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- Herausgeber: Delphi Classics
- Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
- Serie: Delphi Poets Series
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2015
Dominating the literary life of Restoration England, Dryden produced a large oeuvre of poetry, plays, essays and translations that were without their equal, inspiring later critics to refer to his era simply as the 'Age of Dryden'. The Delphi Poets Series offers readers the works of literature's finest poets, with superior formatting. This volume presents the complete poetical works and plays of John Dryden for the first time in digital publishing history, with beautiful illustrations and the usual Delphi bonus material. (Version 1)
* Beautifully illustrated with images relating to Dryden's life and works
* Concise introductions to the poetry and other works
* Excellent formatting of the poems, with line numbers, ideal for students
* Special chronological and alphabetical contents tables for the poetry
* Easily locate the poems you want to read
* Includes Dryden's complete 28 plays and operas - spend hours exploring the poet's dramatic works
* Features no less than four biographies, including Sir Walter Scott's seminal study - discover Dryden's literary life
* Scholarly ordering of texts into chronological order and literary genres
Please visit www.delphiclassics.com to browse through our range of exciting titles
CONTENTS:
The Poetry Collections
EARLY POEMS
ANNUS MIRABILIS
MAC FLECKNOE
ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL
THE MEDALL
RELIGIO LAICI
THE HIND AND THE PANTHER
EPISTLES AND COMPLIMENTARY ADDRESSES
ELEGIES AND EPITAPHS
SONGS, ODES AND LYRICAL PIECES
FABLES ANCIENT AND MODERN
POETRY FROM THE PLAYS
TRANSLATIONS
The Poems
LIST OF POEMS IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER
LIST OF POEMS IN ALPHABETICAL ORDER
The Plays
THE WILD GALLANT
THE RIVAL LADIES
THE INDIAN QUEEN
THE INDIAN EMPEROR
SECRET-LOVE
SIR MARTIN MAR-ALL
THE TEMPEST
TYRANNICK LOVE
AN EVENING'S LOVE
ALMANZOR AND ALMAHIDE
MARRIAGE ¿ LA MODE
THE ASSIGNATION
AMBOYNA
AURENG-ZEBE
THE STATE OF INNOCENCE AND FALL OF MAN
ALL FOR LOVE
OEDIPUS
TROILUS AND CRESSIDA
LIMBERHAM
THE SPANISH FRYAR
THE DUKE OF GUISE
ALBION AND ALBANIUS
DON SEBASTIAN, KING OF PORTUGAL
AMPHITRYON
KING ARTHUR
CLEOMENES, THE SPARTAN HERO
LOVE TRIUMPHANT
CONTRIBUTIONS TO VANBRUGH'S ADAPTATION OF FLETCHER'S THE PILGRIM
The Non-Fiction
ESSAY OF DRAMATIC POESY
HIS MAJESTIES DECLARATION DEFENDED
The Biographies
THE LIFE OF John Dryden by Sir Walter Scott
LIVES OF THE POETS: DRYDEN by Samuel Johnson
THE AGE OF DRYDEN by Richard Garnett
BRIEF LIFE OF John Dryden by George Gilfillan
Please visit www.delphiclassics.com to browse through our range of exciting titles
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JOHN DRYDEN
(1631-1700)
Contents
The Poetry Collections
EARLY POEMS
ANNUS MIRABILIS
MAC FLECKNOE
ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL
THE MEDALL
RELIGIO LAICI
THE HIND AND THE PANTHER
EPISTLES AND COMPLIMENTARY ADDRESSES
ELEGIES AND EPITAPHS
SONGS, ODES AND LYRICAL PIECES
FABLES ANCIENT AND MODERN
POETRY FROM THE PLAYS
TRANSLATIONS
The Poems
LIST OF POEMS IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER
LIST OF POEMS IN ALPHABETICAL ORDER
The Plays
THE WILD GALLANT
THE RIVAL LADIES
THE INDIAN QUEEN
THE INDIAN EMPEROR
SECRET-LOVE
SIR MARTIN MAR-ALL
THE TEMPEST
TYRANNICK LOVE
AN EVENING’S LOVE
ALMANZOR AND ALMAHIDE
MARRIAGE À LA MODE
THE ASSIGNATION
AMBOYNA
AURENG-ZEBE
THE STATE OF INNOCENCE AND FALL OF MAN
ALL FOR LOVE
OEDIPUS
TROILUS AND CRESSIDA
LIMBERHAM
THE SPANISH FRYAR
THE DUKE OF GUISE
ALBION AND ALBANIUS
DON SEBASTIAN, KING OF PORTUGAL
AMPHITRYON
KING ARTHUR
CLEOMENES, THE SPARTAN HERO
LOVE TRIUMPHANT
CONTRIBUTIONS TO VANBRUGH’S ADAPTATION OF FLETCHER’S THE PILGRIM
The Non-Fiction
ESSAY OF DRAMATIC POESY
HIS MAJESTIES DECLARATION DEFENDED
The Biographies
THE LIFE OF JOHN DRYDEN by Sir Walter Scott
LIVES OF THE POETS: DRYDEN by Samuel Johnson
THE AGE OF DRYDEN by Richard Garnett
BRIEF LIFE OF JOHN DRYDEN by George Gilfillan
© Delphi Classics 2013
Version 1
JOHN DRYDEN
By Delphi Classics, 2013
NOTE
When reading poetry on an eReader, it is advisable to use a small font size, which will allow the lines of poetry to display correctly.
The Poetry Collections
John Dryden was born in the village rectory of Aldwincle, near Thrapston, in Northamptonshire.
Another view of the house
John Dryden by James Maubert, 1695
EARLY POEMS
John Dryden was born in the village of Aldwincle in Northamptonshire, where his maternal grandfather was Rector of All Saints. His family was descended from Puritan landowning gentry that supported the Puritan cause and Parliament and interestingly he was also a second cousin of Jonathan Swift. As a boy Dryden lived in the nearby village of Titchmarsh, before being sent to Westminster School as a King’s Scholar, under the tutelage of Dr Richard Busby. Dryden clearly respected the Headmaster and later sent two of his sons to school at Westminster. As a humanist public school, Westminster maintained a curriculum which trained pupils in the art of rhetoric and the presentation of arguments for both sides of a given issue - a skill which would remain with Dryden and influence his later writing and thinking. The Westminster curriculum also included weekly translation assignments that developed Dryden’s capacity for assimilation.
The young poet’s years at Westminster were not uneventful and his first published poem, an elegy with a strong royalist feel on the death from smallpox of his school friend Henry, Lord Hastings alludes to the execution of King Charles I, which took place on 30 January 1649, close to the school where Dr Busby had first prayed for the King and then locked in his schoolboys to prevent their attending the spectacle.
In 1650 Dryden joined Trinity College, Cambridge, where he experienced a return to the religious and political ethos of his childhood, as the Master of Trinity was a Puritan preacher, who had been a rector in Dryden’s home village. Though there is little specific information on Dryden’s undergraduate years, he would most certainly have followed the standard curriculum of classics, rhetoric and mathematics. In 1654 the poet obtained his degree, graduating with great distinction and in June of the same year Dryden’s father died, leaving him land that generated a little income, though not enough to live on.
Returning to London during the Protectorate, Dryden obtained work from Cromwell’s Secretary of State, John Thurloe. This appointment may have been the result of influence exercised on his behalf by his cousin the Lord Chamberlain, Sir Gilbert Pickering. At Cromwell’s funeral on 23 November 1658, Dryden became acquainted with the Puritan poets John Milton and Andrew Marvell. Shortly after this time he published his first important poem, Heroique Stanzas (1658), a eulogy on Cromwell’s death, serving as a cautious and prudent emotional display. In 1660 Dryden celebrated the Restoration of the monarchy and the return of Charles II with Astraea Redux, an authentic royalist panegyric. In this work the interregnum is illustrated as a time of anarchy and Charles is depicted as the restorer of peace and order.
After the Restoration, Dryden quickly established himself as the leading poet and literary critic of his day and he transferred his allegiances to the new government. Along with Astraea Redux, Dryden welcomed the new regime with two more panegyrics; To His Sacred Majesty: A Panegyric on his Coronation (1662), and To My Lord Chancellor (1662). These poems indicate that Dryden was looking to court a possible patron, though he was ultimately to make a living writing for publishers and the reading public, rather than for the aristocracy.
The charismatic Rev. Dr. Richard Busby (1606–1695), who was an Anglican priest serving as headmaster of Westminster School for more than fifty-five years.
CONTENTS
Upon the Death of the Lord Hastings
Heroick Stanza’s: A Poem upon the Death of His Late Highness, Oliver, Lord Protector of England, Scotland, and Ireland in Heroick Stanza’s
Astræa Redux.
To His Sacred Majesty.
To my Lord Chancellor, presented on New-Years-Day, 1662
Threnodia Augustalis
Charles II, whose reign commenced in 1660 and was celebrated in Dryden’s early work ‘Astraea Redux’, a royalist panegyric in which the poet welcomes the new regime. It is a vivid emotional display that overshadows the cautious ‘Heroique Stanzas’ that Dryden composed for Oliver Cromwell’s death.
Upon the Death of the Lord Hastings
MUST Noble Hastings Immaturely die,(The Honour of his ancient Family?)Beauty and Learning thus together meet,To bring a Winding for a Wedding-sheet?Must Vertue prove Death’s Harbinger? Must She, 5With him expiring, feel Mortality?Is Death (Sin’s wages) Grace’s now? shall ArtMake us more Learned, only to depart?If Merit be Disease, if Vertue Death;To be Good, Not to be, who’d then bequeath 10Himself to Discipline? Who’d not esteemLabour a Crime, Study self-murther deem?Our Noble Youth now have pretence to beDunces securely, Ign’rant healthfully.Rare Linguist! whose Worth speaks it self; whose Praise, 15Though not his Own, all Tongues Besides do raise:Then Whom Great Alexander may seem less,Who conquer’d Men, but not their Languages.In his Mouth Nations speak; his Tongue might beInterpreter to Greece, France, Italy. 20His native Soyl was the four parts o’ th’ Earth;All Europe was too narrow for his Birth.A young Apostle; and (with rev’rence mayI speak ‘it) inspir’d with gift of Tongues, as They.Nature gave him, a Childe, what Men in vain 25Oft strive, by Art though further’d, to obtain.His body was an Orb, his sublime SoulDid move on Vertue’s and on Learning’s pole:Whose Reg’lar Motions better to our view,Then Archimedes Sphere, the Heavens did shew. 30Graces and Vertues, Languages and Arts,Beauty and Learning, fill’d up all the parts.Heav’ns Gifts, which do, like falling Stars, appearScatter’d in Others; all, as in their Sphear,Were fix’d and conglobate in’s Soul, and thence 35Shone th’row his Body with sweet Influence;Letting their Glories so on each Limb fall,The whole Frame render’d was Celestial.Come, learned Ptolomy, and tryal make,If thou this Hero’s Altitude canst take; 40But that transcends thy skill; thrice happie all,Could we but prove thus Astronomical.Liv’d Tycho now, struck with this Ray, (which shoneMore bright i’ th’ Morn then others Beam at Noon)He’d take his Astrolabe, and seek out here 45What new Star ‘t was did gild our Hemisphere.Replenish’d then with such rare Gifts as these,Where was room left for such a Foul Disease?The Nations sin hath drawn that Veil which shroudsOur Day-spring in so sad benighting Clouds. 50Heaven would no longer trust its Pledge; but thusRecall’d it; rapt its Ganymede from us.Was there no milder way but the Small Pox,The very filth’ness of Pandora’s Box?So many Spots, like næves, our Venus soil? 55One Jewel set off with so many a Foil?Blisters with pride swell’d, which th’row’s flesh did sproutLike Rose-buds, stuck i’ th’ Lilly-skin about.Each little Pimple had a Tear in it,To wail the fault its rising did commit: 60Who, Rebel-like, with their own Lord at strife,Thus made an Insurrection ‘gainst his Life.Or were these Gems sent to adorn his Skin,The Cab’net of a richer Soul within?No Comet need foretel his Change drew on, 65Whose Corps might seem a Constellation.O had he di’d of old, how great a strifeHad been, who from his Death should draw their Life?Who should by one rich draught become whate’erSeneca, Cato, Numa, Cæsar, were: 70Learn’d, Vertuous, Pious, Great, and have by thisAn Universal Metempsuchosis.Must all these ag’d Sires in one FuneralExpire? All die in one so young, so small?Who, had he liv’d his life out, his great Fame 75Had swoln ‘bove any Greek or Romane name?But hasty Winter, with one blast, hath broughtThe hopes of Autumn, Summer, Spring, to nought.Thus fades the Oak i’ th’ sprig, i’ th’ blade the Corn;Thus, without Young, this Phœnix dies, new born. 80Must then old three-legg’d gray-beards, with their Gout,Catarrhs, Rheums, Aches, live three Ages out?Times Offal, onely fit for th’ Hospital,Or t’ hang an Antiquaries room withal;Must Drunkards, Lechers, spent with Sinning, live 85With such helps as Broths, Possits, Physick give?None live but such as should die? Shall we meetWith none but Ghostly Fathers in the Street?Grief makes me rail; Sorrow will force its way;And Show’rs of Tears, Tempestuous Sighs best lay. 90The Tongue may fail; but over-flowing EyesWill weep out lasting streams of Elegies. But thou, O Virgin-widow, left alone,Now thy Beloved, Heaven-ravisht Spouse is gone,(Whose skilful Sire in vain strove to apply 95Med’cines, when thy Balm was no remedy)With greater than Platonick love, O wedHis Soul, tho’ not his Body, to thy Bed:Let that make thee a Mother; bring thou forthTh’ Ideas of his Vertue, Knowledge, Worth; 100Transcribe th’ Original in new Copies: giveHastings o’ th’ better part: so shall he liveIn’s Nobler Half; and the great Grandsire beOf an Heroick Divine Progenie:An Issue which t’ Eternity shall last, 105Yet but th’ Irradiations which he cast.Erect no Mausolæums: for his best
Heroick Stanza’s: A Poem upon the Death of His Late Highness, Oliver, Lord Protector of England, Scotland, and Ireland in Heroick Stanza’s
Heroick Stanza’s, Consecrated to the Memory of His Highness,
OLIVER, Late Lord Protector of This Commonwealth, &c.
Written after the Celebrating of His Funeral.
1
AND now ’tis time; for their officious haste, Who would before have born him to the Sky,Like eager Romans e’er all Rites were past, Did let too soon the sacred Eagle fly.
2
Though our best Notes are Treason to his Fame, 5 Join’d with the loud Applause of publick Voice,Since Heaven, what Praise we offer to his Name, Hath render’d too Authentick by its Choice.
3
Though in his Praise no Arts can liberal be, Since they, whose Muses have the highest flown, 10Add not to his Immortal Memory; But do an Act of Friendship to their own.
4
Yet ’tis our Duty and our Interest too, Such Monuments as we can build, to raise;Lest all the World prevent what we shou’d do, 15 And claim a Title in him by their Praise.
5
How shall I then begin, or where conclude, To draw a Fame so truly Circular?For in a Round, what Order can be shew’d, Where all the Parts so equal perfect are? 20
6
His Grandeur he derived from Heav’n alone, For he was great, e’er Fortune made him so;And Wars, like Mists that rise against the Sun, Made him but greater seem, not greater grow.
7
No borrow’d Bays his Temples did adorn, 25 But to our Crown he did fresh Jewels bring;Nor was his Vertue poison’d, soon as born, With the too early Thoughts of being King.
8
Fortune (that easie Mistress of the Young, But to her ancient Servants coy and hard) 30Him, at that Age, her Favourites ranked among, When she her best-lov’d Pompey did discard.
9
He, private, marked the Faults of others Sway, And set as Sea-marks for himself to shun;Not like rash Monarchs, who their Youth betray 35 By Acts their Age too late wou’d wish undone.
10
And yet Dominion was not his Design; We owe that Blessing not to him, but Heav’n,Which to fair Acts unsought Rewards did join, Rewards that less to him, than us, were giv’n. 40
11
Our former Chiefs, like Sticklers of the War, First sought t’ inflame the Parties, then to poise:The Quarrel lov’d, but did the Cause abhor, And did not strike to hurt, but make a noise.
12
War, our Consumption, was their gainful Trade; 45 We inward bled, whilst they prolong’d our Pain;He fought to end our Fighting, and assay’d To stench the Blood by breathing of the Vein.
13
Swift and resistless through the Land he pass’d, Like that bold Greek, who did the East subdue; 50And made to Battels such Heroick Haste, As if on Wings of Victory he flew.
14
He fought, secure of Fortune, as of fame; Till by new Maps, the Island might be shown,Of Conquests, which he strew’d where-e’er he came, 55 Thick as the Galaxy with Stars is sown.
15
His palms, tho under Weights they did not stand, Still thriv’d; no Winter could his Laurels fade:Heaven in his Portraict shew’d a Work-man’s Hand And drew it perfect, yet without a Shade. 60
16
Peace was the Prize of all his Toil and Care, Which War had banish’d and did now restore:Bolognia’s walls thus mounted in the Air, To seat themselves more surely than before.
17
Her Safety, rescued Ireland, to him owes; 65 And treacherous Scotland, to no Int’rest true,Yet bless’d that Fate which did his Arms dispose, Her Land to civilize, as to subdue.
18
Nor was he like those Stars which only shine, When to pale Mariners they Storms portend: 70He had his calmer Influence, and his Mien Did Love and Majesty together blend.
19
’Tis true, his Count’nance did imprint an Awe, And naturally all Souls to his did bow;As Wands of Divination downward draw, 75 And point to Beds where Sov’raign Gold doth grow.
20
When, past all Off’rings to Pheretrian Jove, He Mars depos’d and Arms to Gowns made yield,Successful Counsels did him soon approve As fit for close Intrigues as open Field. 80
21
To suppliant Holland he vouchsaf’d a Peace, Our once bold Rival in the British Main,Now tamely glad her unjust Claim to cease, And buy our Friendship with her Idol, Gain.
22
Fame of th’ asserted Sea, through Europe blown, 85 Made France and Spain ambitious of his Love;Each knew that Side must conquer, he wou’d own; And for him fiercely, as for Empire, strove.
23
No sooner was the French-Man’s Cause embrac’d, Than the light Monsieur the grave Don out-weigh’d: 90His Fortune turn’d the Scale where-e’er ’twas cast, Tho’ Indian mines were in the other laid.
24
When absent, yet we conquer’d in his Right; For tho’ some meaner Artist’s Skill were shown,In mingling Colours, or in placing Light, 95 Yet still the fair Designment was his own.
25
For from all Tempers he cou’d Service draw The worth of each, with its Alloy, he knew;And, as the Confident of Nature, saw How she Complections did divide and brew. 100
26
Or he their single Vertues did survey, By Intuition, in his own large Breast,Where all the rich Idea’s of them lay, That were the Rule and Measure to the rest.
27
When such Heroick Vertue Heaven sets out, 105 The Stars, like Commons, sullenly obey;Because it drains them, when it comes about; And therefore is a Tax they seldom pay.
28
From this high Spring, our Foreign Conquests flow, Which yet more glorious Triumphs do portend; 110Since their Commencement to his Arms they owe, If Springs as high as Fountains may ascend.
29
He made us Free-men of the Continent, Whom Nature did like Captives treat before;To nobler Preys the English Lion sent, 115 And taught him first in Belgian Walks to roar.
30
That old unquestion’d Pirate of the Land, Proud Rome, with Dread the Fate of Dunkirk heard;And trembling, wish’d behind more Alps to stand, Although an Alexander were her Guard. 120
31
By his Command we boldly cross’d the Line And bravely fought where Southern Stars arise;We trac’d the far-fetched Gold unto the Mine, And that which brib’d our Fathers, made our Prize.
32
Such was our Prince, yet own’d a Soul above 125 The highest Acts it could produce to show:Thus poor Mechanick Arts in Publick move, Whilst the deep Secrets beyond Practice go.
33
Nor dy’d he when his Ebbing Fame went less, But when fresh Laurels courted him to live: 130He seem’d but to prevent some new Success, As if above what Triumphs Earth could give.
34
His latest Victories still thickest came, As near the Centre, Motion does increase;Till he, press’d down by his own weighty Name, 135 Did, like the Vestal, under Spoils decease.
35
But first, the Ocean, as a tribute, sent That Giant-Prince of all her Watry Herd;And th’ Isle, when her protecting Genius went, Upon his Obsequies loud Sighs conferr’d. 140
36
No Civil Broils have since his Death arose, But Faction now, by Habit, does obey;And Wars have that Respect for his Repose, As winds for Halcyons when they breed at Sea.
37
His Ashes in a Peaceful Urn shall rest, 145 His Name a great Example stands to show,How strangely high Endeavours may be bless’d,
Astræa Redux.
A Poem on the Happy Restoration and Return of His Sacred Majesty Charles the Second
NOW with a general Peace the World was blest,While Ours, a World divided from the rest,A dreadful Quiet felt, and worser farThan Armes, a sullen Interval of War:Thus, when black Clouds draw down the lab’ring Skies, 5Ere yet abroad the winged Thunder flies,An horrid Stillness first invades the ear,And in that silence We the Tempest fear.Th’ ambitious Swede like restless Billows tostOn this hand gaining what on that he lost, 10Though in his life he Blood and Ruine breath’d,To his now guideless Kingdom Peace bequeath’d;And Heaven, that seem’d regardless of our Fate,For France and Spain did Miracles create,Such mortal Quarrels to compose in Peace 15As Nature bred and Int’rest did encrease.We sigh’d to hear the fair Iberian BrideMust grow a Lilie to the Lilies side,While Our cross Stars deny’d us Charles his bedWhom Our first Flames and Virgin Love did wed. 20For his long absence Church and State did groan;Madness the Pulpit, Faction seiz’d the Throne:Experienc’d Age in deep despair was lostTo see the Rebel thrive, the Loyal crost:Youth that with Joys had unacquainted been 25Envy’d gray hairs that once good Days had seen:We thought our Sires, not with their own content,Had ere we came to age our Portion spent.Nor could our Nobles hope their bold AttemptWho ruined Crowns would Coronets exempt: 30For when by their designing Leaders taughtTo strike at Pow’r which for themselves they sought,The vulgar gull’d into Rebellion, arm’d,Their blood to action by the Prize was warm’d;The Sacred Purple then and Scarlet Gown, 35Like sanguine Dye, to Elephants was shewn.Thus when the bold Typhocus scal’d the SkyAnd forc’d great Jove from his own Heaven to fly,(What King, what Crown from Treasons reach is free,If Jove and Heaven can violated be?), 40The lesser Gods that shar’d his prosp’rous StateAll suffer’d in the Exil’d Thunderer’s Fate.The Rabble now such Freedom did enjoy,As Winds at Sea, that use it to destroy:Blind as the Cyclops, and as wild as he, 45They own’d a lawless savage Libertie,Like that our painted Ancestors so priz’dEre Empire’s Arts their Breasts had Civiliz’d.How Great were then Our Charles his woes, who thusWas forc’d to suffer for Himself and us! 50He toss’d by fate, and hurried up and down,Heir to his Fathers Sorrows, with his Crown,Could taste no sweets of Youths desired Age,But found his Life too true a Pilgrimage.Unconquer’d yet in that forlorn Estate, 55His Manly Courage overcame his Fate.His Wounds he took like Romans on his Breast,Which by his Vertue were with Laurels drest.As Souls reach Heav’n, while yet in Bodies pent,So did he live above his Banishment. 60That Sun, which we beheld with couz’ned eyesWithin the Water, mov’d along the Skies.How easie ’tis when Destiny proves kind,With full spread Sails to run before the Wind,But those that ‘gainst stiff Gales laveering go 65Must be at once resolv’d and skilful too.He would not like soft Otho hope prevent,But stay’d and suffer’d Fortune to repent.These Virtues Galba in a Stranger sought;And Piso to Adopted Empire brought. 70How shall I then my doubtful Thoughts expressThat must his Suff’rings both regret and bless.!For when his early Valour Heav’n had crost,And all at Worc’ster but the honour lost,Forc’d into exile from his rightful Throne, 75He made all Countries where he came his own,And viewing Monarchs secret Arts of swayA Royal Factor for their Kingdoms lay.Thus banish’d David spent abroad his time,When to be Gods Anointed was his Crime, 80And when restor’d, made his proud Neighbours rueThose choise Remarks he from his Travels drew:Nor is he only by Afflictions shownTo conquer others Realms, but rule his own:Recov’ring hardly what he lost before, 85His Right indears it much, his Purchase more.Inur’d to suffer ere he came to raign,No rash procedure will his Actions stain.To bus’ness ripened by digestive thought,His future rule is into Method brought: 90As they who first Proportion understand,With easie Practice reach a Master’s hand.Well might the Ancient Poets then conferOn Night, the honour’d name of Counseller,Since struck with rayes of prosp’rous Fortune blind, 95We Light alone in dark Afflictions find.In such adversities to Scepters train’d,The name of Great his famous Grandsire gain’d:Who yet a King alone in Name and Right,With hunger, cold and angry Jove did fight; 100Shock’d by a Covenanting Leagues vast Pow’rs,As holy and as Catholick as ours:Till Fortunes fruitless spight had made it knownHer blows not shook but riveted his Throne. Some lazy Ages, lost in Sleep and Ease 105No action leave to busie Chronicles;Such, whose supine felicity but makesIn story Casmes, in Epoche’s mistakes;O’re whom Time gently shakes his wings of Down,Till with his silent Sickle they are mown: 110Such is not Charles his too too active age,Which govern’d by the wild distemper’d rageOf some black Star infecting all the Skies,Made him at his own cost like Adam wise.Tremble ye Nations who secure before, 115Laught at those Arms that’ gainst our selves we bore;Rous’d by the lash of his own stubborn Tail,Our Lion now will foreign Foes assail.With Alga who the sacred Altar strows?To all the Sea-Gods Charles an Offering owes; 120A Bull to thee Portunus shall be slainA Lamb to you the Tempests of the Main:For those loud Storms that did against him roreHave cast his shipwrack’d Vessel on the shore.Yet, as wise Artists mix their Colours so 125That by degrees they from each other go,Black steals unheeded from the neighb’ring whiteWithout offending the well couz’ned sight,So on us stole our blessed change; while weTh’ effect did feel but scarce the manner see. 130Frosts that constrain the ground, and birth denyTo Flow’rs that in its womb expecting lie,Do seldom their usurping Pow’r withdraw,But raging Floods persue their hasty Thaw:Our Thaw was mild, the Cold not chas’d away, 135But lost in kindly heat of lengthned day.Heav’n would no bargain for its Blessings drive,But what we could not pay for, freely give.The Prince of Peace would, like himself, conferA Gift unhop’d without the price of war. 140Yet, as he knew his Blessings worth, took careThat we should know it by repeated Pray’r,Which storm’d the skies and ravish’d Charles from thence,As Heav’n itself is took by violence.Booth’s forward Valour only serv’d to shew 145He durst that duty pay we all did owe:Th’ Attempt was fair; but Heav’n’s prefixed hourNot come; so like the watchful Travellor,That by the Moons mistaken light did rise,Lay down again and clos’d his weary eyes. 150’Twas MONK, whom Providence design’d to looseThose real bonds false Freedom did impose.The blessed Saints that watch’d this turning SceneDid from their Stars with joyful wonder lean,To see small Clues draw vastest weights along, 155Not in their bulk but in their order strong.Thus Pencils can by one slight touch restoreSmiles to that changed face that wept before.With ease such fond Chymæra’s we persueAs Fancy frames for Fancy to subdue; 160But when ourselves to action we betake,It shuns the Mint, like Gold that Chymists make:How hard was then his Task, at once to be,What in the body natural we see;Mans Architect distinctly did ordain 165The charge of Muscles, Nerves, and of the Brain.Through viewless Conduits Spirits to dispense,The Springs of Motion from the Seat of Sense.’Twas not the hasty product of a day,But the well ripened Fruit of wise delay. 170He like a patient Angler er’e he stroak,Would let them play a while upon the hook.Our healthful food the Stomach labours thus,At first embracing what it strait doth crush.Wise Leeches will not vain Receipts obtrude, 175While growing Pains pronounce the Humors crude;Deaf to complaints they wait upon the Ill,Till some safe Crisis authorize their Skill.Nor could his Acts too close a Vizard wearTo scape their Eyes whom Guilt had taught to fear, 180And guard with caution that polluted nest,Whence Legion twice before was dispossest.Once Sacred house, which when they entr’d in,They thought the place could sanctifie a sin;Like those that vainly hop’d kind Heav’n would wink, 185While to excess on Martyrs Tombs they drink.And as devouter Turks first warn their SoulsTo part, before they taste forbidden Bowls,So these when their black Crimes they went about,First timely charm’d their useless Conscience out. 190Religions Name against it self was made;The Shadow serv’d the Substance to invade:Like Zealous Missions they did Care pretendOf Souls in shew, but made the Gold their end.The incensed Powr’s beheld with scorn from high 195An Heaven so far distant from the Sky,Which durst, with horses hoofs that beat the GroundAnd Martial Brass bely the Thunders Sound.’Twas hence at length just Vengeance thought it fitTo speed their Ruin by their impious wit. 200Thus Sforza curs’d with a too fertile brain,Lost by his wiles the Pow’r his Wit did gain.Henceforth their Fogue must spend at lesser rate,Than in its flames to wrap a Nations Fate.Suffer’d to live, they are like Helots set 205A virtuous Shame within us to beget.For by example most we sinn’d beforeAnd glass-like clearness mixt with frailty bore,But since, reform’d by what we did amiss,We by our suff’rings learn to prize our bliss. 210Like early Lovers, whose unpractis’d heartsWere long the May-game of malicious arts,When once they find their Jealousies were vain,With double heat renew their Fires again.’Twas this produc’d the Joy, that hurried o’re 215Such swarms of English to the Neighb’ring shoreTo fetch that Prize, by which Batavia madeSo rich amends for our impoverish’d TradeOh had you seen from Schevelines barren Shore,(Crowded with troops, and barren now no more,) 220Afflicted Holland to his Farewel bringTrue sorrow, Holland to regret a King;While waiting him his Royal Fleet did ride,And willing Winds to their lowr’d Sails denied.The wavering Streamers, Flags, and Standart out, 225The merry Seamens rude but chearful Shout;And last the Cannons voice that shook the Skies,And, as it fares in sudden Extasies,At once bereft us both of Ears and Eyes.The Naseby now no longer Englands shame, 230But better to be lost in Charles his name(Like some unequal Bride in nobler sheets)Receives her Lord: The joyful London meetsThe Princely York, himself alone a freight;The Swift-sure groans beneath great Glouc’sters weight. 235Secure as when the Halcyon breeds, with these,He that was born to drown might cross the Seas.Heav’n could not own a Providence, and takeThe wealth three Nations ventur’d at a stake.The same indulgence Charles his Voyage bless’d, 240Which in his right had Miracles confess’d.The Winds that never Moderation knew,Afraid to blow too much, too faintly blew;Or out of breath with joy could not enlargeTheir straightned Lungs, or conscious of their Charge. 245The British Amphitryte smooth and clearIn richer Azure never did appear;Proud her returning Prince to entertainWith the submitted Fasces of the Main.
And welcom now (Great Monarch) to your own; 250Behold th’ approaching Cliffes of Albion;It is no longer Motion cheats your view,As you meet it, the Land approacheth you.The Land returns, and in the white it wearsThe marks of Penitence and Sorrow bears. 255But you, whose Goodness your Descent doth show,Your Heav’nly Parentage and Earthly too;By that same mildness which your Fathers CrownBefore did ravish, shall secure your own.Not ty’d to rules of Policy, you find 260Revenge less sweet than a forgiving mind.Thus, when th’ Almighty would to Moses giveA sight of all he could behold and live;A voice before his Entry did proclaimLong-Suffring, Goodness, Mercy in his Name. 265Your Pow’r to Justice doth submit your Cause,Your Goodness only is above the Laws;Whose rigid Letter, while pronounc’d by you,Is softer made. So winds that tempests brewWhen through Arabian Groves they take their flight 270Made wanton with rich Odours, lose their spight.And as those Lees, that trouble it, refineThe agitated Soul of Generous Wine,So tears of Joy for your returning spilt,Work out and expiate our former Guilt. 275Methinks I see those Crowds on Dover’s Strand.Who in their haste to welcom you to LandChoak’d up the Beach with their still growing store,And made a wilder Torrent on the Shore:While, spurr’d with eager thoughts of past Delight, 280Those who had seen you court a second sight;Preventing still your Steps and making hastTo meet you often whereso-e’re you past.How shall I speak of that triumphant DayWhen you renew’d the expiring Pomp of May! 285(A month that owns an Interest in your Name:You and the Flow’rs are its peculiar Claim.)That Star, that at your Birth shone out so bright,It stain’d the duller Suns Meridian light,Did once again its potent Fires renew, 290Guiding our Eyes to find and worship you. And now times whiter Series is begun,Which in soft Centuries shall smoothly run;Those Clouds that overcast your Morn shall fly,Dispell’d to farthest corners of the Sky. 295Our nation, with united Int’rest blest,Not now content to poize, shall sway, the rest.Abroad your Empire shall no Limits know,But like the Sea in boundless Circles flow.Your much lov’d Fleet shall with a wide Command 300Besiege the petty Monarchs of the Land:And as Old Time his Off-spring swallow’d down,Our Ocean in its depths all Seas shall drown.Their wealthy Trade from Pyrate’s Rapine free,Our Merchants shall no more Advent’rers be: 305Nor in the farthest East those Dangers fearWhich humble Holland must dissemble here.Spain to your gift alone her Indies owes;For what the Pow’rful takes not he bestows.And France that did an Exiles presence Fear 310May justly apprehend you still too near.At home the hateful names of Parties ceaseAnd factious Souls are weary’d into peace.The discontented now are only theyWhose Crimes before did your Just Cause betray: 315Of those your Edicts some reclaim from sins,But most your Life and Blest Example wins.Oh happy Prince whom Heav’n hath taught the wayBy paying Vows to have more Vows to pay!Oh Happy Age! Oh times like those alone,
To His Sacred Majesty.
A Panegyrick on His Coronation
1661
IN that wild Deluge where the world was drownd,When life and sin one common Tombe had found,The first small prospect of a rising hillWith various notes of Joy the Ark did fill:Yet when that flood in its own depths was drown’d, 5It left behind it false and slipp’ry ground,And the more solemn pomp was still deferr’dTill new-born Nature in fresh looks appear’d;Thus (Royall Sir,) to see you landed hereWas cause enough of triumph for a year: 10Nor would your care those glorious joyes repeatTill they at once might be secure and great:Till your kind beams by their continu’d stayHad warm’d the ground and call’d the Damps away.Such vapours, while your pow’rful Influence dries, 15Then soonest vanish when they highest rise.Had greater hast these sacred rights prepar’d,Some guilty Moneths had in your Triumphs shar’d:But this untainted year is all your own,Your glory’s may without our crimes be shown. 20We had not yet exhausted all our store,When you refresh’d our joyes by adding more:As Heav’n, of old, dispenc’d Cœlestial dew,You gave us Manna and still give us new. Now our sad ruines are remov’d from sight, 25The Season too comes fraught with new delight;Time seems not now beneath his years to stoop,Nor doe his wings with sickly feathers droop:Soft western winds waft o’re the gaudy spring,And open’d Scenes of flow’rs and blossoms bring 30To grace this happy day, while you appearNot King of us alone but of the year.All eyes you draw, and with the eyes the heart,Of your own pomp your self the greatest part:Loud shouts the Nations happiness proclaim, 35And Heav’n this day is feasted with your Name.Your Cavalcade the fair Spectators view,From their high standings, yet look up to you.From your brave train each singles out a PreyAnd longs to date a Conquest from your day. 40Now charg’d with blessings while you seek repose,Officious slumbers haste your eyes to close;And glorious dreams stand ready to restoreThe pleasing shapes of all you saw before.Next to the sacred Temple you are led, 45Where waits a Crown for your more sacred Head:How justly from the Church that Crown is due,Preserv’d from ruine and restor’d by you!The gratefull quire their harmony employNot to make greater, but more solemn joy. 50Wrapt soft and warm your Name is sent on high,As flames do on the wings of Incense fly:Musique herself is lost, in vain she bringsHer choisest notes to praise the best of Kings:Her melting strains in you a tombe have found 55And lye like Bees in their own sweetnesse drowned.He that brought peace and discord could attone,His Name is Musick of itself alone.Now while the sacred oyl anoints your head,And fragrant scents, begun from you, are spread 60Through the large Dome, the peoples joyful SoundSent back, is still preserv’d in hallow’d ground:Which in one blessing mixt descends on you,As heightned spirits fall in richer dew.Not that our wishes do increase your store, 65Full of your self, you can admit no more:We add not to your glory, but employOur time like Angels in expressing JoyNor is it duty or our hopes aloneCreate that joy, but full fruition: 70We know those blessings which we must possesseAnd judge of future by past happinesse,No promise can oblige a Prince so muchStill to be good, as long to have been such.A noble Emulation heats your breast, 75And your own fame now robbs you of your rest:Good actions still must be maintain’d with good,As bodies nourish’d with resembling food.You have already quench’d sedition’s brand;And zeal (which burnt it) only warms the Land. 80The jealous Sects, that dare not trust their causeSo farre from their own will as to the Laws,You for their Umpire and their Synod take,And their appeal alone to Cæsar make.Kind Heav’n so rare a temper did provide 85That guilt repenting might in it confideAmong our crimes oblivion may be set,But ’tis our Kings perfection to forget.Virtues unknown to these rough Northern climesFrom milder heav’ns you bring, without their crimes. 90Your calmnesse does no after Storms provideNor seeming patience mortal anger hide.When Empire first from families did spring,Then every Father govern’d as a King;But you that are a Soveraign Prince, allay 95Imperial pow’r with your paternal sway.From those great cares when ease your soul unbends,Your Pleasures are design’d to noble ends:Born to command the Mistress of the Seas,Your Thoughts themselves in that blue Empire please. 100Hither in Summer ev’nings you repairTo take the fraischeur of the purer air:Undaunted here you ride when Winter raves,With Cæsars heart that rose above the waves.More I could sing, but fear my Numbers stays; 105No Loyal Subject dares that courage praise.In stately Frigats most delight you find,Where well-drawn Battels fire your martial mind.What to your cares we owe is learnt from hence,When ev’n your pleasures serve for our defence. 110Beyond your Court flows in the admitted tide,Where in new depths the wond’ring fishes glide:Here in a Royal bed the waters sleep,When tir’d at Sea within this bay they creep.Here the mistrustfull foul no harm suspects, 115So safe are all things which our King protects.From your lov’d Thames a blessing yet is due,Second alone to that it brought in you;A Queen, from whose chast womb, ordain’d by Fate,The souls of Kings unborn for bodies wait. 120It was your Love before made discord cease;Your love is destined to your Countries peace.Both Indies (Rivalls in your bed) provideWith Gold or Jewels to adorn your bride.This to a mighty King presents rich ore 125While that with Incense does a God implore.Two Kingdoms wait your Doom; and, as you choose,This must receive a Crown or that must loose.Thus from your Royal Oke, like Jove’s of old,Are Answers sought, and Destinies fore-told: 130Propitious Oracles are beg’d with VowsAnd Crowns that grow upon the sacred boughs.Your Subjects, while you weigh the Nations fate,Suspend to both their doubtfull love or hate:Choose only, (Sir,) that so they may possesse 135
To my Lord Chancellor, presented on New-Years-Day, 1662
MY LORD, WHILE flattering Crowds officiously appearTo give themselves, not you, an happy Year,And by the Greatness of their Presents proveHow much they hope, but not how well they love,The Muses, who your early Courtship boast, 5Though now your Flames are with their Beauty lost,Yet watch their Time, that, if you have forgotThey were your Mistresses, the world may not:Decay’d by Time and Wars, they only proveTheir former Beauty by your former Love, 10And now present, as Ancient Ladies doThat courted long at length are forc’d to woo.For still they look on you with such kind EyesAs those that see the Church’s Sovereign rise,From their own Order chose, in whose high State 15They think themselves the second Choise of Fate.When our great Monarch into Exile went,Wit and Religion suffer’d Banishment.Thus once, when Troy was wrapt in Fire and Smoke,The helpless Gods their burning Shrines forsook; 20They with the vanquished Prince and Party goAnd leave their Temples empty to the Foe.At length the Muses stand restor’d againTo that great Charge which Nature did ordain,And their lov’d Druids seem reviv’d by Fate, 25While you dispense the Laws and guide the State.The Nation’s Soul, our Monarch, does dispenseThrough you to us his vital Influence;You are the Channel where those Spirits flowAnd work them higher as to us they go. 30 In open Prospect nothing bounds our EyeUntil the Earth seems join’d unto the Sky:So in this Hemisphere our utmost ViewIs only bounded by our King and you.Our Sight is limited where you are join’d 35And beyond that no farther Heav’n can find.So well your Virtues do with his agreeThat, though your Orbs of different Greatness be,Yet both are for each other’s use dispos’d,His to enclose, and yours to be enclos’d: 40Nor could another in your Room have been,Except an Emptiness had come between.Well may he then to you his Cares impartAnd share his Burden where he shares his Heart.In you his Sleep still wakes; his pleasures find 45Their Share of Business in your labouring Mind.So, when the weary Sun his Place resigns,He leaves his Light and by Reflection shines. Justice, that sits and frowns where publick LawsExclude soft Mercy from a private Cause, 50In your Tribunal most herself does please;There only smiles because she lives at Ease,And, like young David, finds her Strength the moreWhen disencumber’d from those Arms she wore.Heaven would your Royal Master should exceed 55Most in that Virtue, which we most did need;And his mild Father, who too late did findAll Mercy vain but what with Pow’r was join’d,His fatal Goodness left to fitter Times,Not to increase but to absolve our Crimes: 60But when the Heir of this vast Treasure knewHow large a Legacy was left to you,Too great for any Subject to retain,He wisely tied it to the Crown again:Yet, passing through your Hands, it gathers more, 65As Streams through Mines bear Tincture of their Ore.While Emp’rick Politicians use Deceit,Hide what they give and cure but by a Cheat,You boldly show that Skill which they pretendAnd work by Means as noble as your End: 70Which should you veil, we might unwind the ClueAs Men do Nature, till we came to you.And as the Indies were not found beforeThose rich Perfumes which from the happy ShoreThe Winds upon their balmy Wings convey’d, 75Whose guilty Sweetness first their world betray’d,So by your Counsels we are brought to viewA rich and undiscover’d World in you.By you our Monarch does that Fame assureWhich Kings must have, or cannot live secure: 80For prosperous Princes gain the Subjects Heart,Who love that Praise in which themselves have part.By you he fits those Subjects to obey,As Heaven’s Eternal Monarch does conveyHis Pow’r unseen, and Man to his Designs 85By his bright Ministers, the Stars, inclines. Our setting Sun from his declining SeatShot Beams of Kindness on you, not of Heat:And, when his Love was bounded in a fewThat were unhappy that they might be true, 90Made you the Favourite of his last sad Times,That is, a Sufferer in his Subjects’ Crimes:Thus those first Favours you receiv’d were sent,Like Heaven’s Rewards, in earthly Punishment.Yet Fortune, conscious of your Destiny, 95Even then took Care to lay you softly by,And wrapt your Fate among her precious Things,Kept fresh to be unfolded with your Kings.Shown all at once, you dazzled so our EyesAs new-born Pallas did the Gods surprise; 100When, springing forth from Jove’s new-closing Wound,She struck the warlike Spear into the Ground;Which sprouting Leaves did suddenly enclose,And peaceful Olives shaded as they rose. How strangely active are the Arts of Peace, 105Whose restless Motions less than War’s do cease!Peace is not freed from Labour, but from Noise,And War more Force, but not more Pains employs.Such is the mighty Swiftness of your MindThat, like the Earth’s, it leaves our Sense behind, 110While you so smoothly turn and roll our SphereThat rapid Motion does but Rest appear.For as in Nature’s Swiftness, with the ThrongOf flying Orbs while ours is borne along,All seems at rest to the deluded Eye, 115Mov’d by the Soul of the same Harmony,So, carried on by your unwearied Care,We rest in Peace and yet in Motion share.Let Envy then those Crimes within you seeFrom which the happy never must be free; 120Envy that does with Misery reside,The Joy and the Revenge of ruin’d Pride.Think it not hard, if at so cheap a RateYou can secure the Constancy of Fate,Whose kindness sent what does their Malice seem 125By lesser ills the greater to redeem;Nor can we this weak Shower a Tempest call,But Drops of Heat that in the Sunshine fall.You have already wearied Fortune so,She cannot farther be your Friend or Foe; 130But sits all breathless, and admires to feelA Fate so weighty that it stops her Wheel.In all things else above our humble Fate,Your equal Mind yet swells not into State,But like some Mountain in those happy Isles, 135Where in perpetual Spring young Nature smiles,Your Greatness shows; no horror to affright,But Trees for Shade and Flowers to court the Sight;Sometimes the Hill submits itself a whileIn small Descents, which do its Height beguile; 140And sometimes mounts, but so as Billows play,Whose rise not hinders but makes short our way.Your Brow, which does no fear of Thunder know,Sees rolling Tempests vainly beat below;And, like Olympus’ Top, the Impression wears 145Of Love and Friendship writ in former Years.Yet, unimpair’d with Labours or with Time.Your Age but seems to a new Youth to climb,(Thus heavenly Bodies do our Time begetAnd measure Change, but share no part of it.) 150And still it shall without a Weight increase,Like this New-year, whose Motions never cease;For since the glorious Course you have begunIs led by Charles,
Threnodia Augustalis
A Funeral-Pindarique Poem Sacred to the Happy Memory of King Charles II
I
THUS long my Grief has kept me dumb: Sure there’s a Lethargy in mighty Woe, Tears stand congeal’d, and cannot flow;And the sad Soul retires into her inmost Room:Tears, for a Stroke foreseen, afford Relief; 5 But, unprovided for a sudden Blow, Like Niobe we Marble grow; And Petrifie with Grief.Our British Heav’n was all Serene, No threatning Cloud was nigh, 10 Not the least wrinkle to deform the Sky; We liv’d as unconcern’d and happilyAs the first Age in Natures golden Scene; Supine amidst our flowing Store,We slept securely, and we dreamt of more: 15 When suddenly the Thunder-clap was heard, It took us unprepar’d and out of guard, Already lost before we fear’d.Th’ amazing News of Charles at once were spread, At once the general Voice declar’d, 20Our Gracious Prince was dead. No Sickness known before, no slow Disease, To soften Grief by Just Degrees; But, like an Hurricane on Indian seas, The Tempest rose; 25 An unexpected Burst of Woes:With scarce a breathing space betwixt,This Now becalm’d, and perishing the next.As if great Atlas from his HeightShou’d sink beneath his heavenly Weight, 30And, with a mighty Flaw, the flaming Wall (As once it shall)Shou’d gape immense, and rushing down, o’erwhelm this neather Ball;So swift and so surprizing was our fear;Our Atlas fell indeed; But Hercules was near. 35
II
His Pious Brother, sure the best Who ever bore that Name, Was newly risen from his Rest, And, with a fervent Flame,His usual morning Vows had just addrest 40 For his dear Sovereign’s Health; And hop’d to have ‘em heard, In long increase of years, In Honour, Fame, and Wealth: Guiltless of Greatness, thus he always pray’d, 45 Nor knew nor wisht those Vows he made On his own head shou’d be repay’d.Soon as th’ ill-omen’d Rumour reacht his Ear, (Ill news is wing’d with Fate and flies apace) Who can describe th’ Amazement in his Face! 50Horrour in all his Pomp was there,Mute and magnificent, without a Tear:And then the Hero first was seen to fear.Half unarray’d he ran to his Relief,So hasty and so artless was his Grief: 55Approaching Greatness met him with her Charms Of Power and future State; But looked so ghastly in a Brother’s Fate, He shook her from his Armes.Arriv’d within the mournfull Room, he saw 60 A wild Distraction, void of Awe,And arbitrary Grief unbounded by a Law. God’s Image, God’s Anointed, lay Without Motion, Pulse or Breath, A senseless Lump of sacred Clay, 65 An Image, now, of Death.Amidst his sad Attendants’ Grones and Cryes, The Lines of that ador’d, forgiving Face, Distorted from their native grace;An Iron Slumber sat on his Majestick Eyes. 70The Pious Duke —— forbear, audacious Muse,No Terms thy feeble Art can useAre able to adorn so vast a Woe:The grief of all the rest like subject-grief did show, His like a sovereign did transcend; 75No Wife, no Brother such a Grief cou’d know, Nor any name, but Friend.
III
O wondrous Changes of a fatal Scene, Still varying to the last! Heav’n, though its hard Decree was past, 80Seem’d pointing to a gracious Turn agen: And Death’s up-lifted Arme arrested in its hast. Heav’n half repented of the doom,And almost griev’d it had foreseen, What by Foresight it will’d eternally to come. 85 Mercy above did hourly plead For her Resemblance here below; And mild Forgiveness intercede To stop the coming Blow.New Miracles approach’d th’ Etherial Throne, 90Such as his wondrous Life had oft and lately known,And urg’d that still they might be shown. On Earth his Pious Brother pray’d and vow’d. Renouncing Greatness at so dear a rate,Himself defending what he cou’d 95 From all the Glories of his future Fate.With him th’ innumerable Croud Of armed PrayersKnock’d at the Gates of Heav’n, and knock’d aloud; The first well-meaning rude Petitioners. 100All for his Life assayl’d the Throne,All wou’d have brib’d the Skyes by offring up their own.So great a Throng not Heav’n it self cou’d bar;’Twas almost born by force, as in the Giants War.The Pray’rs, at least, for his Reprieve were heard; 105His Death, like Hezekiah’s, was deferr’d: Against the Sun the Shadow went; Five days, those five Degrees, were lent, To form our Patience and prepare th’ Event.The second Causes took the swift Command, 110The med’cinal Head, the ready Hand,All eager to perform their Part,All but Eternal Doom was conquer’d by their Art:Once more the fleeting Soul came back T’ inspire the mortal Frame, 115And in the Body took a doubtfull Stand, Doubtfull and hov’ring, like expiring Flame,That mounts and falls by turns, and trembles o’er the Brand.
IV
The joyful short-liv’d news soon spread around,Took the same Train, the same impetuous bound: 120The drooping Town in smiles again was drest, Gladness in every Face exprest, Their eyes before their Tongues confest.Men met each other with erected look,The steps were higher that they took; 125Friends to congratulate their friends made haste;And long inveterate Foes saluted as they past:Above the rest Heroick James appear’dExalted more, because he more had fear’d:His manly heart, whose Noble pride 130 Was still above Dissembled hate or varnisht love,Its more than common transport cou’d not hide;But like an Eagre rode in triumph o’re the tide. Thus, in alternate Course 135 The Tyrant passions, hope and fear, Did in extreams appear, And flasht upon the Soul with equal force.Thus, at half Ebb, a rowling Sea Returns, and wins upon the shoar; 140 The wat’ry Herd, affrighted at the roar,Rest on their Fins a while, and stay,Then backward take their wondring way;The Prophet wonders more than they, At Prodigies but rarely seen before, 145And cries a King must fall, or Kingdoms change their sway. Such were our counter-tydes at land, and so Presaging of the fatal blow, In their prodigious Ebb and flow.The Royal Soul, that, like the labouring Moon, 150By Charms of Art was hurried down,Forc’d with regret to leave her Native Sphear,Came but a while on liking here:Soon weary of the painful strife,And made but faint Essays of Life: 155 An Evening light Soon shut in Night;A strong distemper, and a weak relief,Short intervals of joy, and long returns of grief.
V
The Sons of Art all Med’cines try’d, 160And every Noble remedy applied,With emulation each essay’dHis utmost skill, nay more they pray’d:Never was losing game with better conduct plaid.Death never won a stake with greater toyl, 165Nor e’re was Fate so near a foil:But, like a fortress on a Rock,Th’ impregnable Disease their vain attempts did mock;They min’d it near, they batter’d from a farWith all the Cannon of the Med’cinal War; 170No gentle means could be essay’d,’Twas beyond parly when the siege was laid:The extreamest ways they first ordain,Prescribing such intolerable painAs none but Cæsar could sustain; 175Undaunted Cæsar underwentThe malice of their Art, nor bentBeneath what e’re their pious rigour cou’d invent.In five such days he suffer’d moreThan any suffer’d in his reign before; 180More, infinitely more than heAgainst the worst of Rebels cou’d decree,A Traytor, or twice pardon’d Enemy.Now Art was tir’d without success,No Racks could make the stubborn malady confess. 185 The vain Insurancers of life,And He who most perform’d and promis’d less, Even Short himself forsook the unequal strife.Death and despair was in their looks,No longer they consult their memories or books; 190Like helpless friends, who view from shoarThe labouring Ship and hear the tempest roar, So stood they with their arms across;Not to assist; but to deplore Th’ inevitable loss. 195
VI
Death was denounc’d; that frightful sound Which even the best can hardly bear; He took the Summons void of fear;And, unconcern’dly, cast his eyes around; As if to find and dare the griesly Challenger. 200What death cou’d do he lately try’d,When in four days he more then dy’d.The same assurance all his words did grace;The same Majestick mildness held its place,Nor lost the Monarch in his dying face. 205Intrepid, pious, merciful, and brave,He lookt as when he conquer’d and forgave.
VII
As if some Angel had been sentTo lengthen out his Government,And to foretel as many years again, 210As he had number’d in his happy reign,So chearfully he took the doom Of his departing breath; Nor shrunk, nor stept aside for death But, with unalter’d pace, kept on; 215Providing for events to come, When he resigned the Throne.Still he maintained his Kingly State;And grew familiar with his fate.Kind, good and gracious to the last, 220On all he lov’d before his dying beams he castOh truly good and truly great,For glorious as he rose benignly so he set!All that on earth he held most dearHe recommended to his Care, 225 To whom both heav’n The right had giv’n,And his own Love bequeath’d supream command:He took and prest that ever loyal hand,Which cou’d in Peace secure his Reign, 230Which cou’d in wars his Pow’r maintain,That hand on which no plighted vows were ever vain.Well for so great a trust, he chose A Prince who never disobey’d: Not when the most severe commands were laid; 235 Nor want, nor Exile with his duty weigh’d:A Prince on whom (if Heav’n its Eyes cou’d close)The Welfare of the World it safely might repose.
VIII
That King who liv’d to Gods own heart, Yet less serenely died than he; 240Charles left behind no harsh decreeFor Schoolmen with laborious art To salve from cruelty:Those, for whom love cou’d no excuses frame,He graciously forgot to name. 245Thus far my Muse, though rudely, has design’dSome faint resemblance of his Godlike mind:But neither Pen nor Pencil can expressThe parting Brothers tenderness:Though thats a term too mean and low; 250(The blest above a kinder word may know:) But what they did, and what they said,The Monarch who triumphant went, The Militant who staid,Like Painters, when their heigthning arts are spent, 255 I cast into a shade. That all-forgiving King, The type of him above, That inexhausted spring Of clemency and Love; 260Himself to his next self accus’d,And ask’d that Pardon which he ne’re refus’d:For faults not his, for guilt and CrimesOf Godless men, and of Rebellious times:For an hard Exile, kindly meant, 265When his ungrateful Country sentTheir best Camillus into banishment:And forc’d their Sov’raign’s Act, they could not his consent.Oh how much rather had that injur’d Chief Repeated all his sufferings past, 270 Then hear a pardon beg’d at last,Which given cou’d give the dying no relief:He bent, he sunk beneath his grief:His dauntless heart wou’d fain have heldFrom weeping, but his eyes rebell’d. 275Perhaps the Godlike Heroe in his breast Disdain’d, or was asham’d to show So weak, so womanish a woe,Which yet the Brother and the Friend so plenteously confest.
IX
Amidst that silent show’r, the Royal mind 280 An Easy passage found,
