Poetical Works of Edmund Waller and Sir John Denham by Edmund Waller; John Denham
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Edmund Waller; John Denham >> Poetical Works of Edmund Waller and Sir John Denham
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[1] 'Gave them gone': i.e., gave them up for gone.
ON THE EARL OF STRAFFORD'S TRIAL AND DEATH.
Great Strafford! worthy of that name, though all
Of thee could be forgotten, but thy fall,
Crush'd by imaginary treason's weight,
Which too much merit did accumulate.
As chemists gold from brass by fire would draw,
Pretexts are into treason forged by law.
His wisdom such, at once it did appear
Three kingdoms' wonder, and three kingdoms' fear;
Whilst single he stood forth, and seem'd, although
Each had an army, as an equal foe. 10
Such was his force of eloquence, to make
The hearers more concern'd than he that spake;
Each seem'd to act that part he came to see,
And none was more a looker-on than he;
So did he move our passions, some were known
To wish, for the defence, the crime their own.
Now private pity strove with public hate,
Reason with rage, and eloquence with fate:
Now they could him, if he could them, forgive;
He's not too guilty, but too wise, to live: 20
Less seem those facts which treason's nickname bore,
Than such a fear'd ability for more.
They after death their fears of him express,
His innocence and their own guilt confess.
Their legislative frenzy they repent,
Enacting it should make no precedent.
This fate he could have 'scaped, but would not lose
Honour for life, but rather nobly chose
Death from their fears, than safety from his own,
That his last action all the rest might crown. 30
ON MY LORD CROFT'S AND MY JOURNEY INTO POLAND,
FROM WHENCE WE BROUGHT L10,000 FOR HIS MAJESTY, BY
THE DECIMATION OF HIS SCOTTISH SUBJECTS THERE.
1 Toll, toll,
Gentle bell, for the soul
Of the pure ones in Pole,
Which are damn'd in our scroll.
2 Who having felt a touch
Of Cockram's greedy clutch,
Which though it was not much,
Yet their stubbornness was such,
3 That when we did arrive,
'Gainst the stream we did strive;
They would neither lead nor drive;
4 Nor lend
An ear to a friend,
Nor an answer would send
To our letter so well penn'd;
5 Nor assist our affairs
With their moneys nor their wares,
As their answer now declares,
But only with their prayers.
6 Thus they did persist
Did and said what they list,
'Till the Diet was dismiss'd;
But then our breech they kiss'd.
7 For when
It was moved there and then,
They should pay one in ten,
The Diet said, Amen.
8 And because they are both
To discover the troth,
They must give word and oath,
Though they will forfeit both.
9 Thus the constitution
Condemns them every one,
From the father to the son.
10 But John
(Our friend) Mollesson
Thought us to have outgone
With a quaint invention.
11 Like the prophets of yore,
He complain'd long before,
Of the mischiefs in store,
Ay, and thrice as much more;
12 And with that wicked lie,
A letter they came by
From our King's majesty.
13 But fate
Brought the letter too late,
'Twas of too old a date
To relieve their damn'd state.
14 The letter's to be seen,
With seal of wax so green,
At Dantzig, where 't has been
Turn'd into good Latin.
15 But he that gave the hint,
This letter for to print,
Must also pay his stint.
16 That trick,
Had it come in the nick,
Had touch'd us to the quick;
But the messenger fell sick.
17 Had it later been wrote,
And sooner been brought,
They had got what they sought;
But now it serves for nought.
18 On Sandys they ran aground,
And our return was crown'd
With full ten thousand pound.
ON MR THOMAS KILLIGREW'S RETURN FROM VENICE, AND MR WILLIAM MURREY'S
FROM SCOTLAND.
1 Our resident Tom,
From Venice is come,
And hath left the statesman behind him;
Talks at the same pitch,
Is as wise, is as rich;
And just where you left him, you find him.
2 But who says he was not
A man of much plot,
May repent that false accusation;
Having plotted and penn'd
Six plays, to attend
The farce of his negotiation.
3 Before you were told
How Satan[1] the old
Came here with a beard to his middle;
Though he changed face and name,
Old Will was the same,
At the noise of a can and a fiddle.
4 These statesmen, you believe,
Send straight for the shrieve,
For he is one too, or would be;
But he drinks no wine,
Which is a shrewd sign
That all's not so well as it should be.
5 These three, when they drink,
How little do they think
Of banishment, debts, or dying?
Not old with their years,
Nor cold with their fears;
But their angry stars still defying.
6 Mirth makes them not mad,
Nor sobriety sad;
But of that they are seldom in danger;
At Paris, at Rome,
At the Hague, they're at home;
The good fellow is no where a stranger.
[1] 'Satan': Mr. W. Murrey.
TO SIR JOHN MENNIS,
BEING INVITED FROM CALAIS TO BOULOGNE, TO EAT A PIG.
1 All on a weeping Monday,
With a fat vulgarian sloven,
Little admiral John
To Boulogne is gone,
Whom I think they call old Loven.
2 Hadst thou not thy fill of carting,[1]
Will Aubrey, Count of Oxon,
When nose lay in breech,
And breech made a speech,
So often cried, A pox on?
3 A knight by land and water
Esteem'd at such a high rate,
When 'tis told in Kent,
In a cart that he went,
They'll say now, Hang him, pirate.
4 Thou might'st have ta'en example
From what thou read'st in story;
Being as worthy to sit
On an ambling tit
As thy predecessor Dory.
5 But, oh, the roof of linen,
Intended for a shelter!
But the rain made an ass
Of tilt and canvas,
And the snow, which you know is a melter.
6 But with thee to inveigle
That tender stripling Astcot,
Who was soak'd to the skin,
Through drugget so thin,
Having neither coat nor waistcoat.
7 He being proudly mounted,
Clad in cloak of Plymouth,
Defied cart so base,
For thief without grace,
That goes to make a wry mouth.
8 Nor did he like the omen,
For fear it might be his doom
One day for to sing,
With gullet in string,
A hymn of Robert Wisdom.
9 But what was all this business?
For sure it was important;
For who rides i' th'wet
When affairs are not great,
The neighbours make but a sport on't.
10 To a goodly fat sow's baby,
O John! thou hadst a malice;
The old driver of swine
That day sure was thine,
Or thou hadst not quitted Calais.
[1] 'Fill of carting': we three riding in a cart from Dunkirk to Calais,
with a fat Dutch woman.
NATURA NATURATA.
1 What gives us that fantastic fit,
That all our judgment and our wit
To vulgar custom we submit?
2 Treason, theft, murder, and all the rest
Of that foul legion we so detest,
Are in their proper names express'd.
3 Why is it then thought sin or shame
Those necessary parts to name,
From whence we went, and whence we came?
4 Nature, whate'er she wants, requires;
With love inflaming our desires,
Finds engines fit to quench those fires.
5 Death she abhors; yet when men die
We are present; but no stander by
Looks on when we that loss supply.
6 Forbidden wares sell twice as dear;
Even sack, prohibited last year,
A most abominable rate did bear.
7 'Tis plain our eyes and ears are nice,
Only to raise, by that device,
Of those commodities the price.
8 Thus reason's shadows us betray,
By tropes and figures led astray,
From Nature, both her guide and way.
SARPEDON'S SPEECH TO GLAUCUS, IN THE TWELFTH BOOK OF HOMER.
Thus to Glaucus spake
Divine Sarpedon, since he did not find
Others, as great in place, as great in mind:--
Above the rest why is our pomp, our power?
Our flocks, our herds, and our possessions more?
Why all the tributes land and sea affords
Heap'd in great chargers, load our sumptuous boards?
Our cheerful guests carouse the sparkling tears
Of the rich grape, while music charms their ears?
Why, as we pass, do those on Xanthus' shore, 10
As gods behold us, and as gods adore?
But that, as well in danger as degree,
We stand the first; that when our Licians see
Our brave examples, they admiring say,
Behold our gallant leaders! These are they
Deserve the greatness, and unenvied stand,
Since what they act transcends what they command.
Could the declining of this fate (O friend!)
Our date to immortality extend?
Or if death sought not them who seek not death, 20
Would I advance? or should my vainer breath
With such a glorious folly thee inspire?
But since with Fortune Nature doth conspire,
Since age, disease, or some less noble end,
Though not less certain, does our days attend;
Since 'tis decreed, and to this period lead
A thousand ways, the noblest path we'll tread,
And bravely on, till they, or we, or all,
A common sacrifice to honour fall.
FRIENDSHIP AND SINGLE LIFE, AGAINST LOVE AND MARRIAGE.
1 Love! in what poison is thy dart
Dipp'd, when it makes a bleeding heart?
None know but they who feel the smart.
2 It is not thou, but we are blind,
And our corporeal eyes (we find)
Dazzle the optics of our mind.
3 Love to our citadel resorts;
Through those deceitful sally-ports,
Our sentinels betrays our forts.
4 What subtle witchcraft man constrains,
To change his pleasure into pains,
And all his freedom into chains?
5 May not a prison, or a grave,
Like wedlock, honour's title have
That word makes freeborn man a slave.
6 How happy he that loves not, lives!
Him neither hope nor fear deceives,
To Fortune who no hostage gives.
7 How unconcern'd in things to come!
If here uneasy, finds at Rome,
At Paris, or Madrid, his home.
8 Secure from low and private ends,
His life, his zeal, his wealth attends
His prince, his country, and his friends.
9 Danger and honour are his joy;
But a fond wife, or wanton boy,
May all those gen'rous thoughts destroy.
10 Then he lays by the public care;
Thinks of providing for an heir;
Learns how to get, and how to spare.
11 Nor fire, nor foe, nor fate, nor night,
The Trojan hero did affright,
Who bravely twice renew'd the fight.
12 Though still his foes in number grew,
Thicker their darts and arrows flew,
Yet, left alone, no fear he knew.
13 But Death in all her forms appears,
From every thing he sees and hears,
For whom he leads, and whom he bears.[1]
14 Love, making all things else his foes,
Like a fierce torrent, overflows
Whatever doth his course oppose.
15 This was the cause, the poets sung,
Thy mother from the sea was sprung;
But they were mad to make thee young.
16 Her father, not her son, art thou:
From our desires our actions grow;
And from the cause th'effect must flow.
17 Love is as old as place or time;
'Twas he the fatal tree did climb,
Grandsire of father Adam's crime.
18 Well may'st thou keep this world in awe;
Religion, wisdom, honour, law,
The tyrant in his triumph draw.
19 'Tis he commands the powers above;
Phoebus resigns his darts, and Jove
His thunder to the god of Love.
20 To him doth his feign'd mother yield;
Nor Mars (her champion's) flaming shield
Guards him, when Cupid takes the field.
21 He clips Hope's wings, whose airy bliss
Much higher than fruition is,
But less than nothing if it miss.
22 When matches Love alone projects,
The cause transcending the effects,
That wild fire's quench'd in cold neglects;
23 Whilst those conjunctions prove the best,
Where Love's of blindness dispossess'd
By perspectives of interest.
24 Though Sol'mon with a thousand wives,
To get a wise successor strives,
But one (and he a fool) survives.
25 Old Rome of children took no care;
They with their friends their beds did share,
Secure t'adopt a hopeful heir.
26 Love drowsy days and stormy nights
Makes; and breaks friendship, whose delights
Feed, but not glut our appetites.
27 Well-chosen friendship, the most noble
Of virtues, all our joys makes double,
And into halves divides our trouble.
28 But when th'unlucky knot we tie,
Care, av'rice, fear, and jealousy
Make friendship languish till it die.
29 The wolf, the lion, and the bear,
When they their prey in pieces tear,
To quarrel with themselves forbear;
30 Yet tim'rous deer, and harmless sheep,
When love into their veins doth creep,
That law of Nature cease to keep.
31 Who, then, can blame the am'rous boy,
Who, the fair Helen to enjoy,
To quench his own, set fire on Troy?
32 Such is the world's prepost'rous fate,
Amongst all creatures, mortal hate
Love (though immortal) doth create.
33 But love may beasts excuse, for they
Their actions not by reason sway,
But their brute appetites obey.
34 But man's that savage beast, whose mind
From reason to self-love declined,
Delights to prey upon his kind.
[1] 'Whom he bears': his father and son.
ON MR ABRAHAM COWLEY,
HIS DEATH, AND BURIAL AMONGST THE ANCIENT POETS.
Old Chaucer, like the morning star,
To us discovers day from far;
His light those mists and clouds dissolved,
Which our dark nation long involved:
But he descending to the shades,
Darkness again the age invades.
Next (like Aurora) Spenser rose, 7
Whose purple blush the day foreshows;
The other three with his own fires
Phoebus, the poet's god, inspires;
By Shakespeare's, Jonson's, Fletcher's lines,
Our stage's lustre Rome's outshines:
These poets near our princes sleep,
And in one grave their mansion keep.
They lived to see so many days,
Till time had blasted all their bays:
But cursed be the fatal hour,
That pluck'd the fairest, sweetest flower
That in the Muses' garden grew,
And amongst wither'd laurels threw! 20
Time, which made them their fame outlive,
To Cowley scarce did ripeness give.
Old mother Wit, and Nature, gave
Shakespeare and Fletcher all they have;
In Spenser, and in Jonson, Art
Of slower Nature got the start;
But both in him so equal are,
None knows which bears the happiest share;
To him no author was unknown,
Yet what he wrote was all his own; 30
He melted not the ancient gold,
Nor, with Ben Jonson, did make bold
To plunder all the Roman stores
Of poets, and of orators:
Horace's wit, and Virgil's state,
He did not steal, but emulate!
And when he would like them appear,
Their garb, but not their clothes, did wear;
He not from Rome alone, but Greece,
Like Jason, brought the golden fleece; 40
To him that language (though to none
Of th'others) as his own was known.
On a stiff gale (as Flaccus[1] sings)
The Theban swan extends his wings,
When through th'ethereal clouds he flies;
To the same pitch our swan doth rise;
Old Pindar's flights by him are reach'd,
When on that gale his wings are stretch'd;
His fancy and his judgment such,
Each to the others seem'd too much, 50
His severe judgment (giving law)
His modest fancy kept in awe:
As rigid husbands jealous are,
When they believe their wives too fair.
His English streams so pure did flow
As all that saw and tasted know;
But for his Latin vein, so clear,
Strong,[2] full, and high it doth appear,
That were immortal Virgil here,
Him, for his judge, he would not fear; 60
Of that great portraiture so true
A copy pencil never drew.
My Muse her song had ended here,
But both their Genii straight appear,
Joy and amazement her did strike:
Two twins she never saw so like.
'Twas taught by wise Pythagoras,
One soul might through more bodies pass.
Seeing such transmigration there,
She thought it not a fable here. 70
Such a resemblance of all parts,
Life, death, age, fortune, nature, arts;
Then lights her torch at theirs, to tell,
And show the world this parallel:
Fix'd and contemplative their looks,
Still turning over Nature's books;
Their works chaste, moral and divine,
Where profit and delight combine;
They, gilding dirt, in noble verse
Rustic philosophy rehearse. 80
When heroes, gods, or god-like kings
They praise, on their exalted wings
To the celestial orbs they climb,
And with th'harmonious spheres keep time.
Nor did their actions fall behind
Their words, but with like candour sinned;
Each drew fair characters, yet none
Of these they feign'd, excels their own.
Both by two gen'rous princes loved,
Who knew, and judged what they approved; 90
Yet having each the same desire,
Both from the busy throng retire.
Their bodies, to their minds resign'd,
Cared not to propagate their kind:
Yet though both fell before their hour,
Time on their offspring hath no power,
Nor fire nor fate their bays shall blast,
Nor death's dark veil their day o'ercast.
[1] 'Flaccus Horace': his Pindarics.
[2] 'Strong': his last works.
A SPEECH AGAINST PEACE AT THE CLOSE COMMITTEE.
To the tune of, '_I went from England_.'
1 But will you now to peace incline,
And languish in the main design,
And leave us in the lurch?
I would not monarchy destroy,
But as the only way t'enjoy
The ruin of the church.
2 Is not the Bishops' bill denied,
And we still threaten'd to be tried?
You see the King embraces
Those counsels he approved before:
Nor doth he promise, which is more,
That we shall have their places.
3 Did I for this bring in the Scot?
(For 'tis no secret now) the plot
Was Saye's and mine together;
Did I for this return again,
And spend a winter there in vain,
Once more t'invite them hither?
4 Though more our money than our cause
Their brotherly assistance draws,
My labour was not lost.
At my return I brought you thence
Necessity, their strong pretence,
And these shall quit the cost.
5 Did I for this my country bring
To help their knight against their King,
And raise the first sedition?
Though I the business did decline,
Yet I contrived the whole design,
And sent them their petition.
6 So many nights spent in the City
In that invisible Committee,
The wheel that governs all;
From thence the change in church and state,
And all the mischief bears the date
From Haberdashers' Hall.
7 Did we force Ireland to despair,
Upon the King to cast the war,
To make the world abhor him,
Because the rebels used his name?
Though we ourselves can do the same,
While both alike were for him.
8 Then the same fire we kindled here
With what was given to quench it there,
And wisely lost that nation:
To do as crafty beggars use,
To maim themselves, thereby t'abuse
The simple man's compassion.
9 Have I so often pass'd between
Windsor and Westminster, unseen,
And did myself divide:
To keep his Excellence in awe,
And give the Parliament the law?
For they knew none beside.
10 Did I for this take pains to teach
Our zealous ignorants to preach,
And did their lungs inspire;
Gave them their texts, show'd them their parts,
And taught them all their little arts,
To fling abroad the fire?
11 Sometimes to beg, sometimes to threaten,
And say the Cavaliers are beaten,
To stroke the people's ears;
Then straight, when victory grows cheap,
And will no more advance the heap,
To raise the price of fears.
12 And now the books, and now the bells,
And now our act, the preacher tells,
To edify the people;
All our divinity is news,
And we have made of equal use
The pulpit and the steeple.
13 And shall we kindle all this flame
Only to put it out again,
And must we now give o'er,
And only end where we begun?
In vain this mischief we have done,
If we can do no more.
14 If men in peace can have their right,
Where's the necessity to fight,
That breaks both law and oath?
They'll say they fight not for the cause,
Nor to defend the King and laws,
But us against them both.
15 Either the cause at first was ill,
Or, being good, it is so still;
And thence they will infer,
That either now or at the first
They were deceived; or, which is worst,
That we ourselves may err.
16 But plague and famine will come in,
For they and we are near of kin,
And cannot go asunder:
But while the wicked starve, indeed
The saints have ready at their need
God's providence, and plunder.
17 Princes we are if we prevail,
And gallant villains if we fail.
When to our fame 'tis told,
It will not be our least of praise,
Since a new state we could not raise,
To have destroy'd the old.
18 Then let us stay and fight, and vote,
Till London is not worth a groat;
Oh! 'tis a patient beast!
When we have gall'd and tired the mule,
And can no longer have the rule,
We'll have the spoil at least.
TO THE FIVE MEMBERS OF THE HONOURABLE HOUSE OF COMMONS,
THE HUMBLE PETITION OF THE POETS.
After so many concurring petitions
From all ages and sexes, and all conditions,
We come in the rear to present our follies
To Pym, Stroud, Haslerig, Hampden, and Hollis.
Though set form of prayer be an abomination,
Set forms of petitions find great approbation;
Therefore, as others from th'bottom of their souls,
So we from the depth and bottom of our bowels,
According unto the bless'd form you have taught us,
We thank you first for the ills you have brought us: 10
For the good we receive we thank him that gave it,
And you for the confidence only to crave it.
Next in course, we complain of the great violation
Of privilege (like the rest of our nation),
But 'tis none of yours of which we have spoken,
Which never had being until they were broken;
But ours is a privilege ancient and native,
Hangs not on an ord'nance, or power legislative.
And, first, 'tis to speak whatever we please,
Without fear of a prison or pursuivants' fees. 20
Next, that we only may lie by authority;
But in that also you have got the priority.
Next, an old custom, our fathers did name it
Poetical license, and always did claim it.
By this we have power to change age into youth,
Turn nonsense to sense, and falsehood to truth;
In brief, to make good whatsoever is faulty;
This art some poet, or the devil, has taught ye:
And this our property you have invaded,
And a privilege of both Houses have made it. 30
But that trust above all in poets reposed,
That kings by them only are made and deposed,
This though you cannot do, yet you are willing:
But when we undertake deposing or killing,
They're tyrants and monsters; and yet then the poet
Takes full revenge on the villains that do it:
And when we resume a sceptre or crown,
We are modest, and seek not to make it our own.
But is't not presumption to write verses to you,
Who make better poems by far of the two? 40
For all those pretty knacks you compose,
Alas! what are they but poems in prose?
And between those and ours there's no difference,
But that yours want the rhyme, the wit, and the sense:
But for lying (the most noble part of a poet)
You have it abundantly, and yourselves know it;
And though you are modest and seem to abhor it,
'T has done you good service, and thank Hell for it:
Although the old maxim remains still in force,
That a sanctified cause must have a sanctified course, 50
If poverty be a part of our trade,
So far the whole kingdom poets you have made,
Nay, even so far as undoing will do it,
You have made King Charles himself a poet:
But provoke not his Muse, for all the world knows,
Already you have had too much of his prose.
A WESTERN WONDER.
1 Do you not know, not a fortnight ago,
How they bragg'd of a Western Wonder?
When a hundred and ten slew five thousand men,
With the help of lightning and thunder?
2 There Hopton was slain, again and again,
Or else my author did lie;
With a new thanksgiving, for the dead who are living,
To God, and his servant Chidleigh.
3 But now on which side was the miracle tried?
I hope we at last are even;
For Sir Ralph and his knaves are risen from their graves,
To cudgel the clowns of Devon.
4 And there Stamford came, for his honour was lame
Of the gout three months together;
But it proved, when they fought, but a running gout,
For his heels were lighter than ever.
5 For now he outruns his arms and his guns,
And leaves all his money behind him;
But they follow after; unless he take water,
At Plymouth again they will find him.
6 What Reading hath cost, and Stamford hath lost,
Goes deep in the sequestrations;
These wounds will not heal, with your new great seal,
Nor Jephson's declarations.
7 Now, Peters and Case, in your prayer and grace,
Remember the new thanksgiving;
Isaac and his wife, now dig for your life,
Or shortly you'll dig for your living.
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