By fex, and birth, and fate, and years, excel
In mind, in fame, in worth, in living well?
Oh! how had this begot idolatry,

If you had liv'd in the world's infancy,
When man's too-much religion made the best
Or deities, or femi-god at least ?

But we, forbidden this by piety,

Or, if we were not, by your modefty,

Will make our heafts 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 poffible, t' enjoy you long.

To his very much honoured

GODFATHER, MR. A. B.

I.

I LOVE (for that upon the wings of Fame
Shall perhaps mock Death, or Time's dart) my name;
I love it more, because 'twas giv'n by you;

I love it most, becaufe 'twas yotir name too :
For if I chance to flip, a conscious fhame
Plucks me, and bids me not defile your name.

II.

I'm glad that city t'whom I ow'd before

(But, ah me! Fate hath cross'd that willing fcore) 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.

5

ΤΟ

III.

I thank my careful Fate, which found out one
(When Nature had not licensed my tongue
Farther then cries) who should my office do;
I thank her more because fhe found out you,
In whofe each look I may a sentence fee,
In whofe each deed a teaching homily.

IV.

How fhall I pay this debt to you? my Fate
Denies me Indian pearl or Persian plate;
Which tho' it did not, to requite you thus,
Were to fend apples to Alcinous,

And fell the cunning'st way: no, when I can
In every leaf, in every verfe, write Man;

V.

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When my quill relisheth a school no more,
When my pen-feather'd Mufe hath learn'd to foar,
And gotten wings as well as feet, look then
For equal thanks from my unwearied pen;
Till future ages fay, 'twas you did give
A name to me, and I made your's to live.

TO HIS MISTRESS.

I.

TYRIAN dye why do you wear,
You whofe cheeks beft fcarlet are?

Why do you fo fondly pin

Pure linen o'er your skin,

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(Your skin, that's whiter far)

Cafting a dusky cloud before a ftat?

Why bears your neck a golden chain?
Did Nature make your hair in vain ?
Of gold most pure and fine,

With gems why do you shine?

They, neighbours to your eyes,

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Shew but like phosphor when the fun doth rise.

I would have all my Mistress' parts

Owe more to Nature than to arts;

I would not wooe the dress,

Or one whofe nights give less

Contentment than the day.

She's fair whose beauty only makes her gay."

IV.

For 'tis not buildings make a court,

Or pomp, but 'tis the king's refort.
If Jupiter down pour

Himself, and in a show'r

Hide fuch bright majesty,

Lefs than a golden one it cannot be.

Volume 1.

R

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TO A LADY WHO DESIRED

A SONG OF MR. COWLEY,

HE PRESENTED THIS FOLLOWING.

T.

COME, Poetry! and with you bring along
A rich and painted throng

Of nobleft words into my fong:
Into my numbers let them gently flow,
Soft and pure, and thick as fnow,
And turn thy numbers still to prove
Smooth as the smoothest sphere above,
And, like a sphere, harmoniously move.

II.

Little doft thou, vain Song! thy fortune know,

What thou art destin'd to,

And what the ftars intend to do.

Among a thousand songs but few can be

Born to the honour promis'd thee:

Eliza's felf fhall thee receive,

And a blefs'd being to thee give;

Thou on her fweet and tuneful voice fhalt live.

III.

Her warbling tongue shall freely with thee play,

Thou on her lips fhalt stray,

And dance upon the rofy way:

No prince alive that would not envy thee,
And count thee happier far than he :
And how shalt thou thy author crown!
When fair Eliza fhall be known

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To fing thy praife, when the but speaks her own. 24

TO THE LORD FALKLAND,

For his fafe return from the

NORTHERN EXPEDITION AGAINST THE SCOTS.

GREAT is thy charge, O North! be wise and just,
England commits her Falkland to thy trust:
Return him fafe: Learning would rather chuse
Her Bodley or her Vatican to lose.

All things that are but writ or printed there,
In his unbounded breast engraven are:
There all the Sciences together meet,
And ev'ry art does all her kindred greet,
Yet joftle not, nor quarrel; but as well
Agree as in fome common principle.
So in an army, govern'd right, we fee
(Tho' out of fev'ral countries rais'd it be)
That all their order and their place maintain,

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The English, Dutch, the Frenchmen, and the Dane.
So thousand divers fpecies fill the air,

Yet neither crowd nor mix confus'dly there;
Beasts, houses, trees, and men, together lie,
Yet enter undisturb'd into the eye.