HAPPY BIRTH OF THE DUKE3.
WHILST the rude North Charles his slow wrath
Whilst war is fear'd, and conquest hoped by all,
The severall shires their various forces lend,
And some do men, some gallant horses, send,
Some steel, and some (the stronger weapon) gold:
These warlike contributions are but old.
That country learn'd a new and better way,
Which did this royal prince for tribute pay.
Who shall henceforth be with such rage possess'd,
To rouse our English lion from his rest?
When a new son doth his bless'd stock adorn,
Then to great Charles is a new army born.
In private births hopes challenge the first place:
There's certainty at first in the king's race;
And we may say, Such will his glories be,
Such his great acts, and, yet not prophesy.
I see in him his father's boundless sprite,
Powerful as flame, yet gentle as the light.
I see him through an adverse battle thrust,
Bedeck'd with noble sweat and comely dust.
I see the piety of the day appear,
Join'd with the heat and valour of the year,
Which happy Fate did to this birth allow :
I see all this; for sure 'tis present now.
3 Henry, who was declared by his father duke of Gloucester in 1641, but not so created till May 13, 1659. He died September 13, 1660.—The Verses are taken from the Voces Votivæ, &c. 1640. J. N.
Leave off then, London, to accuse the stars
For adding a worse terror to the wars;
Nor quarrel with the Heavens, 'cause they begin
To send the worst effect and scourge of sin,
That dreadful plague, which wheresoe'er 't abide,
Devours both man and each disease beside.
For every life which from great Charles does flow,
And's female self, weighs down a crowd of low
And vulgar souls: Fate rids of them the Earth,
To make more room for a great prince's birth.
So when the Sun, after his wat❜ry rest,
Comes dancing from his chamber of the east,
A thousand petty lamps, spread o'er the sky,
Shrink in their doubtful beams, then wink, and die:
Yet no man grieves; the very birds arise,
And sing glad notes instead of elegies:
The leaves and painted flowers, which did erewhile
Tremble with mournful drops, begin to smile.
The loss of many why should they bemoan,
Who for them more than many have in one?
How bless'd must thou thyself, bright Mary, be,
Who by thy womb canst bless our misery?
May 't still be fruitful! May your offspring too
Spread largely, as your fame and virtues do!
Fill every season thus: Time, which devours
Its own sons, will be glad and proud of yours.
So will the year (though sure it weary'd be
With often revolutions) when 't shall see
The honour by such births it doth attain,
Joy to return into itself again.
A. COWLEY, A. B. T[rin]. C[oll].
ON THE DEATH OF THE RIGHT HONOURABLE
DUDLEY LORD CARLETON,
VISCOUNT DORCHESTER, LATE PRINCIPAL SECRETARY OF
STATE.
THE' infernal sisters did a council call
Of all the fiends, to the black Stygian hall;
The dire Tartarian monsters, hating light,
Begot by dismal Erebus and Night,
Where'er dispersed abroad, hearing the fame
Of their accursed meeting, thither came.
Revenge, whose greedy mind no blood can fill,
And Envy, never satisfy'd with ill :
Thither blind Boldness, and impatient Rage,
Resorted, with Death's neighbour, envious Age.
These, to oppress the Earth, the Furies sent*:
The council thus dissolved, an angry Fever,
Whose quenchless thirst by blood was sated never,
Envying the riches, honour, greatness, love,
And virtue (load-stone, that all these did move)
Of noble Carleton, him she took away,
And, like a greedy vulture, seized her prey.
Weep with me, each who either reads or hears,
And know his loss deserves his country's tears!
The Muses lost a patron by his fate,
Virtue a husband, and a prop the State.
Sol's chorus weeps, and, to adorn his hearse,
Calliope would sing a tragic verse.
And, had there been before no spring of theirs,
They would have made a Helicon with tears.
✦ Something is here wanting, as appears from the want
both of rhyme and connection. J. N.
ON THE DEATH OF MY LOVING FRIEND AND COUSIN,
MR. RICHARD CLARKE, Gent.
LATE OF LINCOLN'S-INN.
It was decreed by stedfast Destiny
(The world from chaos turn'd) that all should die.
He who durst fearless pass black Acheron,
And dangers of the' infernal region,
Leading Hell's triple porter captivate,
Was overcome himself by conquering Fate.
The Roman Tully's pleasing eloquence,
Which in the ears did lock up every sense
Of the rapt hearer; his mellifluous breath
Could not at all charm unremorseless Death;
Nor Solon, so by Greece admired, could save
Himself, with all his wisdom, from the grave.
Stern Fate brought Maro to his funeral flame,
And would have ended in that fire his fame;
Burning those lofty lines, which now shall be
Time's conquerors, and out-last eternity. find,
Even so lov'd Clarke from death no 'scape could
Though arm'd with great Alcides' valiant mind.
He was adorn'd, in years though far more young,
With learned Cicero's, or a sweeter tongue.
And, could dead Virgil hear his lofty strain,
He would condemn his own to fire again.
His youth a Solon's wisdom did presage,
Had envious Time but given him Solon's age.
Who would not therefore now, if Learning's friend,
Bewail his fatal and untimely end?
Who hath such hard, such unrelenting eyes,
As not to weep when so much virtue dies?
The god of poets doth in darkness shrowd
His glorious face, and weeps behind a cloud.
The doleful Muses thinking now to write
Sad elegies, their tears confound their sight;
But him to' Elysium's lasting joys they bring,
Where winged angels his sad requiems sing.
PHOEBUS, expell'd by the approaching night,
Blush'd, and for shame closed in his bashful light,
While I, with leaden Morpheus overcome,
The Muse whom I adore enter'd the room:
Her hair with looser curiosity
Did on her comely back dishevell❜d lie:
Her
eyes with such attractive beauty shone,
As might have waked sleeping Endymion.
She bade me rise, and promised I should see
Those fields, those mansions of felicity,
We mortals so admire at: speaking thus,
She lifts me up upon wing'd Pegasus,
On whom I rid; knowing, wherever she
Did go, that place must needs a temple be.
No sooner was my flying courser come
To the blest dwellings of Elysium,
When strait a thousand unknown joys resort,
And hemm'd me round; chaste Love's innocuous
A thousand sweets, bought with no following gall, Joys, not like ours, short, but perpetual.
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