Acquaintance I would have; but when't depends Not from the number, but the choice, of friends.
Books should, not business, entertain the light;
And sleep, as undisturbed as death, the night.
My house a cottage more
Than palace; and should fitting be
For all my use, no luxury.
My garden painted o'er
With Nature's hand, not Art's; that pleasures yield
Horace might envy in his Sabine field.
Thus would I double my life's fading space;
For he that runs it well, twice runs his race.
And in this true delight,
These unbought sports, and happy state,
I would not fear, nor wish, my fate;
But boldly say, each night,
To-morrow let my Sun his beams display,
Or in clouds hide them; I have lived to-day".
A POETICAL REVENGE.
WESTMINSTER-HALL a friend and I agreed
To meet in; he (some business 'twas did breed
His absence) came not there; I up did go
To the next court; for though I could not know
Much what they meant, yet I might see and hear
(As most spectators do at theatre)
Things very strange: Fortune did seem to grace
My coming there, and help'd me to a place
5 The three concluding stanzas of this poem are introduced by Mr. Cowley in his Essays in Verse and Prose. N.
But, being newly settled at the sport,
A semi-gentleman of the inns of court,
In a satin suit, redeem'd but yesterday,
One who is ravish'd with a cock-pit play,
Who prays God to deliver him from no evil
Besides a tailor's bill, and fears no devil
Besides a serjeant, thrust me from my seat:
At which I 'gan to quarrel, till a neat
Man in a ruff (whom therefore I did take
For barrister) open'd his mouth and spake;
Boy, get you gone; this is no school." "Oh no;
For, if it were, all you gown'd men would go
Up for false Latin." They grew straight to be
Incensed; I fear'd they would have brought on me
An action of trespass: till the young man
Aforesaid, in the satin suit, began
To strike me doubtless there had been a fray,
Had not I providently skipp'd away
Without replying; for to scold is ill,
Where every tongue's the clapper of a mill,
And can out-sound Homer's Gradivus; so
Away got I: but ere I far did go,
I flung (the darts of wounding poetry)
These two or three sharp curses back: "May he
Be by his father in his study took
At Shakespeare's plays, instead of my lord Coke!
May he (though all his writings grow as soon
As Butter's out of estimation)
Get him a poet's name, and so ne'er come
Into a serjeant's or dead judge's room!
May he become some poor physician's prey,
Who keeps men with that conscience in delay
As he his client doth, till his health be
As far-fetch'd as a Greek noun's pedigree !
Nay, for all that, may the disease be gone
Never but in the long vacation!
May neighbours use all quarrels to decide;
But if for law any to London ride,
Of all those clients let not one be his,
Unless he come in forma pauperis!
"Grant this, ye gods that favour poetry! That all these never ceasing tongues may be Brought into reformation, and not dare To quarrel with a thread-bare black: but spare Them who bear scholars' names, lest some one take Spleen, and another Ignoramus make.”
DUTCHESS OF BUCKINGHAM.
IF I should say, that in your face were seen
Nature's best picture of the Cyprian queen;
If I should swear, under Minerva's name,
Poets (who prophets are) foretold your fame;
The future age would think it flattery;
But to the present, which can witness be,
'Twould seem beneath your high deserts, as far
As
you above the rest of women are.
When Manners' name with Villiers' join'd I see, How do I reverence your nobility!
But when the virtues of your stock I view,
(Envy'd in your dead lord, admired in you)
I half adore them; for what woman can,
Besides yourself (nay, I might say what man)
But sex, and birth, and fate, and years excel
In mind, in fame, in worth, in living well?
Oh, how had this bigot idolatry,
If you had lived in the world's infancy,
When man's too much religion made the best
Or deities, or semi-gods at least!
But we, forbidden this by piety,
Or, if we were not, by your modesty,
Will make our hearts an altar, and there pray
Not to, but for, you; nor that England may
Enjoy your equal, when you once are gone,
But, what's more possible, to' enjoy you long.
TO HIS VERY MUCH HONOURED
GODFATHER, MR. A. B.
I LOVE (for that upon the wings of Fame [name.
Shall perhaps mock Death or Time's darts) my
I love it more, because 'twas given by you;.
I love it most, because 'twas your name too;
For if I chance to slip, a conscious shame
Plucks me, and bids me not defile your name.
I'm glad that city, to' whom I owed before
(But, ah me! Fate hath cross'd that willing score)
A father, gave me a godfather too;
And I'm more glad, because it gave me you;
Whom I may rightly think, and term, to be
Of the whole city an epitome.
I thank my careful Fate, which found out one
(When Nature had not licensed my tongue
Farther than cries) who should my office do;
I thank her more, because she found out you:
In whose each look I may a sentence see;
In whose each deed, a teaching homily.
How shall I pay this debt to you? My fate
Denies me Indian pearl or Persian plate;
Which though it did not, to requite you thus,
Were to send apples to Alcinous,
And sell the cunning'st way.- No! when I can,
In every leaf, in every verse, write man;
When my quill relisheth a school no more;
When my pen-feather'd Muse hath learn'd to soar,
And gotten wings as well as feet; look then
For equal thanks from my unwearied pen:
Till future ages say, 'twas you did give
A name to me, and I made yours to live,
DEATH OF JOHN LITTLETON, ESQUIRE,
SON AND HEIR TO SIR THOMAS LITTLETON,
Who was drowned leaping into the Water to save his younger
Brother.
AND must these waters smile again, and play
About the shore, as they did yesterday?
Will the Sun court them still? and shall they show
No conscious wrinkle furrow'd on their brow,
That to the thirsty traveller may say,
"I am accursed; go turn some other way
It is unjust: black Flood! thy guilt is more, Sprung from his loss, than all thy watery store Can give thee tears to mourn for: birds shall be, And beasts, henceforth afraid to drink of thee.
What have I said? my pious rage hath been Too hot, and acts, whilst it accuseth, sin. Thou'rt innocent, I know, still clear and bright, Fit whence so pure a soul should take its flight,
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