He will teach you that good and bad have not
One latitude in cloisters and in court:
Indifferent there the greatest space hath got ;
Some pity's not good there, fome vain disport;
On this fide fin with that place may comport.

Yet he, as he bounds feas, will fix your hours,
Which pleasure and delight may not ingress;
And though what none else lost be trueliest yours,
He will make you what you did not poffefs,
By using others (not vice, but) weakness.

He will make you speak truths, and credibly,
And make you doubt that others do not so:
He will provide you keys and locks, to fpy,
And 'fcape fpies, to good ends; and he will fhew
What you will not acknowledge, what not know.

For your own confcience he gives innocence,
But for your fame a difcreet warinefs;
And (though to 'scape than to revenge offence
Be better) the fhews both; and to reprefs
Joy when your ftate fwells, fadnefs when 't is lefs.

From need of tears he will defend your foul,
Or make a rebaptizing of one tear:
He cannot, (that's, he will not) dif-inroll
Your name; and when with active joy we hear
This private Gospel, then 't is our new-year,

TO THE COUNTESS OF BEDFORD.

HONOUR is fo fublime perfection,
And fo refin'd, that when God was alone,
And creatureless at first, himself had none :

But as of th' elements these, which we tread, Produce all things with which we're joy'd or fed; And those are barren both above our head;

So from low perfons doth all honour flow; Kings, whom they would have honour'd, to us fhew,

And but direct our honour, not bestow.

For when from herbs the pure part must be won
From grofs by ftilling, this is better done
By defpis'd dung than by the fire or fun.

Care not, then, Madam, how low your praises lie;
in labourers ballads oft more piety
God finds, than in Te Deum's melody.

And ordnance rais'd on tow'rs fo many mile Send not their voice, nor last so long a while, As fires from th' carth's low vaults in Sicil Isle.

Should I fay I liv'd darker than were true,
Your radiation can all clouds fubdue
But one: 't is beft light to contemplate you.

Or took fouls ftuff, fuch as fhall late decay,
Or fuch as needs fmail change at the last day.

This, as an amber-drop enwraps a bee,
Covering discovers your quick foul, that we
May in your th'rough-fhine front your hearts
thoughts fee.

You teach (though we learn not) a thing unknown To our late times, the use of specular stone, Through which all things within without were shewn.

Of fuch were temples; fo and fuch you are;
Being and feeing is your equal care,
And virtue's whole fum is but know and dare.

Difcretion is a wife man's foul, and fo Religion is a Chriftian's; and you know How these are one: her Yea is not her No.

But as our fouls of growth and fouls of sense
Have birthright of our reafon's foul, yet hence
They fly not from that, nor feek precedence.

Nature's first leffon, fo Difcretion

Muft not grudge Zeal a place, nor yet keep none,
Not banish itself, nor Religion,

Nor may we hope to folder ftill and knit
Thefe two, and dare to break them; nor muft Wit
Be colleague to Religion, but be it.

In those poor types of God, (round circles) fo Religion's types the pieceless centres flow, And are in all the lines which all ways go.

If either ever wrought in you alone,
Or principally, then Religion

Wrought your ends, and your ways Discretion,

Go thither ftill, go the fame way you went:
Who fo would change doth covet or repent;
Neither can reach you, great and innocent.

TO THE COUNTESS OF BEDFORD

Begun in France, but never perfected, THOUGH I be dead and buried, yet I have (Living in you) court enough in my grave; As oft as there I think myfelf to be, So many refurrections waken me: That thankfulness your favours have begot In me, embalms me, that I do not rot. This feafon, as 't is Eafter, as 't is fpring, Muft both to growth and to confeffion bring My thoughts, difpos'd into your influence, fa Thefe verfes bud, fo these confeffions grow. First I confefs I have to others lent Your stock, and over prodigally spent Your treasure; for fince I had never known Virtue and beauty, but as they are grown

In you, I should not think or fay they shine
(So as I have) in any other mine.
Next I confess this my confeflion,

For 'tis fome fault thus much to touch upon
Your praise to you, where half rights seem too
much,

And make your mind's fincere complexion blush.
Next I confefs my impenitence, for I

Can scarce repent my first fault, fince thereby
Remote low fpirits, which shall ne'er read you,
May in lefs leffons find enough to do
By studying copies, not originals.

TO THE LADY BEDFORD.

You, that are the and you, that's double fhe, In her dead face half of yourself shall fee; She was the other part; for fo they do

TO SIR EDWARD HERBERT,

SINCE LORD HERBERT OF CHERBURY,

two;

So two, that but themselves no third can fit,
Which were to be fo, when they were not yet
Twins, though their birth Cusco and Mufco take,
As divers ftars one conftellation make;
Pair'd like two eyes, have equal motion, fo
Both but one means to fee, one way to go.
Had you dy'd first, a carcass she had been,
And we your rich tomb in her face had seen.
She, like the foul, is gone, and you here stay,
Not a live friend, but th' other half of clay :
And fince you act that part, as men say, Here
Lies fuch a prince, when but one part is there,
And do all honour and devotion due
Unto the whole, fo we all rev'rence you;
For fuch a friendfhip who would not adore
In you, who are all what both were before?
Not all, as if fome perifhed by this,
But fo as all in you contracted is :
As of this all, though many parts decay,
The pure, which elemented them, shall stay;
And though diffus'd and fpread in infinite,
Shall recollect, and in one all unite.
So, Madam, as her foul to heav'n is fled,
Her flesh refts in the earth, as in the bed;
Her virtues do, as to their proper sphere,
Return to dwell with you, of whom they were:
As perfect motions are all circular,

So they to you, their fea, whence lefs ftreams

are.

She was all fpices, you all metals; fo
In you two we did both rich Indias know :
And as no fire nor ruft can spend or waste.
One dram of gold, but what was first shall last,
Though it be forc'd in water, earth, falt, air,
Expans'd in infinite, none will impair;
So to yourself you may additions take,
But nothing can you lefs or changed make.
Seek not, in fecking new, to feem to doubt
That you can match her, or not be without,
But let fome faithful book in her room be,
Yet but of Judith no fuch book as she,
VOL. IV

Them to an headlong rage, and made them worse; For man can add weight to Heav'n's heaviest curfe.

As fouls (they fay) by our first touch take in
The poisonous tincture of original fin,
So to the punishments which God doth fling
Our apprehenfion contributes the ftring.
To us, as to his chickens, he doth caft
Hemlock; and we, as men, his hemlock taste :
We do infufe to what he meant for meat
Corrofiveness, or intenfe cold or heat:
For God no fuch specific poifon hath
As kills, men know not how; his fierceft wrath
Hath no antipathy; but may be good
At least for phyfic, if not for our food.
Thus man, that might be his pleasure is his rod,
And is his devil that might be his God.
Since then our bus'nefs is to rectify
Nature to what fhe was, we're led awry
By them who man to us in little show;
Greater than due no form we can beftow
On him, for man into himself can draw
All; all his faith can fwallow or reafon chaw;
All that is fill'd, and all that which doth fill;
All the round world to man is but a pill;
In all it works not, but it is in all
Poisonous, or purgative, or cordial :
For knowledge kindles calentures in fome,
And is to others icy opium.

As brave as true is that profeffion then
Which you do ufe to make, that you know man :
This makes it credible you have dwelt upon
All worthy books, and now are fuch an one.
Actions are authors, and of thofe in you
Your friends find ev'ry day a mart of new.

Canons will not church-functions you invade, Nor laws to civil office you prefer.

Who vagrant tranfitory comets fees
Wonders, because they're rare; but a new star,
Whofe motion with the firmament agrees,
Is miracle, for there no new things are.

In women fo perchance mild innocence
A feldom comet is, but active good

A miracle, which reafon 'scapes and fenfe,
For art and nature this in them withstood.

As fuch a flar the Magi led to view
The manger-cradled infant God below,
By virtues's beams (by fame deriv'd from you)
May apt fouls, and the worft, may virtue know.

If the world's age and death be argued well
By the fun's fall, which now t'wards earth doth
bend,

Then we might fear that Virtue, fince she fell
So low as woman, fhould be near her end.

But he's not ftoop'd, but rais'd: exil'd by men She fled to heav'n, that's heavenly things, that's

you:

She was in all men thinly scatter'd then, But now a mass contracted in a few.

She gilded us, but you are gold; and the
Informed us, but tranfubftantiates you.
Soft difpofitions, which ductile be,
Elixir-like, fhe makes not clean, but new.

Though you a wife's and mother's name retain,
'Tis not as woman, for all are not fo;
But Virtue, having made you virtue, is fain
*To adhere in thefe names, her and you to fhew;

Elfe, being alike pure, we should neither see,
As water being into air rarify'd,
Neither appear till in one cloud they be,
So for our fakes you do low names abide :

Taught by great conftellations (which, being fram'd

Of the most stars, take low names Crab and Bull,
When fingle planets by the gods are nam'd)
You covet not great names, of great things full.

So you as woman, one doth comprehend, And in the vale of kindred others fee: To fome you are reveal'd, as in a friend, And as a virtuous prince far off to me.

To whom, because from you all virtues flow,
And 'tis not none to dare contemplate you,
I, which do fo, as your true fubject, owe
Some tribute for that; fo thefe Lines are due.

If you can think thefe flatteries they are,
For then your judgment is below my praise :
If they were fo, oft flatteries work as far
As counfels, and as far th' endeavour raife.

So my ill reaching you might there grow good,
But I remain a poifon'd fountain ftill;
And not your beauty, virtue, knowledge, blood,
Are more above all flattery than my will.

And if I flatter any 'tis not you,

But my own judgment, who did long ago
Pronounce that all thefe praifes fhould be true,
And virtue fhould your beauty and birth outgrow.

Now that my prophesies are all fulfill'd,
Rather than God fhould not be honoured too,
And all these gifts confefs'd which he instill'd,
Yourself were bound to say that which I do.

So I but your recorder am in this,
Or mouth and speaker of the universe,
A minifterial notary; for 'tis

Not I, but you and Fame, that make this verfe.
I was your prophet in your younger days,
And now your chaplain, God in you to praise.

ΤΟ ΤΗΣ

COUNTESS OF HUNTINGDON.

THAT unripe fide of earth, that heavy clime
That gives us man up now, like Adam's time
Before he ate; man's fhape, that would yet be
(Knew they not it, and fear'd beasts' company)
So naked at this day, as though man there
From Paradise so great a distance were,
As yet the news could not arrived be
Of Adam's tafting the forbidden tree;
Depriv'd of that free state which they were in,
And wanting the reward, yet bear the fin.

But as from extreme heights who downward looks,

Sees men at children's fhapes, rivers as brooks,
And lofeth younger forms; fo to your eye
Thefe, (Madam!) that without your distance lie,
Muft either mift or nothing seem to be,
Who are at home but wit's mere atomi.
But I, who can behold them move and stay,
Have found myself to you just their midway,
And now muft pity them; for as they do
Seem fick to me, juft fo muft I to you;
Yet neither will I vex your eyes to fee
A fighing ode nor cross-arm'd elegy.
I come not to call pity from your heart,
Like fome white-liver'd dotard, that would part
Elfe from his flippery foul with a faint groan,
And faithfully (without you fmile) were gone.
I cannot feel the tempeft of a frown;

I may be rais'd by love, but not thrown down;
Though I can pity thofe figh twice a-day,
I hate that thing whispers itself away.
Yet fince all love is feverish, who to trees
Doth talk, yet doth in love's cold ague freeze.
'Tis love, but with fuch fatal weakness made,
That it deftroys itself with its own fhade. [pain,
Who first look'd fad, griev'd, pin'd, and fhew'd his
Was he that first taught women to disdain.

And all things were but one nothing, dull and
weak,

Until this raw diforder'd heap did break,
And several defires led parts away,
Water declin'd with earth, the air did stay,
Fire rofe, and each from other but unty'd,
Themselves unprifon'd were and purify'd;
So was love, first in vaft confusion hid,
An unripe willingness which nothing did;
A thirft, an appetite which had no eafe, [pleafe.
That found a want, but knew not what would
What pretty innocence in that day mov'd,
Man ignorantly walk'd by her he lov'd!
Both figh'd and interchang'd a fpeaking eye,
Both trembled and were fick, yet knew not why.
That natural fearfulness that ftruck man dumb,
Might well (those times confider'd) man become.
As all discoverers, whofe first effay
Finds but the place, after the nearest way;
So paflion is to woman's love, about,
Nay, farther off, than when we first set out.
It is not love that fues or doth contend;
Love either conquers, or but meets a friend.
Man's better part confifts of purer fire,
And finds itself allow'd ere it defire.

[know,

Love is wife here, keeps home, gives reason sway,
And journies not till it find summer-way.
A weather-beaten lover, but once known,
Is fport for every girl to practise on.
Who ftrives through woman's fcorns women to
Is loft, and feeks his fhadow to outgo;
It is mere sickness after one disdain,
Though he be call'd aloud to look again.
Let others fin and grieve; one cunning flight
Shall freeze my love to crystal in a night.
I can love firft, and (if I win) love still,
And cannot be remov'd, unless the will.
It is her fault if I unfure remain;
She only can unty, I bind again.
The honefties of love with eafe I do,
But am no porter for a tedious woe.

But, Madam, I now think on you; and here,
Where we are at our heights, you but appear.
We are but clouds, you rife from our noon-ray,
But a foul fhadow, not your break of day.
You are at first-hand all that's fair and right,
And others' good reflects but back your light:
You are a perfeЯnefs, fo curious hit,"
That youngest flatteries do fcandal it;
For what is more doth what you are restrain,
And though beyond, is down the hill again.
We have no next way to you, we cross to't,
You are the ftraight line, thing prais'd, attribute :
Each good in you's a light; fo many a shade
You make, and in them are your motions made.
Thefe are your pictures to the life. From far
We see you move, and here your zances are;
So that no fountain good there is doth grow
In you but our dim actions faintly show.

Then find I, if man's nobleft part be love, Your purest luftre must that fhadow move. The foul with body is a heav'n combin'd With earth, and for man's cafe nearer join'd. Where thoughts, the fars of foul, we understand, We guess not their large natures, but command;

And love in you that bounty is of light,
That gives to all, and yet hath infinite;
Whole heat doth force us thither to intend,
But foul we find too earthly to afcend,
Till flow accefs hath made it wholly pure,
Able immortal clearness to endure.

fpeak,

Who dare afpire this journey with a stain,
Hath weight will force him headlong back again.
No more can impure man retain and move
In that pure region of a worthy love,
Than earthly fubftance can unforc'd afpire,
And leave his nature to converfe with fire.
Such may have eye and hand, may figh, may
[break.
But like fwoln bubbles, when they're high'ft they
Though far removed northern ifles fcarce find
The fun's comfort, yet fome think him too kind.
There is an equal distance from her eye;
Men perish too far off, and burn too nigh.
But as air takes the fun-beams equal bright
From the rays first to his laft oppofite,
So happy man, bleft with a virtuous love,
Remote or near, or howfoe'er they move,
Their virtue breaks all clouds that might annoy;
There is no emptinefs, but all is joy.

He much profanes (whom valiant heats do move)
To ftyle his wand'ring rage of paffion Love.
Love, that imports in every thing delight,
Is fancied by the foul, not appetite;
Why love among the virtues is not known
Is, that love is them all contract in one.

TO MR. J. W.

ALL hail, fweet Poet! and full of more ftrong fire
Than hath or fhall enkindle my dull fpirit,
I lov'd what Nature gave thee, but thy merit

Of wit and art I love not but admire.
Who have before or fhall write after thee,
Their works, though toughly laboured, will be
Like infancy or age to man's firm stay,
Or early and late twilights to mid-day.

Men fay, and truly, that they better be
Which be envy'd than pitied; therefore I,
Because I wifh the beft, do thee envy.
O! would't thou by like reafon pity me,
But care not for me, I, that ever was
In Nature's and in Fortune's gifts, alas!
(But for thy grace got in the Mufe's fchool)
A monster and a beggar, am a fool.

It will be good profe, although the verse be evil.
If thou forget the rhyme as thou dost pass,
Then write, that I may follow, and fo be
Thy echo, thy debtor, thy foil, thy zany.
I fhall be thought (if mine like thine I shape)
All the world's lion, though I be thy ape.

TO MR. T. W.

[fure

HASTE thee, harsh Verfe! as faft as thy lame mea-
Will give thee leave, to him; my pain and pleasure
I've given thee, and yet thou art too weak,
Feet and a reasoning foul, and tongue to speak.
Tell him all queftions which men have defended
Both of the place and pains of hell, are ended;
And 'tis decreed our hell is but privation
Of him, at least in this earth's habitation;
And 'tis where I am, where in every street
Infections follow, overtake, and meet.
Live I or die, by you my love is fent ;
You are my pawns, or else my testament.

Accept these lines, and if in them there be Merit of love, bestow that love on me.

TO MR. C. B.

THY friend, whom thy deferts to thee enchain,
Urg'd by this unexcufable occafion,
Thee and the faint of his affection
Leaving behind, doth of both wants complain;
And let the love I bear to both sustain
No blot nor maim by this division;
Strong is this love which ties our hearts in one,
And ftrong that love purfu'd with amorous pain.
But though befides myfelf I leave behind,
Heav'n's liberal and the thrice fair fun,
Going to where starv'd winter aye doth won,
Yet love's hot fires, which martyr my fad mind,
Do fend forth fealding fighs, which have the art
To melt all ice but that which walls her heart.

TO MR. T. W.

[Fear,

PREGNANT again with th' old twins, Hope and Oft have I afk'd for thee, both how and where Thou wert, and what my hopes of letters were;

As in our streets fly beggars narrowly Watch motions of the giver's hand or eye, And ever more conceive some hope thereby.

And now thy alms is giv'n, the letter's read,
The body rifen again the which was dead,
And thy poor ftarveling bountifully fed.

After this banquet my foul doth fay grace,
And praife thee for't, and zealously embrace
Thy love; though I think thy love in this cafe
To be as gluttons, which fay, amidst their meat,
They love that best of which they most do eat.

INCERTO.

AT once from hence my lines and I depart,
I to my foft ftill walks, they to my heart;
I to the nurse, they to the child of Art.

Yet as a firm houfe, though the carpenter
Perish, doth stand; as an ambassador
Lies safe, howe'er his king be in danger ;

So, though I languish, preft with melancholy,
My verfe, the ftrict map of my misery,
Shall live to fee that for whose want I die.

Therefore I envy them, and do repent
That from unhappy me things haj py are sent ;
Yet as a picture or bare facrament

TO MR. S. B.

O THOU! which to search out the secret parts
Of th' India, or rather Paradise
Of knowledge, haft with courage and advice
Lately launch'd into the vast sea of arts,
Difdain not in thy constant travelling
To do as other voyagers, and make
Some turns into lefs creeks, and wifely take
Fresh water at the Heliconian fpring.

I fing not Siren-like to tempt, for I

Am harsh; nor as thofe fchifmatics with you,
Which draw all wits of good hope to their crew;
But feeing in you bright sparks of poetry,
I, though I brought no fuel, had defire
With these articulate blasts to blow the fire.

TO MR. B. B.

Is not thy facred hunger of fcience
Yet fatisfy'? is not thy brain's rich hive
Full fill'd with honey, which thou doft derive
From the arts fpirits and their quinteffence?
Then wean thyself at laft, and thee withdraw
From Cambridge, thy old nurse; and as the rest
Here toughly chew and sturdily digest
Th' immenfe vaft volumes of our Common Law;
And begin foon, left my grief grieve thee too,
Which is that that which I fhould have begun
In my youth's morning, now late must be done;
And I, as giddy travellers muft do,

Which ftray or fleep all day, and having lost Light and strength, dark and tir'd must then ride poft.

If thou unto thy Mufe be married,
Embrace her ever, ever multiply;
Be far from me that strange adultery
To tempt thee, and procure her widowhood.