, and quite forlorn,

E'er since 'twas my hard fortune to be born;

And when the space of a few weary days

Shall be expir'd, then must I go my ways.

Naked I shall return, and nothing have,

Nothing wherewith to bribe my hungry Grave.

Then what's the proudest Monarch's glittering robe,

10Or what's he, more than I, that rul'd the globe?

Since we must all without distinction die,

And slumber both stark naked, he and I.

Nudus Redibo.] In the Firth MS., and dated June 15, 1660. It was set by William Gregory.

4 hard fortune] misfortune MS.

7 I shall] shall I MS.

9 glittering] pearly MS.

---

An Elegy on the Earl of Sandwich.

If there were aught in Verse at once could raise

Or tender pity or immortal praise,

Thine obsequies, brave Sandwich, would require

Whatever would our nobler thoughts inspire;

But since thou find'st by thy unhappy fate,

What 'tis to be unfortunately great,

And purchase Honour at too dear a rate:

The Muse's best attempt, howe'er design'd,

Cannot but prove impertinently kind,

10Thy glorious valour is a theme too high

For all the humble arts of Poesy.

To side with chance and kingdoms overrun

Are little things ambitious men have done;

But on a flaming ship thus to despise

That life, which others did so highly prize;

To fight with fire, and struggle with a wave,

And Neptune with unwearied arms outbrave,

Are deeds surpassing fab'lous chronicle,

And which no future age shall parallel;

20Leviathan himself's outdone by thee,

Thou greater wonder of the deep, than he:

Nor could the deep thy mighty ashes hold.

The deep that swallows diamonds and gold;

Fame ev'n thy sacred relics does pursue,

Richer than all the treasures of Peru:

While the kind sea thy breathless body brings

Safe to the bed of honour and of kings.

Elegy on the Earl of Sandwich.] Pepys's (the first) Earl, who perished at the fight of Solebay in 1672. The duplication (see next piece) looks as if Flatman had had some personal connexion with him. At any rate there are expressions which are not the mere conventions of such writing. Line 6, and in fact the whole vigorous triplet in which it occurs, must be connected with the nearly certain facts that Sandwich's advice would have prevented the most unfavourable of the conditions under which the English fought; that the Duke of York not only would not listen but hinted at cowardice on Sandwich's part; and that the Earl in consequence, not only, as Mr. David Hannay (A Short History of the Royal Navy, i. 423) says, 'fought the ship on this the last and most glorious day of his life, with determined courage', but refused to attempt to save his life by swimming, when she was grappled by a fireship and burnt. Moreover, the last lines express the fact that the body was only recovered after being washed ashore some days after the battle, when it was duly buried in Westminster Abbey, 'the bed of honour and of kings'.

---

An Epitaph on the Earl of Sandwich.

Here lies the dust of that illustrious man,

That triumph'd o'er the Ocean;

Who for his country nobly courted Death,

And dearly sold his glorious breath,

Or in a word, in this cold narrow grave

Sandwich the Good, the Great, the Brave

(Oh frail estate of sublunary things!),

Lies equal here with England's greatest kings.

---

Pastoral.

I.

At break of day poor Celadon

Hard by his sheepfolds walk'd alone,

His arms across, his head bow'd down,

His oaten pipe beside him thrown,

When Thirsis, hidden in a thicket by,

Thus heard the discontented Shepherd cry.

II.

What is it Celadon has done,

That all his happiness is gone!

The curtains of the dark are drawn,

10And cheerful morn begins to dawn,

Yet in my breast 'tis ever dead of night,

That can admit no beam of pleasant light.

III.

You pretty lambs may leap and play

To welcome the new-kindled day,

Your shepherd harmless, as are you,

Why is he not as frolic too?

If such disturbance th' innocent attend,

How differs he from them that dare offend!

IV.

Ye Gods! or let me die, or live,

20If I must die, why this reprieve?

If you would have me live, O why

Is it with me as those that die!

I faint, I gasp, I pant, my eyes are set,

My cheeks are pale, and I am living yet.

V.

Ye Gods! I never did withhold

The fattest lamb of all my fold,

But on your altars laid it down,

And with a garland did it crown.

Is it in vain to make your altar smoke?

30Is it all one, to please, and to provoke?

VI.

Time was that I could sit and smile,

Or with a dance the time beguile:

My soul like that smooth lake was still,

Bright as the sun behind yon hill,

Like yonder stately mountain clear and high,

Swift, soft, and gay as that same butterfly.

VII.

But now within there's Civil War,

In arms my rebel passions are,

Their old allegiance laid aside,

40The traitors now in triumph ride

That many-headed monster has thrown down

Its lawful monarch, Reason, from its throne.

VIII.

See, unrelenting Sylvia, see,

All this, and more, is 'long of thee:

For ere I saw that charming face,

Uninterrupted was my peace,

Thy glorious beamy eyes have struck me blind,

To my own soul the way I cannot find.

IX.

Yet is it not thy fault nor mine;

50Heav'n is to blame, that did not shine

Upon us both with equal rays—

It made thine bright, mine gloomy days;

To Sylvia beauty gave, and riches store;

All Celadon's offence is, he is poor.

X.

Unlucky stars poor shepherds have,

Whose love is fickle Fortune's slave:

Those golden days are out of date,

When every turtle chose his mate:

Cupid, that mighty Prince, then uncontroll'd,

60Now like a little negro's bought and sold.

Pastoral.] 36 that 1682; the 1686.

---

On the Death of Mr. Pelham Humfries.

Pastoral Song.

Did you not hear the hideous groan,

The shrieks, and heavy moan

That spread themselves o'er all the pensive plain;

And rent the breast of many a tender swain?

'Twas for Amintas, dead and gone.

Sing, ye forsaken shepherds, sing His praise

In careless melancholy lays,

Lend Him a little doleful breath:

Poor Amintas! cruel Death!

10'Twas Thou couldst make dead words to live,

Thou that dull numbers couldst inspire

With charming voice and tuneful lyre,

That life to all, but to Thyself, couldst give;

Why couldst Thou not Thy wondrous art bequeath?

Poor Amintas! cruel Death!

Sing, pious shepherds, while you may,

Before th' approaches of the Fatal Day:

For you yourselves that sing this mournful song,

Alas! ere it be long,

20Shall, like Amintas, breathless be,

Though more forgotten in the grave than He.

On the Death of Mr. Pelham Humfries.] Pelham Humfries or Humfrey died in the year (1674) of first publication of these Poems. He was a musician and gentleman of the Chapel Royal.

21 than 1682; that 1686.

---

The Mistake.

SONG.

I heard a young lover in terrible pain,

From whence if he pleas'd, he might soon be releas'd,

He swore, and he vow'd again and again,

He could not outlive the turmoils of his breast;

But, alas, the young lover I found

Knew little how cold Love would prove under ground;

Why should I believe, prithee, Love, tell me why,

Where my own flesh and blood must give me the lie!

Let 'em rant while they will, and their destinies brave,

10They'll find their flames vanish on this side the grave;

For though all addresses on purpose are made

To be huddled to bed,—'tisn't meant, with a spade!

---

The Incredulous.

SONG.

I'll ne'er believe for Strephon's sake

That Love (whate'er its fond pretences be),

Is not a slave to mutability.

The Moon and that alike of change partake:

Tears are weak, and cannot bind,

Vows, alas! but empty wind:

The greatest art that Nature gave

To th' amorous hypocrite to make him kind,

Long ere he dies will take its leave.

10Had you but seen, as I have done,

Strephon's tears, and heard his moan,

How pale his cheek, how dim his eye,

As if with Chloris he resolv'd to die;

And when her spotless soul was fled

Heard his amazing praises of the dead;

Yet in a very little time address

His flame t' another Shepherdess,

In a few days giving his love the lie,

You'd be as great an infidel as I.

---

Weeping at Parting.

SONG.

I.

Go, gentle Oriana, go,

Thou seest the Gods will have it so;

Alas! alas! 'tis much in vain

Of their ill usage to complain,

To curse them when we want relief,

Lessens our courage, not our grief:

Dear Oriana, wipe thine eye,

The time may come that thou and I

Shall meet again, long, long to prove

10What vigour absence adds to love.

Smile, Oriana, then, and let me see

That look again, which stole my liberty.

II.

But say that Oriana die

(And that sad moment may be nigh),

The Gods that for a year can sever,

If it please them, can part us ever;

They that refresh, can make us weep,

And into Death can lengthen sleep.

Kind Oriana, should I hear

20The thing I so extremely fear,

'Twill not be strange, if it be said,

After a while, I too am dead.

Weep, Oriana, weep, for who does know

Whether we e'er shall meet again below?

Weeping at Parting.] In the Firth MS., entitled 'To Oriana weeping at parting', and dated December 31, 1664; 'Set by Mr. Roger Hill.' In l. 3 the MS. reads 'but' for 'much'.

---

The Desperate Lover.

I.

O mighty King of Terrors, come!

Command thy slave to his long home:

Great sanctuary Grave! to thee

In throngs the miserable flee;

Encircled in thy frozen arms,

They bid defiance to their harms,

Regardless of those pond'rous little things

That discompose th' uneasy heads of kings.

II.

In the cold earth the pris'ner lies

10Ransom'd from all his miseries;

Himself forgotten, he forgets

His cruel creditors, and debts;

And there in everlasting peace

Contentions with their authors cease.

A turf of grass or monument of stone

Umpires the petty competition.

III.

The disappointed lover there,

Breathes not a sigh, nor sheds a tear;

With us (fond fools) he never shares

20In sad perplexities and cares;

The willow near his tomb that grows

Revives his memory, not his woes;

Or rain, or shine, he is advanc'd above

Th' affronts of Heaven and stratagems of Love.

IV.

Then, mighty King of Terrors, come,

Command thy slave to his long home.

And thou, my friend, that lov'st me best,

Seal up these eyes that brake my rest;

Put out the lights, bespeak my knell,

30And then eternally farewell.

'Tis all th' amends our wretched Fates can give,

That none can force a desperate man to live.

The Desperate Lover.] 28 'brake', if right, must mean 'used to break' by making me behold 'Love or some other vanity'.

---

The Fatigue.

A SONG.

Adieu, fond World, and all thy wiles,

Thy haughty frowns, and treacherous smiles,

They that behold thee with my eyes,

Thy double dealing will despise:

From thee, false World, my deadly foe,

Into some desert let me go;

Some gloomy melancholy cave,

Dark and silent as the grave;

Let me withdraw, where I may be

From thine impertinences free:

10There when I hear the turtle groan,

How sweetly would I make my moan!

Kind Philomel would teach me there

My sorrows pleasantly to bear:

There could I correspond with none

But Heaven, and my own breast alone.

---

The Resolve.

SONG.

I.

Had Phyllis neither charms, nor graces

More than the rest of women wear,

Levell'd by Fate with common faces,

Yet Damon could esteem her fair.

II.

Good-natur'd Love can soon forgive

Those petty injuries of Time,

And all th' affronts of years impute

To her misfortune, not her crime.

III.

Wedlock puts Love upon the rack,

10Makes it confess 'tis still the same

In icy age, as it appear'd

At first when all was lively flame.

IV.

If Hymen's slaves, whose ears are bored,

Thus constant by compulsion be,

Why should not choice endear us more

Than them their hard necessity?

V.

Phyllis! 'tis true, thy glass does run,

But since mine too keeps equal pace,

My silver hairs may trouble thee,

20As much as me thy ruin'd face.

VI.

Then let us constant be as Heaven,

Whose laws inviolable are,

Not like those rambling meteors there

That foretell ills, and disappear.

VII.

So shall a pleasing calm attend

Our long uneasy destiny,

So shall our loves and lives expire,

From storms and tempests ever free.

The Resolve.] The superiority of the first stanza of this to the rest, and the reason of that superiority (the double rhyme 'graces' and 'faces'), are both clear enough. But what is not clear is why Flatman—who, if no great poet, seems usually to have been at no loss for verse or rhyme—should have suddenly run dry of the latter in his first and third lines. If he had not been so stingy the piece might have been worth something. It is not quite worthless as it is.

---

Love's Bravo.

SONG.

Why should we murmur, why repine,

Phyllis, at thy fate, or mine?

Like pris'ners, why do we those fetters shake;

Which neither thou, nor I can break?

There is a better way to baffle Fate,

If mortals would but mind it,

And 'tis not hard to find it:

Who would be happy, must be desperate;

He must despise those stars that fright

10Only fools that dread the night;

Time and chance he must outbrave,

He that crouches is their slave.

Thus the wise Pagans, ill at ease,

Bravely chastis'd their surly Deities.

---

The Expectation.

SONG.

I.

Why did I ever see those glorious eyes

My famish'd soul to tantalize?

I hop'd for Heav'n, which I had lately seen,

But ne'er perceiv'd the gulf between:

In vain for bliss did my presumptions seek,

My love so strong

I could not hold my tongue,

My heart so feeble that I durst not speak.

II.

Yet why do I my constitution blame,

10Since all my heart is out of frame?

'Twere better, sure, my passion to appease,

With hope to palliate my disease:

And 'twill be something like tranquillity,

To hope for that

I must not compass yet,

And make a virtue of necessity.

The Expectation.] In the Firth MS. entitled 'Song', and dated July 11, 1671. It was set by Roger Hill. The chief variants are:—

5 presumptions] presumption.

8 that] yet.

14 hope for] think of.

15 must not compass] may not purchase.

---

Coridon Converted.

SONG.

I.

When Coridon a slave did lie,

Entangled in his Phyllis' eye,

How did he sigh! how did he groan!

How melancholy was his tone!

He told his story to the woods,

And wept his passion by the floods;

Then Phyllis, cruel Phyllis, too to blame,

Regarded not his sufferings, nor his flame.

II.

Then Coridon resolv'd no more

10His mistress' mercy to implore;

How did he laugh, how did he sing!

How did he make the forest ring!

He told his conquest to the woods,

And drown'd his passion in the floods:

Then Phyllis, gentle Phyllis, less severe,

Would have had him, but he would none of her.

Coridon Converted.] In the Firth MS. entitled 'Song', and dated April 29, 1664. It was set by William Gregory. The MS. yields some important corrections:—'conquest' and 'passion' in ll. 13, 14, for the plural of the printed texts; and 'gentle Phyllis' in l. 15 for 'cruel Phyllis'. The plural 'woods' and 'floods' perhaps account for the former variants; the latter is evidently an attempt to adhere strictly to the refrain.

---

The Humourist.

SONG.

I.

Good faith! I never was but once so mad

To dote upon an idle woman's face,

And then, alas! my fortune was so bad

To see another chosen in my place;

And yet I courted her, I'm very sure,

With love as true as his was, and as pure.

II.

But if I ever be so fond again

To undertake the second part of love,

To reassume that most unmanlike pain,

10Or after shipwreck do the ocean prove;

My mistress must be gentle, kind, and free,

Or I'll be as indifferent as she.

The Humourist.]: In the Firth MS. entitled 'Song', and dated April 29, 1664. It was set by William Gregory. In the MS. the poem opens 'In faith'.

---

Fading Beauty.

SONG.

I.

As poor Aurelia sate alone,

Hard by a rivulet's flow'ry side,

Envious at Nature's new-born pride,

Her slighted self she thus reflected on.

II.

Alas! that Nature should revive

These flowers, which after Winter's snow

Spring fresh again, and brighter show,

But for our fairer sex so ill contrive!

III.

Beauty, like theirs a short-liv'd thing,

10On us in vain she did bestow,

Beauty that only once can grow,

An Autumn has, but knows no second Spring.

---

A Dialogue.

Cloris and Parthenissa.

C. Why dost thou all address deny?

Hard-hearted Parthenissa, why?

See how the trembling lovers come,

That from thy lips expect their doom.

P. Cloris! I hate them all, they know,

Nay I have often told them so;

Their silly politics abhorr'd:

I scorn to make my slave my lord.

C. But Strephon's eyes proclaim his love

10Too brave, tyrannical to prove.

P. Ah, Cloris! when we lose our pow'r

We must obey the conqueror.

C. Yet where a gentle Prince bears sway,

It is no bondage to obey.

P. But if like Nero, for awhile,

With arts of kindness he beguile;

How shall the tyrant be withstood

When he has writ his laws in blood!

C. Love, Parthenissa, all commands:

20It fetters Kings in charming bands;

Mars yields his arms to Cupid's darts,

And Beauty softens savage hearts.

Chorus.

If nothing else can pull the Tyrant down,

Kill him with kindness, and the day's your own.

A Dialogue.] 22 And] But 1674.

---

A Dialogue.

Orpheus and Eurydice.

Orpheus.

Eurydice, my fair, my fair Eurydice!

My love, my joy, my life, if so thou be

In Pluto's kingdom answer me; appear

And come to thy poor Orpheus.——

Eur. Oh, I hear,

I hear, dear Orpheus, but I cannot come

Beyond the bounds of dull Elysium.

I cannot——

Orph. And why wilt thou not draw near?

Is there within these courts a shade so dear

As he that calls thee?

Eur. No, there cannot be

10A thing so lovely in mine eyes as thee.

Orph. Why comes not then Eurydice?

Eur. The Fates,

The Fates forbid, and these eternal gates,

Never unbarr'd to let a pris'ner go,

Deny me passage; nay, grim Cerberus too

Stands at the door——

Orph. But cannot then

They that o'er Lethe go, return again?

Eur. Never, oh never!——

Orph. Sure they may, let's try

If Art can null the Laws of Destiny.

My lays compacted Thebes, made every tree

20Loosen its roots to caper; come let's see

What thou and I can do.

Chor. Perchance the throng

Of Ghosts may be enchanted with a song,

And mov'd to pity.——

Eur. Hark! the hinges move,

The gate's unbarr'd. I come, I come, my Love!

Chorus amborum.

'Twas Music, only Music, could unspell

Helpless, undone Eurydice from Hell.

A Dialogue.] Dated in the Firth MS. September 15, 1663; it was set to music by W. Gregory.

---

The Bachelor's Song.

Like a dog with a bottle, fast ty'd to his tail,

Like vermin in a trap, or a thief in a jail,

Like a Tory in a bog,

Or an ape with a clog:

Such is the man, who when he might go free,

Does his liberty lose

For a Matrimony noose,

And sells himself into captivity.

The dog he does howl, when his bottle does jog,

10The vermin, the thief, and the Tory in vain

Of the trap, of the jail, of the quagmire complain.

But well fare poor Pug! for he plays with his clog;

And though he would be rid on 't rather than his life,

Yet he lugs it, and he hugs it, as a man does his wife.

The Bachelor's Song]. In the Firth MS. entitled 'Song', and dated 1670. See Introduction for the rather obvious legend connected with this profane doggerel. As proof of its popularity it may be noted that versions of it appear in the Windsor Drollery, 1672, and the Westminster Drollery, 1691; in the latter there are also The Bachelors Satyr Related and A Reply to The Bachelors Satyr Related. These unauthorized versions have a number of minor variants.

3 Like] Or like 1674-82. 'Tory' in the original, not the transferred sense, which latter Flatman seems himself to have well deserved.

5 Such is the] Even such is a MS. might go] may be MS.

9 his] the 1686.

10 and] om. MS.

11 quagmire] bog do MS.

---

The Second Part.

SONG.

How happy a thing were a wedding

And a bedding,

If a man might purchase a wife

For a twelvemonth and a day;

But to live with her all a man's life,

For ever and for ay,

Till she grow as grey as a cat,

Good faith, Mr. Parson, I thank you for that.

---

An Appeal to Cats in the business of Love.

A SONG.

Ye cats that at midnight spit love at each other,

Who best feel the pangs of a passionate lover,

I appeal to your scratches and your tattered fur,

If the business of Love be no more than to purr.

Old Lady Grimalkin with her gooseberry eyes,

Knew something when a kitten, for why she was wise;

You find by experience, the love-fit's soon o'er,

Puss! Puss! lasts not long, but turns to Cat-whore!

Men ride many miles,

Cats tread many tiles,

Both hazard their necks in the fray;

Only Cats, when they fall

From a house or a wall,

Keep their feet, mount their tails, and away!

An appeal to Cats.] Added in 1686. It is a pity we do not possess the tune to which Mr. Humfries, or somebody else, most probably set this lively fantasy. It is quite in the style of Dr. Blow, Humfries's friend and colleague.

---

Advice to an Old Man of sixty-three, about to Marry a Girl of sixteen.

SONG.

I.

Now fie upon him! what is Man,

Whose life at best is but a span?

When to an inch it dwindles down,

Ice in his bones, snow on his crown,

That he within his crazy brain

Kind thoughts of Love should entertain,

That he, when harvest comes, should plow,

And when 'tis time to reap, go sow,

Who, in imagination only strong,

10Though twice a child, can never twice grow young.

II.

Nature did those design for fools,

That sue for work, yet have no tools.

What fellow-feeling can there be

In such a strange disparity?

Old age mistakes the youthful breast,

Love dwells not there, but Interest:

Alas, good man! take thy repose,

Get ribband for thy thumbs and toes.

Provide thee flannel, and a sheet of lead,—

20Think on thy Coffin, not thy Bridal Bed.

---

The Slight.

SONG.

I.

I did but crave that I might kiss,

If not her lip, at least her hand,

The coolest Lover's frequent bliss,

And rude is she that will withstand

That inoffensive liberty:

She (would you think it?) in a fume

Turn'd her about and left the room;

Not she, she vow'd, not she.

II.

Well, Chariessa, then said I,

10If it must thus for ever be,

I can renounce my slavery,

And since you will not, can be free.

Many a time she made me die,

Yet (would you think 't?) I lov'd the more,

But I'll not take 't as heretofore,

Not I, I'll vow, not I.

The Slight.]: In the Firth MS., a first draft, dated August, 1666, and recorded as having been set to music by Sylvanus Taylor. The variants are important:—

3 frequent] hourly.

4-5 Which at his wish he may command, Nay, often takes the liberty. The copy in Rawlinson MS. D. 260 (fol. 27 verso) has the same readings.

---

The Penitent.

SONG.

I.

Had I but known some years ago

What wretched lovers undergo,

The tempests and the storms that rise

From their Belovèd's dangerous eyes,

With how much torment they endure

That ague and that calenture;

Long since I had my error seen,

Long since repented of my sin:

Too late the soldier dreads the trumpet's sound

10That newly has receiv'd his mortal wound.

II.

But so adventurous was I

My fortunes all alone to try,

Needs must I kiss the burning light,

Because it shin'd, because 'twas bright.

My heart with youthful heat on fire,

I thought some God did me inspire;

And that blind zeal embold'ned me

T' attempt Althea's Deity.

Surely those happy Pow'rs that dwell above,

20Or never courted, or enjoy'd their love.

The Penitent.] In the Firth MS. entitled 'Song', and dated 1671. It was set by Roger Hill.

9 dreads: loathes MS.

15 heart: breast MS.

18 The reference, if any, to the classical story of Althea is so confused and muddled that perhaps there is none. See The Surrender, below.

---

The Defiance.

SONG.

I.

Be not too proud, imperious Dame,

Your charms are transitory things,

May melt, while you at Heaven aim,

Like Icarus's waxen wings;

And you a part in his misfortunes bear,

Drown'd in a briny Ocean of despair.

II.

You think your beauties are above

The Poet's brain and Painter's hand,

As if upon the Throne of Love

You only should the world command: 10

Yet know, though you presume your title true,

There are pretenders that will rival you.

III.

There's an experienc'd rebel, Time,

And in his squadron's Poverty;

There's Age that brings along with him

A terrible artillery:

And if against all these thou keep'st thy crown,

Th' usurper Death will make thee lay it down.

The Defiance.] 5 misfortunes 1682: misfortune 1686.

14 'squadron's' is not apostrophated in original, but the practice in this respect is so loose as to be of no value. The plural would make sense, of course.

---

The Surrender.

SONG.

I yield, I yield! Divine Althaea, see

How prostrate at thy feet I bow,

Fondly in love with my captivity,

So weak am I, so mighty thou!

Not long ago I could defy,

Arm'd with wine and company,

Beauty's whole artillery:

Quite vanquish'd now by thy miraculous charms,

Here, fair Althaea, take my arms,

For sure he cannot be of human race,

That can resist so bright, so sweet a face.

---

The Whim.

SONG.

I.

Why so serious, why so grave?

Man of business, why so muddy?

Thyself from Chance thou canst not save

With all thy care and study.

Look merrily then, and take thy repose;

For 'tis to no purpose to look so forlorn,

Since the World was as bad before thou wert born,

And when it will mend who knows?

And a thousand year hence 'tis all one,

10If thou lay'st on a dunghill, or sat'st on a throne.

II.

To be troubled, to be sad,

Carking mortal, 'tis a folly,

For a pound of Pleasure's not so bad

As an ounce of Melancholy:

Since all our lives long we travel towards Death,

Let us rest us sometimes, and bait by the way,

'Tis but dying at last; in our race let us stay,

And we shan't be so soon out of breath.

Sit the comedy out, and that done,

20When the play's at an end, let the curtain fall down.

---

The Renegado.

SONG.

I.

Remov'd from fair Urania's eyes

Into a village far away:

Fond Astrophil began to say,

Thy charms, Urania, I despise;

Go bid some other shepherd for thee die,

That never understood thy tyranny.

II.

Return'd at length the amorous swain,

Soon as he saw his deity,

Ador'd again, and bow'd his knee,

10Became her slave, and wore her chain.

The Needle thus that motionless did lie,

Trembles, and moves, when the lov'd Loadstone's nigh.

The Renegado.] In the Firth MS. entitled 'Song', and dated 1671. 'Set by Roger Hill.'

---

Phyllis withdrawn.

I.

I did but see her, and she's snatch'd away,

I find I did but happy seem;

So small a while did my contentments stay,

As short and pleasant as a dream:

Yet such are all our satisfactions here,

They raise our hopes, and then they disappear.

II.

Ill-natur'd Stars, that evermore conspire

To quench poor Strephon's flame,

To stop the progress of his swift desire,

10And leave him but an aëry name;

Why art thou doom'd (of no pretences proud)

Ixion-like thus to embrace a cloud?

III.

Yet why should Strephon murmur, why complain,

Or envy Phyllis her delight,

Why should her pleasures be to him a pain,

Easier perhaps out of his sight?

No, Strephon, no! If Phyllis happy be,

Thou shouldst rejoice, whate'er becomes of thee.

IV.

Amidst the charming glories of the spring

20In pleasant fields and goodly bowers,

Indulgent Nature seems concern'd to bring

All that may bless her innocent hours,

While thy disastrous Fate has tied thee down

To all the noise and tumult of the Town.

V.

Strephon that for himself expects no good

To Phyllis wishes everywhere

A long serenity without a cloud,

Sweet as these smiles of th' infant year.

May Halcyons in her bosom build their nest,

30Whatever storms shall discompose my breast.

Phyllis withdrawn.] The first stanza is a good example of the purely haphazard character of typographical peculiarities at the time. There is not a capital in the original, though in that original elsewhere one would find 'Contentments', 'Dream', 'Satisfactions', and 'Hopes', if not others as well.

---

The Malecontent.

SONG.

Phyllis, O Phyllis! Thou art fondly vain,

My wavering thoughts thus to molest,

Why should my pleasure be the only pain,

That must torment my easy breast?

If with Prometheus I had stolen fire,

Fire from above,

As scorching, and as bright, as that of Love,

I might deserve Jove's ire,

A vulture then might on my liver feed,

But now eternally I bleed, 10

And yet on Thee, on Thee lies all the blame,

Who freely gav'st the fuel and the flame.

The Malecontent.] 5 'Stoll'n' in original, though the valued 'èn' is indispensable for the metre.

---

The Indifferent.

SONG.

Prithee confess for my sake and your own,

Am I the man or no?

If I am he, thou canst not do 't too soon,

If not, thou canst not be too slow.

If Woman cannot love, Man's folly's great

Your sex with so much zeal to treat;

But if we freely proffer to pursue

Our tender thoughts and spotless love,

Which nothing shall remove,

And you despise all this, pray what are you?

---

The Harbour.

SONG.

O tedious hopes! when will the storm be o'er!

When will the beaten vessel reach the shore!

Long have I striv'n with blust'ring winds and tides,

Clouds o'er my head, waves on my sides!

Which in my dark adventures high did swell,

While Heaven was black as Hell.

O Love, tempestuous Love, yet, yet at last,

Let me my anchor cast,

And for the troubles I have undergone,

10O bring me to a port which I may call my own.

---

The Unconcerned.

SONG.

Now that the world is all in amaze,

Drums and trumpets rending heav'ns,

Wounds a-bleeding, mortals dying,

Widows and orphans piteously crying;

Armies marching, towns in a blaze,

Kingdoms and states at sixes and sevens:

What should an honest fellow do,

Whose courage, and fortunes run equally low!

Let him live, say I, till his glass be run,

10As easily as he may;

Let the wine, and the sand of his glass flow together,

For life's but a winter's day.

Alas! from sun to sun,

The time's very short, very dirty the weather,

And we silently creep away.

Let him nothing do, he could wish undone;

And keep himself safe from the noise of gun.

The Unconcerned.] 1 amaze 1674, 1676, 1682: a maze 1686.

---

The Immovable.

SONG.

I.

What though the sky be clouded o'er,

And Heav'us influence smile no more?

Though tempests rise, and earthquakes make

The giddy World's foundation shake?

A gallant breast contemns the feeble blow

Of angry Gods, and scorns what Fate can do.

II.

What if alarums sounded be,

And we must face our enemy,

If cannons bellow out a death,

10Or trumpets woo away our breath!

'Tis brave amidst the glittering throng to die.

Nay, Samson-like, to fall with company.

III.

Then let the swordman domineer,

I can nor pike nor musket fear;

Clog me with chains, your envies tire,

For when I will, I can expire;

And when the puling fit of Life is gone,

The worst that cruel man can do, is done.

---

The Wish.

SONG.

I.

Not to the hills where cedars move

Their cloudy head, not to the grove

Of myrtles in th' Elysian shade,

Nor Tempe which the poets made;

Not on the spicy mountains play;

Or travel to Arabia:

I aim not at the careful Throne,

Which Fortune's darlings sit upon;

No, no, the best this fickle world can give,

10Has but a little, little time to live.

II.

But let me soar, O let me fly

Beyond poor Earth's benighted eye,

Beyond the pitch swift eagles tower,

Above the reach of human power;

Above the stars, above the way,

Whence Phoebus darts his piercing ray.

O let me tread those Courts that are,

So bright, so pure, so blest, so fair,

As neither thou nor I must ever know

20On Earth—'tis thither, thither would I go.

The Wish.] Entitled 'A Wish' in the Firth MS., and dated September 10, 1659. It was set by Captain Taylor. The chief variants are 'clouds' for 'stars' in l. 15 and 'the sun' for 'Phoebus' in l. 16.

---

The Cordial. In the year 1657.

SONG.

I.

Did you hear of the News (O the News) how it thunders!

Do but see, how the block-headed multitude wonders!

One fumes, and stamps, and stares to think upon

What others wish as fast, Confusion.

One swears w' are gone, another just agoing,

While a third sits and cries,

'Till his half-blinded eyes

Call him pitiful rogue for so doing.

Let the tone be what 'twill that the mighty ones utter,

10Let the cause be what 'twill why the poorer sort mutter;

I care not what your State-confounders do,

Nor what the stout repiners undergo;

I cannot whine at any alterations.

Let the Swede beat the Dane,

Or be beaten again,

What am I in the crowd of the Nations?

II.

What care I if the North and South Poles come together;

If the Turk or the Pope's Antichristian, or neither;

If fine Astraea be (as Naso said)

20From mortals in a peevish fancy fled:

Rome, when 'twas all on fire, her people mourning,

'Twas an Emperor could stand

With his harp in his hand,

Sing and play, while the city was burning.

---

Celadon on Delia singing.

O Delia! for I know 'tis she,

It must be she, for nothing less could move

My tuneless heart, than something from above.

I hate all earthly harmony:

Hark, hark, ye Nymphs, and Satyrs all around!

Hark, how the baffled Echo faints; see how she dies,

Look how the wingèd choir all gasping lies

At the melodious sound;

See, while she sings

10How they droop and hang their wings!

Angelic Delia, sing no more,

Thy song's too great for mortal ear;

Thy charming notes we can no longer bear:

O then in pity to the World give o'er,

And leave us stupid as we were before.

Fair Delia, take the fatal choice,

Or veil thy beauty, or suppress thy Voice.

His passion thus poor Celadon betray'd,

When first he saw, when first he heard the lovely Maid.

---

The Advice.

SONG.

I.

Poor Celia once was very fair,

A quick bewitching eye she had,

Most neatly look'd her braided hair,

Her dainty cheeks would make you mad,

Upon her lip did all the Graces play,

And on her breasts ten thousand Cupids lay.

II.

Then many a doting lover came

From seventeen till twenty-one,

Each told her of his mighty flame,

10But she, forsooth, affected none.

One was not handsome, t'other was not fine,

This of tobacco smelt, and that of wine.

III.

But t'other day it was my fate

To walk along that way alone,

I saw no coach before her gate,

But at the door I heard her moan:

She dropt a tear, and sighing, seem'd to say,

Young ladies, marry, marry while you may!

The Advice.] In the Firth MS., where it is dated December 22, 1664, and recorded to have been set by Roger Hill; and in Rawlinson MS. D. 260 (fol. 28) of the Bodleian. The variants are trivial. Found also in the Westminster Drollery, 1671, and the Windsor Drollery, 1672: the latter reads 'lock'd' for 'look'd' in l. 3. In l. 9 1682 reads 'her' for 'his'.

---

To Mr. Sam. Austin of Wadham Coll. Oxon, On his most unintelligible Poems.

Sir,

In that small inch of time I stole, to look

On th' obscure depths of your mysterious book,

(Heav'n bless my eyesight!) what strains did I see!

What steropegeretic Poetry!

What hieroglyphic words, what [riddles] all,

In letters more than cabalistical!

We with our fingers may your verses scan,

But all our noddles understand them can

No more, than read that dungfork, pothook hand

10That in Queen's College Library does stand.

The cutting hanger of your Wit I can't see,

For that same scabbard that conceals your Fancy:

Thus a black velvet casket hides a jewel;

And a dark woodhouse, wholesome winter fuel;

Thus John Tradeskin starves our greedy eyes,

By boxing up his new-found rarities;

We dread Actaeon's fate, dare not look on,

When you do scower your skin in Helicon;

We cannot (Lynceus-like) see through the wall

20Of your strong-mortar'd Poems; nor can all

The small shot of our brains make one hole in

The bulwark of your book, that fort to win.

Open your meaning's door, O do not lock it!

Undo the buttons of your smaller pocket,

And charitably spend those angels there,

Let them enrich and actuate our sphere.

Take off our bongraces, and shine upon us,

Though your resplendent beams should chance to tan us.

Had you but stol'n your verses, then we might

30Hope in good time they would have come to light;

And felt I not a strange poetic heat

Flaming within, which reading makes me sweat,

Vulcan should take 'em, and I'd not exempt 'em,

Because they're things Quibus lumen ademptum.

I thought to have commended something there,

But all exceeds my commendations far:

I can say nothing; but stand still, and stare,

And cry, O wondrous, strange, profound, and rare.

Vast Wits must fathom you better than thus,

40You merit more than our praise: as for us

The beetles of our rhymes shall drive full fast in,

The wedges of your worth to everlasting,

My much Apocalyptic friend Sam. Austin.

To Mr. Sam. Austin.] Samuel Austin the younger (his father of the same name was a respectable divine and a writer of sacred verse of the preceding generation) was a Wadham man, a contemporary of Flatman's, and a common Oxford butt for conceit and affectation. His Panegyric on the Restoration appeared in 1661, and contained a statement that the author 'intended a larger book of poems according as these find acceptance'. He had taken his degree five years earlier, and his poetry, probably in MS., had been soon afterwards made the subject of one of the liveliest and naughtiest of Oxford skits, Naps on Parnassus (London, 1658), where some of Austin's own lucubrations, and more parodies and lampoons on him, appear—side-noted with quaint and scandalous adversaria. Flatman himself contributed, among others, some kitchen-Latin leonines:

O decus Anglorum! vates famose tuorum

Cujus pars nona facit Oxenford Helicona,

&c., sometimes dropping into a sort of Macaronic, or at least mongrel dialect:

Haec ratio non est—quid rides?—my meaning's honest.

The elder Samuel Austin, a Cornishman, of Exeter, was a very serious person who wrote, and after difficulties got published in 1629, Austin's Urania, or the Heavenly Muse, with the most unreasonable motto Aut perlegas aut non legas—rendered

Whate'er thou be whose eye do chance to fall

Upon this Book, read all or none at all.

For a considerable time I obeyed the second part of this injunction only.

Naps on Parnassus has some important variants and some corrections of the present text. Omitting minor changes, these are:—

2 obscure] abstruse.

5 what all] what riddles? all (Clearly the right text).

After 16 is the couplet:

There were Philosophers content to be

Renown'd, and famous in obscurity.

Line 18 has a marginal note on 'scower'—'But when he does so, he verifies the Proverb, viz. Æthiopem lavat.'

Lines 29, 30 read:

O were your verses stol'n, that so we might

Hope in good time to see them come to light.

After line 36 is the couplet:

I hope some wit when he your honour hears,

Will praise your mother's eyes' turpentine tears.

In line 42 is printed 'everlastin' with the note '[g] aufertur in fine, per Apocopen'.

4 The blessed word 'stero (it should be 'sterro' or 'stereo') -pegeretic' (a rather erratic compound from πήγνυμι) is very likely Austin's own for 'strongly put together'.

10 ['The Devil's handwriting in Queen's College Library at Oxford.' Note in orig.] This interesting autograph is still preserved, and a photograph of it may be seen in Mr. Andrew Clark's Anthony à Wood's Life and Times, i. 498 (Oxford Historical Society).

15 John Tradeskin] John Tradescant the second (1608-1662), original collector of the Ashmolean Museum.

27 bongraces] Sun-bonnets.

---

To my ingenious Friend Mr. William Faithorne on his Book of Drawing, Etching, and Graving.

Should I attempt an elogy, or frame

A paper-structure to secure thy name,

The lightning of one censure, one stern frown

Might quickly hazard that, and thy renown.

But this thy book prevents that fruitless pain.

One line speaks purelier thee, than my best strain.

Those mysteries (once like the spiteful mould,

Which bars the greedy Spaniard from his gold)

Thou dost unfold in every friendly page,

10Kind to the present, and succeeding age.

That hand, whose curious art prolongs the date

Of frail mortality, and baffles Fate

With brass and steel, can surely potent be,

To rear a lasting monument for thee:

For my part I prefer (to guard the dead)

A copper-plate beyond a sheet of lead.

So long as brass, so long as books endure,

So long as neat-wrought pieces, thou'rt secure.

A [Faithorne sculpsit] is a charm can save

20From dull oblivion, and a gaping grave.

To my Ingenious Friend Mr. William Faithorne.] The elder Faithorne (v. sup., [p. 278]). The younger, his son and namesake, was but eighteen when Flatman first published. The lines first appeared in The Art of Graveing and Etching ... Published by Will^m Faithorne. And Sold at his Shop next to y^e Signe of y^e Drake without Temple Barre, 1662.

1 'elogy' is no doubt here merely an equivalent for 'eulogy', and rather from éloge than elogium. But it is a pity that it has not been kept in English as an equivalent for the Latin.

5 that fruitless] my slender 1662. Other important variants are:— Lines 9, 10 read:—

Thine ingenuity reveals, and so

By making plain, thou dost illustrious grow.

14 lasting] stately.

---

On the Commentaries of Messire Blaize de Montluc.

To the Worthy Translator,

Charles Cotton, Esq.

He that would aptly write of warlike men,

Should make his ink of blood, a sword his pen;

At least he must their memories abuse,

Who writes with less than Maro's mighty Muse:

All, Sir, that I could say of this great theme

(The brave Montluc) would lessen his esteem;

Whose laurels too much native verdure have

To need the praises vulgar chaplets crave:

His own bold hand, what it durst write, durst do,

10Grappled with enemies, and oblivion too;

Hew'd his own monument, and grav'd thereon

Its deep and durable inscription.

To you, Sir, whom the valiant Author owes

His second life, and conquest o'er his foes—

Ill-natur'd foes, Time and Detraction,—

What is a stranger's contribution!

Who has not such a share of vanity,

To dream that one, who with such industry

Obliges all the world, can be oblig'd by me.

On the Commentaries of Messire Blaize de Montluc.] Cotton's translation of the admirable Gascon appeared in the same year (1674) with Flatman's Poems.

---

A Character of a Belly-God.

Catius and Horace.

Horace.

Whence, Brother Case, and whither bound so fast?

Ca. O, Sir, you must excuse me, I'm in haste.

I dine with my (Lord Mayor) and can't allow

Time for our eating directory now:

Though I must needs confess, I think my rules

Would prove Pythagoras and Plato fools.

Hor. Grave Sir, I must acknowledge, 'tis a crime

To interrupt at such a nick of time;

Yet stay a little, Sir, it is no sin;

10 You're to say Grace ere dinner can begin;

Since you at food such virtuoso are,

Some precepts to an hungry poet spare.

Ca. I grant you, Sir, next pleasure ta'en in eating

Is that (as we do call it) of repeating;

I still have kitchen systems in my mind,

And from my stomach's fumes a brain well lin'd.

Hor. Whence, pray, Sir, learnt you those ingenuous arts,

From one at home, or hir'd from foreign parts?

Ca. No names, Sir (I beseech you), that's foul play,

20 We ne'er name authors, only what they say.

1. 'For eggs choose long, the round are out of fashion,

'Unsavoury and distasteful to the nation:

'E'er since the brooding Rump, they're addle too,

'In the long egg lies Cock-a-doodle-doo.

2. 'Choose coleworts planted on a soil that's dry,

'Even they are worse for th' wetting (verily).

3. 'If friend from far shall come to visit, then

'Say thou wouldst treat the wight with mortal hen,

'Don't thou forthwith pluck off the cackling head,

30'And impale corpse on spit as soon as dead;

'For so she will be tough beyond all measure,

'And friend shall make a trouble of a pleasure.

'Steep'd in good wine let her her life surrender,

'O then she'll eat most admirably tender.

4. 'Mushrooms that grow in meadows are the best;

'For aught I know, there's poison in the rest.

5. 'He that would many happy summers see,

'Let him eat mulberries fresh off the tree,

'Gather'd before the sun's too high, for these

40'Shall hurt his stomach less than Cheshire cheese.

6. 'Aufidius (had you done so 't had undone ye)

'Sweet'ned his morning's draughts of sack with honey;

'But he did ill, to empty veins to give

'Corroding potion for a lenitive.

7. 'If any man to drink do thee inveigle in,

'First wet thy whistle with some good metheglin.

8. 'If thou art bound, and in continual doubt,

'Thou shalt get in no more till some get out,

'The mussel or the cockle will unlock

50 'Thy body's trunk, and give a vent to nock.

'Some say that sorrel steep'd in wine will do,

'But to be sure, put in some aloes too.

9. 'All shell-fish (with the growing Moon increast)

'Are ever, when she fills her orb, the best:

'But for brave oysters, Sir, exceeding rare,

'They are not to be met with everywhere.

'Your Wall-fleet oysters no man will prefer

'Before the juicy grass-green Colchester.

'Hungerford crawfish match me, if you can,

60 'There's no such crawlers in the Ocean.

10. 'Next for your suppers, you (it may be) think

'There goes no more to 't, but just eat and drink;

'But let me tell you, Sir, and tell you plain,

'To dress 'em well requires a man of brain:

'His palate must be quick, and smart, and strong,

'For sauce, a very critic in the tongue.

11. 'He that pays dear for fish, nay though the best,

'May please his fishmonger, more than his guest,

'If he be ignorant what sauce is proper;

70 'There's Machiavel in th' ménage of a supper.

12. 'For swines-flesh, give me that of the wild boar,

'Pursu'd and hunted all the forest o'er;

'He to the liberal oak ne'er quits his love,

'And when he finds no acorns, grunts at Jove.

'The Hampshire hog with pease and whey that's fed

'Sty'd up, is neither good alive nor dead.

13. 'The tendrils of the vine are salads good,

'If when they are in season understood.

14. 'If servants to thy board a rabbit bring,

80 'Be wise, and in the first place carve a wing.

15. 'When fish and fowl are right, and at just age,

'A feeder's curiosity t' assuage,

'If any ask, who found the mystery,

'Let him inquire no further, I am he.

16. 'Some fancy bread out of the oven hot:

'Variety's the glutton's happiest lot.

17. 'It's not enough the wine you have be pure,

'But of your oil as well you ought be sure.

18. 'If any fault be in the generous wine,

90 'Set it abroad all night, and 'twill refine,

'But never strain 't, nor let it pass through linen,

'Wine will be worse for that, as well as women.

19. 'The vintner that of Malaga and Sherry

'With damn'd ingredients patcheth up Canary,

'With segregative things, as pigeons' eggs,

'Straight purifies, and takes away the dregs.

20. 'An o'er-charg'd stomach roasted shrimps will ease,

'The cure by lettuce is worse than the disease.

21. 'To quicken appetite it will behove ye

100 'To feed courageously on good anchovy.

22. 'Westphalia ham, and the Bologna sausage,

'For second or third course will clear a passage,

'But lettuce after meals! fie on 't, the glutton

'Had better feed upon Ram-alley mutton.

23. ''Twere worth one's while in palace or in cottage,

'Right well to know the sundry sorts of pottage;

'There is your French pottage, Nativity broth,

'Yet that of Fetter-lane exceeds them both;

'About a limb of a departed tup

110 'There may you see the green herbs boiling up,

'And fat abundance o'er the furnace float,

'Resembling whale-oil in a Greenland boat.

24. 'The Kentish pippin's best, I dare be bold,

'That ever blue-cap costard-monger sold.

25. 'Of grapes, I like the raisins of the sun.

'I was the first immortal glory won,

'By mincing pickled herrings with these raisin

'And apples; 'twas I set the world a-gazing,

'When once they tasted of this Hogan fish,

120 'Pepper and salt enamelling the dish.

26. ''Tis ill to purchase great fish with great matter,

'And then to serve it up in scanty platter;

'Nor is it less unseemly, some believe,

'From boy with greasy fist drink to receive,

'But the cup foul within 's enough to make

'A squeamish creature puke and turn up stomach.

27. 'Then brooms and napkins and the Flanders tile,

'These must be had too, or the feast you spoil,

'Things little thought on, and not very dear,

130'And yet how much they cost one in a year!

28. 'Wouldst thou rub alabaster with hands sable,

'Or spread a diaper cloth on dirty table?

'More cost, more worship: Come: be à la mode;

'Embellish treat, as thou would do an ode.'

Hor. O learnèd Sir, how greedily I hear

This elegant Diatriba of good cheer!

Now by all that's good, by all provant you love,

By sturdy Chine of Beef, and mighty Jove;

I do conjure thy gravity, let me see

140 The man that made thee this Discovery;

For he that sees th' Original's more happy

Than him that draws by an ill-favour'd Copy.

O bring me to the man I so admire!

The Flint from whence brake forth these sparks of fire.

What satisfaction would the Vision bring?

If sweet the stream, much sweeter is the spring.

[Line: 3 I had struck out the brackets, but replaced them. For some obsolete uses of the mark see Mr. Percy Simpson's Shakesperian Punctuation, pp. 94-5.

57 Wall-fleet 1674-82; Wain-fleet 1686. Wainfleet is in Lincolnshire, famous as the birthplace of the founder of Magdalen College, Oxford. I never heard Wainfleet oysters specially quoted, but if Walter White in his Eastern England (ii. 10) may be trusted, the place was not so very long ago excellent for cockles.

60 The ocean 'crawlers' are at any rate bigger than those of the Kennet.

75-6 This is a libel.

104 Ram-alley] The constantly cited street of coarse cook-shops.

107 'Nativity' is no doubt 'Christmas', as in 'Nativity-pie'. The reference is to 'plum-broth', the old Christmas dish, made of beef, prunes, raisins, currants, white bread, spices, wine, and sugar.

114 It would be a pity not to keep the form 'costard-monger'.

119 'Hogan' of course = 'Dutch'. This, the only positive recipe in the poem, would be a sort of salmagundy—not bad, but rather coarse, like most of the cookery of the time. Flatman, had he cared, might evidently have anticipated the earlier Dr. (not Bishop) King, who published his ingenious Art of Cookery in prose and verse (to be found in the ninth volume of Chalmers) some thirty years later.

125-6. If 'within 's' be extended to 'within is' we shall have in 'to-make' a pleasant Hudibrastic rhyme to 'stomach', which otherwise comes in but ill.

127 What the special use of Dutch tiles was I can only guess. For tankard stands?

141-2 The plagiarism-hunters may, if they like, accuse Sam Weller of stealing from Flatman when he observed, 'I'm very glad I've seen the 'rig'nal, cos it 's a gratifyin' sort of thing, and eases one's mind so much'.

---

The Disappointed.

Pindaric Ode.

Stanza I.

Oft have I ponder'd in my pensive heart,

When even from myself I've stol'n away,

And heavily consider'd many a day,

The cause of all my anguish and my smart:

Sometimes besides a shady grove

(As dark as were my thoughts, as close as was my Love),

Dejected have I walk'd alone,

Acquainting scarce myself with my own moan.

Once I resolv'd undauntedly to hear

10What 'twas my passions had to say,

To find the reason of that uproar there,

And calmly, if I could, to end the fray:

No sooner was my resolution known

But I was all confusion.

Fierce Anger, flattering Hope, and black Despair,

Bloody Revenge, and most ignoble Fear,

Now altogether clamorous were;

My breast a perfect chaos grown,

A mass of nameless things together hurl'd,

20Like th' formless embryo of the unborn world,

Just as it's rousing from eternal night,

Before the great Creator said, Let there be Light.

II.

Thrice happy then are beasts, said I,

That underneath these pleasant coverts lie,

They only sleep, and eat, and drink,

They never meditate, nor think;

Or if they do, have not th' unhappy art

To vent the overflowings of their heart;

They without trouble live, without disorder die,

30Regardless of Eternity.

I said, I would like them be wise,

And not perplex myself in vain,

Nor bite th' uneasy chain,

No, no, said I, I will Philosophise!

And all th' ill-natur'd World despise:

But when I had reflected long,

And with deliberation thought

How few have practis'd what they gravely taught,

(Tho' 'tis but folly to complain)

40I judg'd it worth a generous disdain,

And brave defiance in Pindaric song.

The Disappointed.] In 1674 and in Contents of 1686 The Disappointment.

21 as] at 1674.

27 unhappy] happy 1682.

29 without disorder die, 1682.

---

On Mrs. E. Montague's Blushing in the Cross-Bath.

A Translation.

I.

Amidst the Nymphs (the glory of the flood)

Thus once the beauteous Aegle stood,

So sweet a tincture ere the Sun appears,

The bashful ruddy morning wears:

Thus through a crystal wave the coral glows,

And such a blush sits on the virgin rose.

II.

Ye envied waters that with safety may

Around her snowy bosom play,

Cherish with gentle heat that noble breast

10Which so much innocence has blest,

Such innocence, as hitherto ne'er knew

What mischief Venus or her son could do.

Then from this hallow'd place

Let the profane and wanton eye withdraw,

For Virtue clad in scarlet strikes an awe

From the tribunal of a lovely face.

On Mrs. E. Montague, &c.] This, though I do not know exactly who the lady was, may be taken with the Sandwich epicedes as evidence of Flatman's acquaintance with the Montague family. It is odd that Pepys does not mention him, especially as he does record buying the 'Montelion' Almanack for 1661, which has been attributed to our poet. The Cross-Bath is of course the famous one at Bath itself, which was then the most fashionable, and was visited and used by Pepys himself. It is now 'drawn to the dregs of a democracy'—a cheap public swimming-bath, at a penny entrance or twopence with towel. Flatman's comparison of a blushing cheek to a judge on the bench is worthy of Cleveland, or even of Benlowes. But the extravagance was doubtless, in part at least, conscious.

---

Il Infido.

I.

I breathe, 'tis true, wretch that I am, 'tis true;

But if to live be only not to die,

If nothing in that bubble, Life, be gay,

But all t' a tear must melt away;

Let fools and Stoics be cajol'd, say I:

Thou that lik'st Ease and Love, like me,

When once the world says, Farewell both, to thee,

What hast thou more to do

Than in disdain to say, Thou foolish world, adieu!

II.

10There was a time, fool that I was! when I

Believ'd there might be something here below.

A seeming cordial to my drooping heart

That might allay my bitter smart:

I call'd it Friend:—but O th' inconstancy

Of human things! I tried it long,

Its love was fervent, and, I fancied, strong:

But now I plainly see,

Or 'tis withdrawn, or else 'twas all hypocrisy.

III.

I saw thy much-estrangèd eyes, I saw,

20False Musidore, thy formal alter'd face,

When thou betray'dst my seeming happiness,

And coldly took'st my kind address:

But know that I will live; for in thy place

Heaven has provided for me now

A constant friend, that dares not break a vow;

That friend will I embrace,

And never more my overweening love misplace.

---

Il Immaturo.

epitaph.

Brave Youth, whose too too hasty fate

His glories did anticipate,

Whose active soul had laid the great design

To emulate those Heroes of his line!

He show'd the world how great a man

Might be contracted to a span;

How soon our teeming expectations fail,

How little tears and wishes can prevail:

Could life hold out with these supplies

10He'd liv'd still in his parents' eyes,

And this cold stone had ne'er said, Here he lies.

---

On Mrs. Dove, Wife to the Reverend Dr. Henry Dove.

epitaph.

'Tis thus——and thus farewell to all

Vain mortals do perfection call;

To Beauty, Goodness, Modesty,

Sweet temper, and true Piety.

The rest an Angel's pen must tell:

Long, long, belovèd Dust, farewell.

Those blessings which we highliest prize

Are soonest ravish'd from our eyes.

On Mrs. Dove, &c.] Dr. Henry Dove was a divine of some mark, chaplain (it must have been rather in the Vicar of Bray line) to Charles, James, and William, Archdeacon of Richmond, and a strongly recommended candidate for the Mastership of Trinity, when young John Montague, Lord Sandwich's son, got it—iure natalium, apparently, as he had previously got his M.A. degree.

---

Lucretius.

Sed jam nec Domus accipiet te laeta, nec Uxor

Optima, nec dulces occurrent oscula nati

Praeripere, et tacita pectus dulcedine tangent.

Paraphrased.

When thou shalt leave this miserable life,

Farewell thy house, farewell thy charming wife,

Farewell for ever to thy soul's delight,

Quite blotted out in everlasting night!

No more thy pretty darling babes shall greet thee

By thy kind name, nor strive who first shall meet thee.

Their kisses with a secret pleasure shall not move thee!

For who shall say to thy dead clay, I love thee?

---

On the Eminent Dr. Edward Browne's Travels.

Thus from a foreign clime rich merchants come,

And thus unlade their rarities at home:

Thus undergo an acceptable toil,

With treasures to enrich their native soil.

They for themselves, for others you unfold

A cargo swoln with diamonds and gold.

With indefatigable travels, they

The trading world, the learnèd you, survey;

And for renown with great Columbus vie,

10In subterranean cosmography.

On Dr. Edward Browne's Travels.] Edward Browne, Sir Thomas's eldest son, returned in 1673 from five years' wandering, and Flatman must have written on some of his papers. His Travels were first printed in 1682.

---

On Poverty.

I.

O poverty! thou great and wise-man's school!

Mistress of Arts! and scandal to the fool!

Heav'n's sacred badge, which th' heroes heretofore

(Bright caravans of saints and martyrs) wore!

To th' Host Triumphant valiant souls are sent

From those we call the ragged regiment:

Sure guide to everlasting peace above,

Thou dost th' impediments remove;

Th' unnecessary loads of wealth and state,

10Which make men swell too big for the strait gate.

II.

Thou happy port! where we from storms are free,

And need not fear (false world!) thy piracy.

Hither for ease and shelter did retire

The busy Charles, and wearied Casimire;

Abjur'd their thrones, and made a solemn vow,

Their radiant heads to thee should ever bow.

Why should thy tents so terrible appear

Where monarchs reformadoes were?

Why should men call that state of life forlorn,

20Which God approves of, and which kings have borne?

III.

Mad Luxury! what do thy vassals reap

From a life's long debauch, but late to weep!

What the curs'd miser, who would fain ape thee,

And wear thy livery, Great Poverty!

The prudent wretch for future ages cares,

And hoards up sins for his impatient heirs!

Full little does he think the time will come

When he is gone to his long home,

The prodigal youth for whom he took such pains

30Shall be thy slave, and wear thy loathèd chains.

IV.

Fair handmaid to Devotion, by whose aid

Our souls are all disrob'd, all naked laid,

In thy true mirror men themselves do see

Just what they are, not what they seem to be.

The flattering world misrepresents our face,

And cheats us with a magnifying-glass;

Our meanness nothing else does truly show,

But only Death, but only thou,

Who teach our minds above this Earth to fly,

40And pant, and breathe for immortality.

On Poverty.] 14 Charles] Of course Charles the Fifth. Casimire] John Casimir of Poland, who had abdicated in 1668 and died in 1672.

18 'Reformadoes'] Lit. officers of a disbanded company, who retained their rank and received half-pay.

31-40 A stanza added in 1686.

---

Urania to her Friend Parthenissa.

a dream.

In a soft vision of the night,

My Fancy represented to my sight

A goodly gentle shade;

Methought it mov'd with a majestic grace,

But the surprising sweetness of its face

Made me amaz'd, made me afraid:

I found a secret shivering in my heart,

Such as friends feel that meet or part:

Approaching nearer with a timorous eye,

10Is then my Parthenissa dead, said I?

Ah Parthenissa! if thou yet are kind,

As kind as when, like me, thou mortal wert,

When thou and I had equal share in either's heart,

How canst thou bear that I am left behind!

Dear Parthenissa! O those pleasant hours,

That blest our innocent amours!

When in the common treasury of one breast,

All that was thine or mine did rest.

Dear Parthenissa!—Friend! what shall I say?

20Ah speak to thy Urania!

Oh envious Death! nothing but thee I fear'd,

No other rival could estrange

Her soul from mine or make a change.

Scarce had I spoke my passionate fears,

And overwhelm'd myself in tears:

But Parthenissa smil'd, and then she disappear'd.

---

On the Death of the Earl of Rochester.

Pastoral.

I.

As on his death-bed gasping Strephon lay,

Strephon the wonder of the plains,

The noblest of th' Arcadian swains;

Strephon the bold, the witty, and the gay:

With many a sigh and many a tear he said,

Remember me, ye Shepherds, when I'm dead.

II.

Ye trifling glories of this world, adieu,

And vain applauses of the age;

For when we quit this earthly stage,

10Believe me, shepherds, for I tell you true;

Those pleasures which from virtuous deeds we have,

Procure the sweetest slumbers in the grave.

III.

Then since your fatal hour must surely come,

Surely your heads lie low as mine,

Your bright meridian sun decline;

Beseech the mighty Pan to guard you home,

If to Elysium you would happy fly,

Live not like Strephon, but like Strephon die.

On the Death of the Earl of Rochester.] Flatman, it will be observed, makes no reference to Burnet's notorious publication as to Rochester's death-bed repentance. As to the Latin version, he strains the term 'leonine', which ought properly to be used only of lines correctly metred, or intended for metre, but rhymed at middle and end. (He had actually written such: v. sup., [p. 353]). But these verses, added in 1686, are not uninteresting examples of Latin, metred on English principles and rhymed in stanza, of the same class as Sir F. Kynaston's Troilus, though in different form.

MS. versions are in Bodley, in Aubrey MS. 6, fol. 56 (with the variant 'head' in l. 14), and a worthless copy in MS. Add. B. 105, fol. 19.

---

In obitum illustrissimi ingeniosissimique Joannis, Comitis Roffensis,

Carmen Pastorale Versu Leonino redditum.

I.

Lecto prostratus Strephon moribundus,

Planitierum Strephon decus,

Princeps curantium pecus,

Audax, facetus, Strephon et jucundus,

Lugens pastoribus sic est affatus,

Memimini mei cum migratus.

II.

Honores mundi futiles valete,

Plaudite aevi et fucata,

Mortali scenâ nam mutatâ,

10Fidem veriloquo adhibete,

Voluptas profluens ex virtute

Solâ obdormiscit cum salute.

III.

Cum nulla in mortem sit medela,

In terram capita cuncta incurvabunt,

Soles micantes declinabunt,

Pan supplicetor pro tutelâ

Beatorum ut recipiant chori:

Strephon non doceat vivere sed mori.

---

On Dr. Woodford's Paraphrase on the Canticles.

I.

Well! since it must be, so let it be,

For what do resolutions signify,

When we are urg'd to write by destiny?

II.

I had resolv'd, nay, and I almost swore,

My bedrid Muse should walk abroad no more:

Alas! 'tis more than time that I give o'er.

III.

In the recesses of a private breast

I thought to entertain your charming guest,

And never to have boasted of my feast.

IV.

10But see, my friend, when through the world you go,

My lackey-verse must shadow-like pursue,

Thin and obscure, to make a foil for you.

V.

'Tis true, you cannot need my feeble praise,

A lasting monument to your name to raise,

Well known in Heav'n by your angelic lays.

VI.

There in indelible characters they are writ,

Where no pretended heights will easy sit,

But those of serious consecrated wit.

VII.

By immaterial defecated Love,

20Your soul its heavenly origin does approve,

And in least dangerous raptures soars above.

VIII.

How could I wish, dear friend! unsaid agen

(For once I rank'd myself with tuneful men)

Whatever dropp'd from my unhallow'd pen!

IX.

The trifling rage of youthful heat once past,

Who is not troubled for his wit misplac'd!

All pleasant follies breed regret at last.

X.

While reverend Donne's and noble Herbert's flame

A glorious immortality shall claim,

30In the most durable records of Fame,

XI.

Our modish rhymes, like culinary fire,

Unctuous and earthy, shall in smoke expire;

In odorous clouds your incense shall aspire.

XII.

Let th' Pagan-world your pious verse defy,

Yet shall they envy when they come to die,

Your wiser projects on eternity.

On Dr. Woodford's Paraphrase.] See above, [p. 306]. These lines appeared before A Paraphrase upon the Canticles, 1679, and were headed 'To my dear Old Friend, the Reverend Dr. Samuel Woodford, On his Sacred Poems'.

21 approve 1679, 1682: prove 1686.

25-7 Referring to the comic touches noted above.

---

Laodamia to Protesilaus.

one of ovid's epistles translated.

The Argument.

Protesilaus lying windbound at Aulis in the Grecian fleet design'd for the
Trojan war, his wife Laodamia sends this following Epistle to him.

Health to the gentle man of war, and may

What Laodamia sends the Gods convey.

The wind that still in Aulis holds my dear,

Why was it not so cross to keep him here?

Let the wind raise an hurricane at sea,

Were he but safe and warm ashore with me.

Ten thousand kisses I had more to give him,

Ten thousand cautions, and soft words to leave him:

In haste he left me, summon'd by the wind,

10(The wind to barbarous mariners only kind).

The seaman's pleasure is the lover's pain,

(Protesilaus from my bosom ta'en!)

As from my faltering tongue half speeches fell,

Scarce could I speak that wounding word Farewell,

A merry gale (at sea they call it so)

Fill'd every sail with joy, my breast with woe,

There went my dear Protesilaus——

While I could see thee, full of eager pain,

My greedy eyes epicuris'd on thine,

20When thee no more, but thy spread sails I view,

I look'd, and look'd, till I had lost them too;

But when nor thee, nor them I could descry,

And all was sea that came within my eye,

They say (for I have quite forgot), they say

I straight grew pale, and fainted quite away;

Compassionate Iphiclus, and the good old man,

My mother too to my assistance ran;

In haste cold water on my face they threw,

And brought me to myself with much ado.

30They meant it well, to me it seem'd not so,

Much kinder had they been to let me go;

My anguish with my soul together came,

And in my heart burst out the former flame:

Since which, my uncomb'd locks unheeded flow,

Undrest, forlorn, I care not how I go;

Inspir'd with wine, thus Bacchus' frolic rout

Stagger'd of old, and straggled all about.

Put on, put on, the happy ladies say,

Thy royal robes, fair Laodamia.

40Alas! before Troy's walls my dear does lie,

What pleasure can I take in Tyrian dye?

Shall curls adorn my head, an helmet thine?

I in bright tissues, thou in armour shine?

Rather with studied negligence I'll be

As ill, if not disguisèd worse than thee.

O Paris! rais'd by ruins! mayst thou prove

As fatal in thy war, as in thy love!

O that the Grecian Dame had been less fair,

Or thou less lovely hadst appear'd to her!

50O Menelaus! timely cease to strive,

With how much blood wilt thou thy loss retrieve?

From me, ye Gods, avert your heavy doom,

And bring my dear, laden with laurels, home:

But my heart fails me, when I think of war,

The sad reflection costs me many a tear:

I tremble when I hear the very name

Of every place where thou shalt fight for fame;

Besides, th' adventurous ravisher well knew

The safest arts his villany to pursue;

60In noble dress he did her heart surprise,

With gold he dazzled her unguarded eyes,

He back'd his rape with ships and armèd men,

Thus storm'd, thus took the beauteous fortress in.

Against the power of Love and force of arms

There's no security in the brightest charms.

Hector I fear, much do I Hector fear,

A man (they say) experienc'd in war,

My dear, if thou hast any love for me,

Of that same Hector prithee mindful be;

70Fly him be sure, and every other foe,

Lest each of them should prove an Hector too.

Remember, when for fight thou shalt prepare,

Thy Laodamia charg'd thee, Have a care;

For what wounds thou receiv'st are giv'n to her.

If by thy valour Troy must ruin'd be,

May not the ruin leave one scar on thee;

Sharer in th' honour, from the danger free!

Let Menelaus fight, and force his way

Through the false ravisher's troops t' his Helena.

80Great be his victory, as his cause is good.

May he swim to her in his enemies' blood.

Thy case is different.—Mayst thou live to see

(Dearest) no other combatant but me!

Ye generous Trojans, turn your swords away

From his dear breast, find out a nobler prey;

Why should you harmless Laodamia slay?

My poor good-natur'd man did never know

What 'tis to fight, or how to face a foe;

Yet in Love's field what wonders can he do!

90Great is his prowess and his fortune too;

Let them go fight, who know not how to woo.

Now I must own, I fear'd to let thee go,

My trembling lips had almost told thee so.

When from thy father's house thou didst withdraw,

Thy fatal stumble at the door I saw,

I saw it, sigh'd, and pray'd the sign might be

Of thy return a happy prophecy!

I cannot but acquaint thee with my fear,

Be not too brave,—Remember,—Have a care,

100And all my dreads will vanish into air.

Among the Grecians some one must be found

That first shall set his foot on Trojan ground;

Unhappy she that shall his loss bewail,

Grant, O ye Gods, thy courage then may fail.

Of all the ships be thine the very last,

Thou the last man that lands; there needs no haste

To meet a potent and a treacherous foe;

Thou'lt land I fear too soon, tho' ne'er so slow.

At thy return ply every sail and oar,

110And nimbly leap on thy deserted shore.

All the day long, and all the lonely night,

Black thoughts of thee my anxious soul affright:

Darkness, to other women's pleasures kind,

Augments, like Hell, the torments of my mind.

I court e'en dreams, on my forsaken bed

False joys must serve, since all my true are fled.

What's that same airy phantom so like thee!

What wailings do I hear, what paleness see?

I wake, and hug myself, 'tis but a dream.—

120The Grecian altars know I feed their flame,

The want of hallow'd wine my tears supply,

Which make the sacred fire burn bright and high.

When shall I clasp thee in these arms of mine,

These longing arms, and lie dissolv'd in thine?

When shall I have thee by thyself alone,

To learn the wondrous actions thou hast done?

Which when in rapturous words thou hast begun

With many and many a kiss, prithee tell on,

Such interruptions grateful pauses are,

130A kiss in story's but an halt in war.

But, when I think of Troy, of winds and waves,

I fear the pleasant dream my hope deceives:

Contrary winds in port detain thee too,

In spite of wind and tide why wouldst thou go?

Thus, to thy country thou wouldst hardly come,

In spite of wind and tide thou went'st from home.

To his own city Neptune stops the way,

Revere the omen, and the Gods obey.

Return, ye furious Grecians, homeward fly,

140Your stay is not of Chance, but Destiny:

How can your arms expect desir'd success,

That thus contend for an adulteress?

But, let not me forespeak you, no,—set sail,

And Heav'n befriend you with a prosperous gale!

Ye Trojans! with regret methinks I see

Your first encounter with your enemy;

I see fair Helen put on all her charms,

To buckle on her lusty bridegroom's arms;

She gives him arms, and kisses she receives,

150(I hate the transports each to other gives.)

She leads him forth, and she commands him come

Safely victorious, and triumphant home;

And he (no doubt) will make no nice delay,

But diligently do whate'er she say.

Now he returns!—see with what amorous speed

She takes the pond'rous helmet from his head,

And courts the weary champion to her bed.

We women, too too credulous, alas!

Think what we fear will surely come to pass.

160Yet, while before the leaguer thou dost lie,

Thy picture is some pleasure to my eye;

That, I caress in words most kind and free,

And lodge it on my breast, as I would thee.

There must be something in it more than Art,

'Twere very thee, could it thy mind impart;

I kiss the pretty Idol, and complain,

As if (like thee) 'twould answer me again.

By thy return, by thy dear self, I swear,

By our Love's vows, which most religious are,

170By thy belovèd head, and those gray hairs

Which time may on it snow in future years,

I come, where'er thy Fate shall bid thee go,

Eternal partner of thy weal and woe,

So thou but live, tho' all the Gods say No.

Farewell,—but prithee very careful be

Of thy belovèd Self (I mean) of me.

129 grateful] graceful 1682.

---

To the Excellent Master of Music, Signior Pietro Reggio, on His Book of Songs.

Tho' to advance thy fame, full well I know

How very little my dull pen can do;

Yet, with all deference, I gladly wait,

Enthrong'd amongst th' attendants on thy state:

Thus when Arion, by his friends betray'd,

Upon his understanding Dolphin play'd,

The scaly people their resentments show'd

By pleas'd levoltoes on the wond'ring flood.

Great Artist! thou deserv'st our loudest praise

10From th' garland to the meanest branch of bays;

For poets can but Say, thou mak'st them Sing,

And th' embryo-words dost to perfection bring;

By us the Muse conceives, but when that's done,

Thy midwif'ry makes fit to see the Sun;

Our naked lines, drest and adorn'd by thee,

Assume a beauty, pomp, and bravery;

So awful and majestic they appear,

They need not blush to reach a Prince's ear.

Princes, tho' to poor poets seldom kind,

20Their numbers turn'd to air with pleasure mind

Studied and labour'd tho' our poems be,

Alas! they die unheeded without thee,

Whose art can make our breathless labours live,

Spirit and everlasting vigour give.

Whether we write of Heroes and of Kings,

In Mighty Numbers, Mighty Things,

Or in a humble Ode express our sense

Of th' happy state of ease and innocence;

A country life where the contented swain

30Hugs his dear peace, and does a crown disdain;

Thy dext'rous notes with all our thoughts comply,

Can creep on Earth, can up to Heaven fly;

In heights and cadences, so sweet, so strong,

They suit a shepherd's reed, an angel's tongue.

————————But who can comprehend

The raptures of thy voice, and miracles of thy hand?

To Signior Pietro Reggio.] First printed in Songs of Signior Pietro Reggio, folio undated (but issued in 1680); Shadwell and Ayres also contributed to it. It had an engraved title-page of Arion on a Dolphin (cf. l. 5), and was dedicated to the king (cf. l. 18).

8 Levoltoes 1682: levaltoes 1686—both variants of the form 'lavolta'.

---

Epitaph on the Incomparable Sir John King in the Temple-Church.

Heic juxta jacet

Johannes King Miles,

Serenissimo Carolo Secundo

In Legibus Angliae Consultus,

Illustrissimo Jacobo Duci Eboracensi

Sollicitator Generalis.

Qualis, Quantusve sis, Lector,

Profundum obstupesce;

Labia digitis comprime,

10Oculos lachrymis suffunde.

En! ad pedes tuos

Artis et Naturae suprema Conamina,

Fatorum Ludibria!

Non ita pridem

Erat Iste Pulvis omnifariam Doctus,

Musarum Gazophylacium,

Eloquentiam calluit, claram, puram, innocuam,

Legibus suae Patriae erat instructissimus,

Suis charus, Principibus gratus, Omnibus urbanus,

20Sui saeculi

Ornamentum illustre, Desiderium irreparabile.

Hinc disce Lector,

Quantilla Mortalitatis Gloria

Splendidissimis decoratae Dotibus.

Dulcem soporem agite

Dilecti, Eruditi, Beati Cineres!

Obiit Junii 29, 1677.

Aetat. 38.

Epitaph on the Incomparable Sir John King.] This 'incomparable' was an Etonian and a Cambridge (Queens' College) man, who became K.C. and Attorney-General to the Duke of York.

A first draft is in the Ashmole MS. 826 (fol. 50) of the Bodleian. Ll. 1-6 are at the end of the epitaph, and add a touch of bathos—'Et Interioris Templi Socius'—and the date—'Obiit tercio Calendarum Julii, Anno Æræ Christianæ', 1677; Ætatis 38'. In l. 8 the reading is 'obmutesce'. The 1682 has the simple heading 'In the Temple Church', and reads 'decorata' in l. 24.

---

On the Death of my dear Brother Mr. Richard Flatman.

Pindaric Ode.

Stanza I.

Unhappy Muse! employ'd so oft

On melancholy thoughts of Death,

What hast thou left so tender, and so soft

As thy poor master fain would breath

O'er this lamented hearse?

No usual flight of fancy can become

My sorrows o'er a brother's tomb.

O that I could be elegant in tears,

That with conceptions, not unworthy thee,

10Great as thy merit, vigorous as thy years,

I might convey thy elegy

To th' grief and envy of posterity!

A gentler youth ne'er crown'd his parents' cares,

Or added ampler joy to their grey hairs:

Kind to his friends, to his relations dear,

Easy to all.—Alas! what is there here

For man to set his heart upon,

Since what we dote on most is soonest gone?

Ai me! I've lost a sweet companion,

20A friend, a brother all in one!

II.

How did it chill my soul to see thee lie

Struggling with pangs in thy last agony!

When with a manly courage thou didst brave

Approaching Death, and with a steady mind

(Ever averse to be confin'd)

Didst triumph o'er the Grave.

Thou mad'st no womanish moan,

But scorn'dst to give one groan:

He that begs pity is afraid to die,

30Only the brave despise their destiny.

But, when I call to mind how thy kind eyes

Were passionately fix'd on mine,

How, when thy falt'ring tongue gave o'er

And I could hear thy pleasing voice no more;

How, when I laid my cheek to thine,

Kiss'd thy pale lips, and press'd thy trembling hand,

Thou, in return, smil'dst gently in my face,

And hugg'dst me with a close embrace;

I am amaz'd, I am unmann'd.

40Something extremely kind I fain would say,

But through the tumult of my breast,

With too officious love opprest,

I find my feeble words can never force their way.

III.

Belovèd youth! What shall I do!

Once my delight, my torment now!

How immaturely art thou snatch'd away!

But Heaven shines on thee with many a glorious ray

Of an unclouded and immortal day,

Whilst I lie grovelling here below

50In a dark stormy night.

The blust'ring storm of Life with thee is o'er,

For thou art landed on that happy shore,

Where thou canst hope or fear no more;

Thence with compassion thou shall see

The plagues, the wars, the fires, the scarcity,

The devastations of an enemy,

From which thy early fate has set thee free;

For when thou went'st to thy long home,

Thou wert exempt from all the ills to come,

60And shall hereafter be

Spectator only of the tragedy

Acted on frail mortality.

So some one lucky mariner

From shipwreck sav'd by a propitious star,

Advanc'd upon a neighb'ring rock looks down,

And sees far off his old companions drown.

IV.

There in a state of perfect ease,

Of never interrupted happiness,

Thy large illuminated mind

70Shall matter of eternal wonder find;

There dost thou clearly see how, and from whence

The stars communicate their influence,

The methods of th' Almighty Architect,

How He consulted with Himself alone

To lay the wondrous corner-stone,

When He this goodly fabric did erect.

There, thou dost understand

The motions of the secret hand,

That guides th' invisible wheel,

80Which here, we ne'er shall know, but ever feel;

There Providence, the vain man's laughing-stock,

The miserable good-man's stumbling-block,

Unfolds the puzzling riddle to thy eyes,

And its own wise contrivance justifies.

What timorous man wouldn't be pleas'd to die,

To make so noble a discovery?

V.

And must I take my solemn leave

Till time shall be no more!

Can neither sighs, nor tears, nor prayers retrieve

90One cheerful hour!

Must one unlucky moment sever

Us, and our hopes, us and our joys for ever!—

Is this cold clod of Earth that endear'd Thing

I lately did my Brother call?

Are these the artful fingers that might vie

With all the sons of harmony

And overpower them all!

Is this the studious comprehensive head

With curious arts so richly furnished!

100Alas! thou, and thy glories all are gone,

Buried in darkness, and oblivion.

'Tis so—and I must follow thee,

Yet but a little while, and I shall see thee,

Yet but a little while I shall be with thee,

Then some kind friend perhaps may drop one tear for me.

On the death of Mr. Richard Flatman.] I know nothing of Richard Flatman. He would seem to have been a younger brother.

4 breath] Cf. [p. 315], note.

19 Ai 1682—a form found on [p. 313], l. 32, and [p. 315], l. 41: Ah 1686

---

Coridon on the death of his dear Alexis, ob. Jan. 28, 168⅔.

Pastoral Song. Set by Dr. Blow.

Alexis! dear Alexis! lovely boy!

O my Damon! O Palaemon! snatch'd away,

To some far distant region gone,

Has left the miserable Coridon

Bereft of all his comforts, all alone!

Have you not seen my gentle lad,

Whom every swain did love,

Cheerful, when every swain was sad,

Beneath the melancholy grove?

10His face was beauteous as the dawn of day,

Broke through the gloomy shades of night:

O my anguish! my delight!

Him (ye kind shepherds) I bewail,

Till my eyes and heart shall fail.

Tis He that's landed on that distant shore,

And you and I shall see him here no more.

Return, Alexis! O return!

Return, return, in vain I cry;

Poor Coridon shall never cease to mourn

20Thy too untimely, cruel destiny.

Farewell for ever, charming boy!

And with Thee, all the transports of my joy!

Ye powers above, why should I longer live,

To waste a few uncomfortable years,

To drown myself in tears,

For what my sighs and pray'rs can ne'er retrieve?

Coridon &c.] This and the following poems ([pp. 375-407]) were added in the collected edition of 1686. Alexis is no doubt the Thomas Flatman whose epitaph, by his father, is printed on p. 414. This and the following poem were sent to Sancroft, with the accompanying letter, preserved in Tanner MS. xxxiv (fol. 235) of the Bodleian:—

My Lord

The first Page of the enclosed Paper is the result of his Mai^tie's, and yo^r Grace's Commaunds; & the Second of my owne uneasy thoughts on the Death of my beloved Child, who carried yo^r Grace's blessing with him into the other World. The severity of the Wether ha's delay'd Both much longer than became the bounden Duty of

My Lord

Yo^r Grace's most obedient Servant

& meanest Kinsman

Thomas Flatman.

January 9
168¾

The autograph copies of the two poems are in Tanner MS. 306, folios 391 and 392. The variants in this poem are:—

11 Broke] Sprung.

13 Him [ye] 'Tis He.

19 shall] can.

After the poem Flatman has quoted 'Immodicis brevis est aetas, & rara Senectus'.

---

A Song on New-Year's-day before the King, Car. 2.

Set by Dr. Blow 168⅔.

My trembling song! awake! arise!

And early tell thy tuneful tale,

Tell thy great Master, that the Night is gone;

The feeble phantoms disappear,

And now the New-Year's welcome Sun

O'erspreads the eastern skies;

He smiles on every hill, he smiles on every vale.

His glories fill our hemisphere;

Tell Him Apollo greets Him well,

10And with his fellow Wanderers agrees

To reward all His labours, and lengthen His days,

In spite of the politic follies of Hell,

And vain contrivance of the destinies.

Tell Him, a Crown of Thorns no more

Shall His sacred temples gore,

For all the rigours of His life are o'er.

Wondrous Prince! design'd to show

What noble minds can bravely undergo,

You are our wonder, you our love;

20Earth from beneath, Heaven from above,

Call loud for songs of triumph and of praise,

Their voices and their souls they raise;

Io Paean do we sing,

Long live, long live the King!

Rise, mighty Monarch, and ascend the Throne,

'Tis yet, once more your own,

For Lucifer and all his legions are o'erthrown:

Son of the Morning, first-born Son of Light,

How wert thou tumbled headlong down,

30Into the dungeons of eternal night!

While th' loyal stars of the celestial quire

Surrounded with immortal beams,

Mingle their unpolluted flames,

Their just Creator to admire.

With awful reverence they adore Him,

Cover their faces, and fall down before Him;

And night and day for ever sing

Hosannah, Hallelujah to th' Almighty King!

A Song.] 10 'Wanderers' after 'Apollo' may give a moment's pause. Then one translates the English into Greek and the Greek into English, obtaining 'Planets' and 'Sun'.

13 Not in the early autograph copy sent to Sancroft (see previous poem).

14 A little risky in its loyalty. Expressions in the piece suggest the Rye-House Plot and its failure; but this was in the March after New-Year's Day, 168⅔.

16 all] now MS. life] Fate MS.

23 'And Iö Paean jointly sing' MS.

32 immortal] augmented MS.

---

On the King's return to White-hall, after his Summer's Progress, 1684.

SONG. Set by Mr. Henry Purcell.

From those serene and rapturous joys

A country life alone can give,

Exempt from tumult and from noise,

Where Kings forget the troubles of their reigns,

And are almost as happy as their humble swains,

By feeling that they live:

Behold th' indulgent Prince is come

To view the conquests of His mercy shown

To the new Proselytes of His mighty town,

10And men and angels bid Him welcome home.

Not with an helmet or a glitt'ring spear

Does He appear;

He boast no trophies of a cruel conqueror,

Brought back in triumph from a bloody war;

But with an olive-branch adorn'd,

As once the long expected Dove return'd.

Welcome as soft refreshing show'rs,

That raise the sickly heads of drooping flow'rs:

Welcome as early beams of light

20To the benighted traveller,

When he descries bright Phosphorus from afar,

And all his fears are put to flight.

Welcome, more welcome does He come

Than life to Lazarus from his drowsy tomb,

When in his winding-sheet, at his new birth,

The strange surprising word was said—Come forth!

Nor does the Sun more comfort bring,

When he turns Winter into Spring,

Than the blest advent of a peaceful King.

Chorus.

30With trumpets and shouts we receive the World's Wonder,

And let the clouds echo His welcome with thunder,

Such a thunder as applauded what mortals had done,

When they fix'd on His brows His Imperial Crown.

---

To Mr. Isaac Walton, on his Publication of Thealma

Long had the bright Thealma lain obscure,

Her beauteous charms that might the world allure,

Lay like rough diamonds, in the mine, unknown,

By all the sons of folly trampled on,

Till your kind hand unveil'd her lovely face,

And gave her vigour to exert her rays:

Happy old man, whose worth all mankind knows,

Except thyself, who charitably shows

The ready road to Virtue and to Praise,

10The way to many long and happy days;

The noble art of generous Piety,

And how to compass an Euthanasy!

Hence did he learn the skill of living well,

The bright Thealma was his oracle;

Inspir'd by Her, he knows no anxious cares

In near a century of happy years;

Easy he lives, and easy shall he lie

On the soft bosom of Eternity.

As long as Spenser's noble flames shall burn,

20And deep devotion shall attend his urn;

As long as Chalkhill's venerable name

With humble emulation shall enflame

Posterity, and fill the rolls of fame,

Your memory shall ever be secure,

And long beyond our short-liv'd praise endure;

As Phidias in Minerva's shield did live,

And shar'd that immortality he alone could give.

To Mr. Isaac Walton.] For Thealma [and Clearchus] itself, and the problems attending it, see vol. ii.

7 Walton published the poem in his ninetieth year and died soon after.

19 Chalkhill was, said Izaak, an 'acquaintant' of Spenser.

---

Pastoral Dialogue.

Castara and Parthenia.

Parthenia.

My dear Castara, t'other day

I heard an ancient shepherd say,

Alas for me! my time draws nigh,

And shortly, shortly I must die!

What meant the man? for lo! apace

Torrents of tears ran down his face.

Castara.

Poor harmless maid! why wouldst thou know

What, known, must needs create thee woe?

'Twill cloud the sunshine of thy days,

10And in thy soul such trouble raise,

Thou'lt grieve, and tremble, and complain,

And say that all thy beauty's vain.

Parthenia.

Ah me! sure 'tis some dreadful thing

That can so great disorder bring,

Yet tell me, prithee tell me, do,

For 'tis some ease the worst to know.

Castara.

To die, Parthenia, is to quit

The World, and the Sun's glorious light,

To leave our flocks and fields for ever,

20To part, and never meet again, O never!

After that cruel hideous hour,

Thou and I shall sing no more;

In the cold Earth they will thee lay,

And what thou dot'st on shall be clay.

Parthenia.

Alas! why will they use me so,

A virgin that no evil do?

Castara.

Roses wither, turtles die,

Fair, and kind as thou and I.

Chorus amb.

Then, since 'tis appointed to the dust we must go,

30Let us innocently live, and virtuously do;

Let us love, let us sing, 'tis no matter, 'tis all one,

If our lamps be extinguish'd at midnight or noon.

---

Castabella Going to Sea.

SONG. Set by Mr. James Hart.

I.

Hark, hark! methinks I hear the seamen call,

The boist'rous seamen say,

Bright Castabella, come away!

The wind sits fair, the vessel's stout and tall,

Bright Castabella, come away!

For Time and Tide can never stay.

II.

Our mighty Master Neptune calls aloud,

The Zephyrs gently blow,

The Tritons cry, You are too slow,

10For every Sea-nymph of the glittering crowd

Has garlands ready to throw down

When you ascend your wat'ry throne.

III.

See, see! she comes, she comes, and now adieu!

Let's bid adieu to shore,

And to all we fear'd before;

O Castabella! we depend on you,

On you our better fortunes lay,

Whose eyes and voice the winds and seas obey.

Castabella Going to Sea.] There was a Philip Hart in the next generation who was a composer, and perhaps James was his father; for the less reputed and more professional arts like music, painting, engraving, dancing, &c. tended to be hereditary in those days.

17 Byron might have alleged Flatman's practice, in the same context of sea-piece, for the too-celebrated 'There let him lay'. But the correct use is possible.

---

On the Death of my worthy friend Mr. John Oldham.

Pindaric Pastoral Ode.

Stanza I.

Undoubtedly 'tis thy peculiar fate,

Ah miserable Astragon!

Thou art condemn'd alone

To bear the burthen of a wretched life,

Still in this howling wilderness to roam,

Whilst all thy bosom friends unkindly go,

And leave thee to lament them here below.

Thy dear Alexis wouldn't stay,

Joy of thy life, and pleasure of thine eyes,

10Dear Alexis went away,

With an invincible surprise;

Th' angelic youth early dislik'd this state,

And innocently yielded to his fate;

Never did soul of a celestial birth

Inform a purer piece of earth:

O! that 'twere not in vain,

To wish what's past might be retriev'd again!

Thy dotage, thy Alexis then

Had answer'd all thy vows and prayers,

20And crown'd with pregnant joys thy silver hairs,

Lov'd to this day amongst the living sons of men.

II.

And thou, my friend, hast left me too,

Menalcas! poor Menalcas! even thou!

Of whom so loudly Fame has spoke

In the records of her eternal book,

Whose disregarded worth ages to come

Shall wail with indignation o'er thy tomb.

Worthy wert thou to live, as long as Vice

Should need a satire, that the frantic age

30Might tremble at the lash of thy poetic rage.

Th' untutor'd world in after times

May live uncensur'd for their crimes,

Freed from the dreads of thy reforming pen,

Turn to old Chaos once again.

Of all th' instructive bards, whose more than Theban lyre,

Could salvage souls with manly thoughts inspire,

Menalcas worthy was to live:

Tell me, ye mournful swains,

Say you his fellow-shepherds that survive,

40Has my ador'd Menalcas left behind

On all these pensive plains

A gentler shepherd with a braver mind?

Which of you all did more majestic show,

Or wore the garland on a sweeter brow?

III.

But wayward Astragon resolves no more

The death of his Menalcas to deplore.

The place to which he wisely is withdrawn

Is altogether blest.

There, no clouds o'erwhelm his breast,

50No midnight cares shall break his rest,

For all is everlasting cheerful dawn.

The Poets' charming bliss,

Perfect ease and sweet recess,

There shall he long possess.

The treacherous world no more shall him deceive,

Of hope and fortune he has taken leave;

And now in mighty triumph does he reign

O'er the unthinking rabble's spite

(His head adorn'd with beams of light)

60And the dull wealthy fool's disdain.

Thrice happy he, that dies the Muses' friend;

He needs no obelisk, no pyramid

His sacred dust to hide,

He needs not for his memory to provide,

For well he knows his praise can never end.

On the Death of Mr. John Oldham.] Oldham died in 1683.

Alexis seems to be Richard Flatman, Oldham Menalcas, the poet himself Astragon. It is curious that the printers—and perhaps even the writers—of this time were so besotted with 'apostrophation' as even to use it when the full value is metrically necessary, as here in 'wouldn't', which must be 'would not' to scan.

These lines were first printed before Remains of Mr. John Oldham in Verse and Prose, 1684. The chief variants are:

8 wouldn't] would not.

12 angelic] Angel-like.

13 innocently yielded] cheerfully submitted.

29 satire] In original, as often, 'Satyr'.

50 shall] can.

Lines 52 and 54 form one long line, followed by 53, which reads 'soft recess'; lines 58 and 59 are transposed.

65 For well he knows] For he might well foresee.

---

On Sir John Micklethwaite's Monument

in S. Botolphs-Aldersgate-Church, London.

M. S.

Heic juxta spe plenâ resurgendi situm est

Depositum mortale

JOANNIS MICKLETHWAITE Equitis,

Serenissimo Principi Carolo II. a Medicinâ,

Qui cum primis solertissimus, fidissimus, felicissimus,

In Collegio Medicorum Londinensium

Lustrum integrum et quod excurrit

Praesidis Provinciam dignissimè ornavit:

10Et tandem emenso aetatis tranquillae stadio,

Pietate sincerâ,

Inconcussâ vitae integritate,

Benignâ morum suavitate,

Sparsâ passim Philanthropiâ

Spectabilis;

Miserorum Asylum,

Maritus optimus,

Parens indulgentissimus,

Suorum luctus,

20Bonorum omnium Amor et Deliciae,

Septuagenarius senex,

Coelo maturus,

Fato non invitus cessit

IV Kal. Augusti Anno salutis MDCLXXXII.

Caetera loquantur

Languentium deploranda suspiria,

Viduarum ac Orphanorum

Propter amissum Patronum profundi gemitus,

Pauperumque,

30Nudorum jam, atque esurientium

Importuna Viscera,

Monumenta, hoc marmore longe perenniora.

Maerens posuit pientissima Conjunx.

On Sir John Micklethwaite's Monument, &c.] Micklethwaite (1612-82) was President of the College of Physicians 1676-81 (lustrum integrum).

8 Et quod excurrit is a technical Latin phrase in scientific post-classical writers for 'and more', 'above'.

10 emenso ... stadio.] The exact threescore years and ten.

33 pientissima.] The usual form for inscriptions, though piissimus (in spite of Cicero's condemnation) was used elsewhere.

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M. S.
Heic juxta jacet
THOMAS ROCK Armg. Salopiensis,
Vitâ functus Januarii 3. Aetat. 62. 1678

En Lector!

Cinerem non vulgarem,

Virum vere magnum,

Si prisca fides, pietasque primaeva,

Si amicitiae foedera strictissima,

10Si pectus candidum, et sincerum,

Ac integerrima Vita,

Virum vere magnum conflare poterint.

En hominem Cordatum!

Calamitosae Majestatis

(Furente nuperâ perduellium rabie)

Strenuum assertorem,

Obstinatum Vindicem!

En animae generosae quantillum Ergastulum!

O charum Deo Depositum!

20Vestrum undequaquam Inopes,

Vestrum quotcunque Viri praestantiores,

Dolorem inconsolabilem,

Desiderium, in omne aevum, irreparabile!

Thomas Rock.] I know not Thomas Rock, Esq. His Royalism (ll. 10-13) was befitting a Salopian.

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On the Death of the Illustrious Prince Rupert.

Pindaric Ode.

Stanza I.

Man surely is not what he seems to be;

Surely ourselves we overrate,

Forgetting that like other creatures, we

Must bend our heads to Fate.

Lord of the whole Creation, Man

(How big the title shows!)

Trifles away a few uncertain years,

Cheated with hopes, and rack'd with fears,

Through all Life's little span,

10Then down to silence and to darkness goes;

And when we die, the crowd that trembling stood

Erewhile struck with the terror of a nod,

Shake off their wonted reverence with their chains,

And at their pleasure use our poor remains.

Ah, mighty Prince!

Whom lavish Nature and industrious Art

Had fitted for immortal Fame,

Their utmost bounty could no more impart;

How comes it that thy venerable name

20Should be submitted to my theme?

Unkindly baulk'd by the prime skilful men,

Abandon'd to be sullied by so mean a pen!

Tell me, ye skilful men, if you have read

In all the fair memorials of the Dead,

A name so formidably great,

So full of wonders, and unenvi'd love,

In which all virtues and all graces strove,

So terrible, and yet so sweet;

Show me a star in Honour's firmament,

30(Of the first magnitude let it be)

That from the darkness of this World made free,

A brighter lustre to this World has lent.

Ye men of reading, show me one

That shines with such a beam as His.

Rupert's a constellation

Outvies Arcturus, and the Pleïades.

And if the Julian Star of old outshone

The lesser fires, as much as them the Moon,

Posterity perhaps will wonder why

40An hero more divine than he

Should leave (after his Apotheosis)

No gleam of light in all the Galaxy

Bright as the Sun in the full blaze of noon.

III.

How shall my trembling Muse thy praise rehearse!

Thy praise too lofty ev'n for Pindar's verse!

Whence shall she take her daring flight,

That she may soar aloft

In numbers masculine and soft,

In numbers adequate

50To thy renown's celestial height!

If from thy noble pedigree

The royal blood that sparkled in thy veins

A low plebeian eulogy disdains,

And he blasphemes that meanly writes of thee;

If from thy martial deeds she boldly rise,

And sing thy valiant infancy,

Rebellious Britain after felt full well,

Thou from thy cradle wert a miracle.

Swaddled in armour, drums appeas'd thy cries,

60And the shrill trumpet sung thy lullabies.

The babe Alcides thus gave early proof

In the first dawning of his youth,

When with his tender hand the snakes he slew,

What monsters in his riper years he would subdue.

IV.

Great Prince, in whom Mars and Minerva join'd

Their last efforts to frame a mighty mind,

A pattern for brave men to come, design'd:

How did the rebel troops before thee fly!

How of thy genius stand in awe!

70When from the sulphurous cloud

Thou in thunder gav'st aloud

Thy dreadful law

To the presumptuous enemy.

In vain their traitorous ensigns they display'd,

In vain they fought, in vain they pray'd,

At thy victorious arms dismay'd.

Till Providence for causes yet unknown,

Causes mysterious and deep,

Conniv'd awhile, as if asleep,

80And seem'd its dear Anointed to disown;

The prosperous villany triumph'd o'er the Crown,

And hurl'd the best of monarchs from his Throne.

O tell it not in Gath, nor Ascalon!

The best of monarchs fell by impious power,

Th' unspotted Victim for the guilty bled.

He bow'd, he fell, there where he bow'd he fell down dead;

Baptiz'd Blest Martyr in his sacred gore.

V.

Nor could those tempests in the giddy State,

O mighty Prince, thy loyalty abate.

90Though put to flight, thou fought'st the Parthian way,

And still the same appear'dst to be

Among the beasts and scaly fry,

A Behemoth on land and a Leviathan at sea;

Still wert thou brave, still wert thou good,

Still firm to thy allegiance stood

Amidst the foamings of the popular flood.

(Cato with such a constancy of mind,

Espous'd that cause which all his Gods declin'd.)

Till gentler stars amaz'd to see

100Thy matchless and undaunted bravery,

Blush'd and brought back the murthered Father's Son,

Lest thou shouldst plant him in th' Imperial Throne,

Thou with thy single hand alone.

He that forgets the glories of that day,

When Charles the Merciful return'd,

Ne'er felt the transports of glad Sion's Joy,

When she had long in dust and ashes mourn'd:

He never understood with what surprise

She open'd her astonish'd eyes

110To see the goodly fabric of the second Temple rise.

VI.

When Charles the Merciful his entrance made

The day was all around serene,

Not one ill-boding cloud was seen

To cast a gloomy shade

On the triumphal cavalcade.

In that, his first, and happy scene,

The Pow'rs above foretold his halcyon reign,

In which, like them, he evermore should prove

The kindest methods of Almighty Love:

120And when black crimes his justice should constrain,

His pious breast should share the criminal's pain:

Fierce as the Lion can he be, and gentle as the Dove.

Here stop, my Muse,—the rest let Angels sing,

Some of those Angels, who with constant care

To His Pavilion, near attendants are,

A life-guard giv'n him by th' Omnipotent King,

Th' Omnipotent King, whose character he bears,

Whose diadem on Earth he wears;

And may he wear it long, for many, many years.

VII.

130And now (illustrious Ghost!) what shall we say?

What tribute to thy precious memory pay?

Thy death confounds, and strikes all sorrows dumb.

Kingdoms and empires make their moan,

Rescu'd by thee from desolation;

In pilgrimage hereafter shall they come,

And make their offerings before thy tomb,

Great Prince, so fear'd abroad, and so ador'd at home

Jove's Bird that durst of late confront the Sun,

And in the wanton German banners play'd,

140Now hangs her wing and droops her head,

Now recollects the battles thou hast won,

And calls too late to thee for aid.

All Christendom deplores the loss,

Whilst bloody Mahomet like a whirlwind flies,

And insolently braves the ill-befriended cross.

Europe in blood, and in confusion lies,

Thou in an easy good old age,

Remov'd from this tumultuous stage,

Sleep'st unconcern'd at all its rage,

150Secure of Fame, and from Detraction free:

He that to greater happiness would attain,

Or towards Heav'n would swifter fly,

Must be much more than mortal man,

And never condescend to die.

Dec. 13, 1682.

On the Death of Prince Rupert.] First printed in folio, 1683; there are two trivial changes in the text—'Blest Martyr baptized', l. 87, and 'Diadems', l. 128. That both the English and the Latin of these poems are Flatman's, despite the Authore Anonymo of the latter, is a conclusion which I shall give up at once on production of any positive evidence to the contrary, but shall hold meanwhile. Rupert's love for the Arts would of itself attract Flatman, and he hints at this in ll. 16 and 65.

21 The 'prime skilfulness' may glance at Dryden—there were few others who were primely skilful at funeral odes or any other in 1682. But Rupert had kept aloof from Court for years.

74-6 Orig. 'displaid' and 'dismaid': but not 'praid'.

90-4 A rather ingenious handling of those adventurous and almost heroic cruises of Rupert's with the remnant of the Royalist fleet which some have unkindly (and in strictness quite unjustifiably) called 'buccaneering' or 'piratical'.

111-29 One would have expected, instead of the banal laudation of Charles, something about Rupert's share in the Dutch wars, and his occupations in chemistry, engraving, &c. But there was perhaps some ox on Flatman's tongue (for the Prince had not been fortunate at the last in fight); and, besides, all these later poems show a want of the spirit and the verve which is by no means wanting in the earlier. The words to Woodford (v. sup., [p. 367]) were rather too well justified.

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