Chapter XVIII: Introduction: To Thomas Flatman (3)

Intolerable racks!
Distend my soul no more,
Loud as the billows when they roar,
More dreadful than the hideous thunder-cracks.
Foes inappeasable, that slay
My best contents, around me stand,
Each like a Fury, with a torch in hand;
And fright me from the hopes of one good day.

II.

When I seclude myself, and say
How frolic will I be, 10
Unfetter'd from my company
I'll bathe me in felicity!
In come these guests,
Which Harpy-like defile my feasts:
Oh the damn'd dialogues, the cursèd talk
'Twixt us (my _Thoughts_) along a sullen walk.

III.

You, like the poisonous wine
The gallants quaff
To make 'em laugh,
And yet at last endure 20
From thence the tortures of a calenture,
Fool me with feign'd refections, till I lie
Stark raving in a Bedlam ecstasy.

IV.

Do I dread
The starry Throne and Majesty
Of that high God,
Who batters kingdoms with an iron rod,
And makes the mountains stagger with a nod?
That sits upon the glorious Bow,
Smiling at changes here below. 30
These goad me to his grand tribunal, where
They tell me I with horror must appear,
And antedate amazements by grim fear.

V.

Would I descry
Those happy souls' blest mansions 'bove the sky,
Invisible by mortal eye,
And in a noble speculation trace
A journey to that shining place;
Can I afford a sigh or two,
Or breathe a wish that I might thither go: 40
These clip my plumes, and chill my blazing love
That, O, I cannot, cannot soar above.

VI.

The fire that shines
In subterranean mines,
The crystall'd streams,
The sulphur rocks that glow upon
The torrid banks of Phlegeton;
Those sooty fiends which Nature keeps,
Bolted and barr'd up in the deeps;
Black caves, wide chasms, which who see confess 50
Types of the pit, so deep, so bottomless!
These mysteries, though I fain would not behold,
You to my view unfold:
Like an old Roman criminal, to the high
Tarpeian Hill you force me up, that I
May so be hurried headlong down, and die.

VII.

Mention not then
The strength and faculties of men;
Whose arts cannot expel
These anguishes, this bosom-Hell. 60
When down my aching head I lay,
In hopes to slumber them away;
Perchance I do beguile
The tyranny awhile,
One or two minutes, then they throng again,
And reassault me with a trebled pain:
Nay, though I sob in fetters, they
Spare me not then; perplex me each sad day,
And whom a very Turk would pity, slay.

VIII.

Hence, hence, my Jailors! _Thoughts_ be gone, 70
Let my tranquillities alone.
Shall I embrace
A crocodile, or place
My choice affections on the fatal dart,
That stabs me to the heart?
I hate your curst proximity,
Worse than the venom'd arrows-heads that be
Cramm'd in the quivers of my Destiny.

[_Against Thoughts._] Entitled in the Firth MS. _Thoughts: the
Answer to the other_, and dated May 18, 1659.]

[Line: 2 Distend] O tear _MS._]

[Line: 4 More dreadful than] Less dreadful are _MS._]

[Line: 5 Foes inappeasable] Too cruel enemies _MS._]

[Line: 19 'em] them _MS._]

[Line: 20 Yet thence at last procure _MS._: Yet chance at last
t' endure _1674_.]

[Line: 21 From thence the] The burning _MS._]

[Line: 22 refections] reflections _1674_.]

[Line: 26 high] great _MS._]

[Line: 30 changes here] us poor things _MS._]

[Line: 31 grand _1674-82_, _MS._: great _1686_.]

[Line: 47 torrid] burning _MS._]

[Line: 50 chasms] chasma's _MS._]

[Line: 54 old Roman criminal] adjudged offender _1674_.]

[Line: 56 headlong] headly _1674-82_.]

[Line: 58 and] nor _MS._]

[Line: 59 cannot] ne'er could _MS._]

[Line: 63 do] may _MS._]

[Line: 64 The] Their _MS._]

[Line: 65 throng] swarm _MS._]

[Line: 66 And reassault] Then they assault _MS._]

[Line: 67 sob] groan _MS._]

[Line: 68 each sad] every _MS._]

[Line: 70 _Thoughts_ be] get ye _MS._]

[Line: 75 Directed at my heart _MS._]

[The Firth MS. supplies very interesting evidence of Flatman's
care in revision; in l. 54 there is a curious reversion to the
original, and more effective, reading.]

_A Dooms-Day Thought._

_Anno 1659._

_Judgement!_ two syllables can make
The haughtiest son of Adam shake.
'Tis coming, and 'twill surely come,
The dawning to that Day of Doom;
O th' morning blush of that dread day,
When Heav'n and Earth shall steal away,
Shall in their pristine Chaos hide,
Rather than th' angry Judge abide.
'Tis not far off; methinks I see
Among the stars some dimmer be; 10
Some tremble, as their lamps did fear
A neighbouring extinguisher.
The greater luminaries fail,
Their glories by eclipses veil,
Knowing ere long their borrow'd light
Must sink in th' Universal Night.
When I behold a mist arise,
Straight to the same astonish'd eyes
Th' ascending clouds do represent
A scene of th' smoking firmament. 20
Oft when I hear a blustering wind
With a tempestuous murmur join'd,
I fancy, Nature in this blast
Practises how to breathe her last,
Or sighs for poor Man's misery,
Or pants for fair Eternity.
Go to the dull church-yard and see
Those hillocks of mortality,
Where proudest Man is only found
By a small swelling in the ground. 30
What crowds of carcases are made
Slaves to the pickaxe and the spade!
Dig but a foot, or two, to make
A cold bed, for thy dead friend's sake,
'Tis odds but in that scantling room
Thou robb'st another of his tomb,
Or in thy delving smit'st upon
A shinbone, or a cranion.
When th' prison's full, what next can be
But the Grand Gaol-Delivery? 40
The Great Assize, when the pale clay
Shall gape, and render up its prey;
When from the dungeon of the grave
The meagre throng themselves shall heave,
Shake off their linen chains, and gaze
With wonder, when the world shall blaze.
Then climb the mountains, scale the rocks,
Force op'n the deep's eternal locks,
Beseech the clifts to lend an ear--
Obdurate they, and will not hear. 50
What? ne'er a cavern, ne'er a grot,
To cover from the common lot?
No quite forgotten hold, to lie
Obscur'd, and pass the reck'ning by?
No--There's a quick all-piercing Eye
Can through the Earth's dark centre pry,
Search into th' bowels of the sea,
And comprehend Eternity.
What shall we do then, when the voice
Of the shrill trump with strong fierce noise 60
Shall pierce our ears, and summon all
To th' Universe' wide Judgement Hall?
What shall we do! we cannot hide,
Nor yet that scrutiny abide:
When enlarg'd conscience loudly speaks,
And all our bosom-secrets breaks;
When flames surround, and greedy Hell
Gapes for a booty (_who can dwell
With everlasting Burnings!_), when
Irrevocable words shall pass on men; 70
Poor naked men, who sometimes thought
These frights perhaps would come to nought!
What shall we do! we cannot run
For refuge, or the strict Judge shun.
'Tis too late _then_ to think what course to take;
While we live here, we must provision make.

[_A Dooms-Day Thought._] This, the last of Flatman's three
poems on the _Novissima_, is perhaps not the worst; except
for those who hate 'conceits'. It has a curious _genuineness_,
though in manner it slightly resembles his friend Cotton's
'New Year' poem so highly and rightly praised by Lamb.]

_Virtus sola manet, caetera mortis erunt._

I.

_Nunquam sitivi, quae vehit aureo_
_Pactolus alveo flumina; quo magis_
_Potatur Hermus, tanto avarae_
_Mentis Hydrops sitibundus ardet_.

II.

_Frustrà caduci carceris incola_
_Molirer Arces; quilibet angulus_
_Sat ossa post manes reponet;_
_Exiguum satis est Sepulchrum_.

III.

_Nil stemma penso, nil titulos moror_,
_Cerásve aviti sanguinis indices_, 10
_Sunt ista fatorum, inque Lethes_
_Naufragium patientur undis_.

IV.

_Ergo in quieto pectoris ambitu_
_Quid mens anhelas fulgura gloriae_,
_Laudésque inanes, et loquacem_
_Quae populi sedet ore famam?_

V.

_Letho superstes gloria, somnii_
_Dulcedo vana est, fama malignior_
_Nil tangit umbras, nec feretrum_
_Ingreditur Popularis Aura_. 20

VI.

_Mansura sector, sola sed invidi_
_Expers Sepulchri sidera trajicit_,
_Spernénsque fatorum tumultus_
_Pellit humum generosa Virtus._

VII.

_Praeceps novorum caetera mensium_
_Consumet aetas, seraque temporis_
_Delebit annosi vetustas_
_Utopicae nova Regna Lunae_.

[_Virtus sola manet._] These Alcaics look like a college
exercise, in which kind there have been worse. The third
lines, as usual, are the weakest parts. But the English is
perhaps better. The decasyllabic quatrain, though practised by
Davies, by Davenant, and recently and best of all by Dryden,
in _Annus Mirabilis_, has qualities which it remained for Gray
to bring out fully, but which Flatman has not quite missed
here. I wonder if Gray knew the piece, especially Stanza III?]

_Translated._

I.

I never thirsted for the Golden Flood,
Which o'er Pactolus' wealthy sands does roll,
From whence the covetous mind receives no good,
But rather swells the dropsy of his soul.

II.

On palaces why should I set my mind,
Imprison'd in this body's mould'ring clay?
Ere long to poor six foot of earth confin'd,
Whose bones must crumble at the fatal day.

III.

Titles and pedigrees, what are they to me,
Or honour gain'd by our forefathers' toil, 10
The sport of Fate, whose gaudiest pageantry
Lethe will wash out, dark Oblivion soil?

IV.

Why then, my soul, who fain wouldst be at ease,
Should the World's glory dazzle thy bright eye?
Thyself with vain applause why shouldst thou please,
Or dote on Fame, which fools may take from thee?

V.

Praise after death is but a pleasant dream,
The Dead fare ne'er the worse for ill report;
The Ghosts below know nothing of a name,
Nor ever popular caresses court. 20

VI.

Give me the lasting Good, Virtue, that flies
Above the clouds, that tramples on dull earth,
Exempt from Fate's tumultuous mutinies,
Virtue, that cannot need a second birth.

VII.

All other things must bend their heads to Time,
By age's mighty torrent borne away,
Hereafter no more thought on than my rhyme,
Or faery kingdoms in Utopia.

_Psalm xv. Paraphrased._

Verse I.

Who shall approach the dread Jehovah's Throne
Or dwell within thy courts, O Holy One!
That happy man whose feet shall tread the road
Up Sion's Hill, that holy Hill of God!

Verse II.

He that's devout and strict in all he does,
That through the sinful world uprightly goes,
The desp'rate heights from whence the great ones fall
(Giddy with Fame) turn not his head at all:
Stands firm on Honour's pinnacle, and so
Fears not the dreadful precipice below. 10
Of Conscience, not of Man, he stands in awe,
Just to observe each tittle of the Law!
His words and thoughts bear not a double part,
His breast is open, and he speaks his heart.

Verse III.

He that reviles not, or with cruel words
(Deadly as venom, sharp as two-edg'd swords)
Murthers his friend's repute, nor dares believe
That rumour which his neighbour's soul may grieve:
But with kind words embalms his bleeding Name,
Wipes off the rust, and polishes his fame. 20

Verse IV.

He in whose eyes the bravest sinners be
Extremely vile, though rob'd in majesty;
But if he spies a righteous man (though poor)
Him he can honour, love, admire, adore:
In Israel's humble plains had rather stay,
Than in the tents of Kedar bear the sway:
He that severely keeps his sacred vow,
No mental reservation dares allow,
But what he swears, intends; will rather die,
Lose all he has, than tell a solemn lie. 30

Verse V.

He that extorts not from the needy soul,
When laws his tyranny cannot control;
He whom a thousand empires cannot hire,
Against a guiltless person to conspire.
He that has these perfections, needs no more;
What treasures can be added to his store?
The Pyramids shall turn to dust, to hide
Their own vast bulk, and haughty Founders' pride.
Leviathan shall die within his deep;
The eyes of Heaven close in eternal sleep; 40
Confusion may o'erwhelm both sea and land;
Mountains may tumble down, but he shall stand.

[_Psalm xv._] In the Firth MS.: the chief variant is 'brains'
for 'head' in l. 8.]

_Job._

Few be the days that feeble man must breath,
Yet frequent troubles antedate his death:
Gay like a flow'r he comes, which newly grown,
Fades of itself, or is untimely mown:
Like a thin aery shadow does he fly,
Length'ning and short'ning still until he die.
And does Jehovah think on such a one,
Does he behold him from his mighty Throne?
Will he contend with such a worthless thing,
Or dust and ashes into Judgement bring? 10

Unclean, unclean is man ev'n from the womb,
Unclean he falls into his drowsy tomb.
Surely, he cannot answer God, nor be
Accounted pure, before such purity.

[_Job._] In the Firth MS., which records that it was set by
William Hawes.]

_Nudus Redibo._

Naked I came, when I began to be
A man among the Sons of Misery,
Tender, unarm'd, helpless, and quite forlorn,
E'er since 'twas my hard fortune to be born;
And when the space of a few weary days
Shall be expir'd, then must I go my ways.
Naked I shall return, and nothing have,
Nothing wherewith to bribe my hungry Grave.
Then what's the proudest Monarch's glittering robe,
Or what's he, more than I, that rul'd the globe? 10
Since we must all without distinction die,
And slumber both stark naked, he and I.

[_Nudus Redibo._] In the Firth MS., and dated June 15, 1660.
It was set by William Gregory.]

[Line: 4 hard fortune] misfortune _MS._]

[Line: 7 I shall] shall I _MS._]

[Line: 9 glittering] pearly _MS._]

_An Elegy on the Earl of Sandwich._

If there were aught in Verse at once could raise
Or tender pity or immortal praise,
Thine obsequies, brave Sandwich, would require
Whatever would our nobler thoughts inspire;
But since thou find'st by thy unhappy fate,
What 'tis to be unfortunately great,
And purchase Honour at too dear a rate:
The Muse's best attempt, howe'er design'd,
Cannot but prove impertinently kind,
Thy glorious valour is a theme too high 10
For all the humble arts of Poesy.
To side with chance and kingdoms overrun
Are little things ambitious men have done;
But on a flaming ship thus to despise
That life, which others did so highly prize;
To fight with fire, and struggle with a wave,
And Neptune with unwearied arms outbrave,
Are deeds surpassing fab'lous chronicle,
And which no future age shall parallel;
Leviathan himself's outdone by thee, 20
Thou greater _wonder of the deep_, than he:
Nor could the deep thy mighty ashes hold.
The deep that swallows diamonds and gold;
Fame ev'n thy sacred relics does pursue,
Richer than all the treasures of Peru:
While the kind sea thy breathless body brings
Safe to the bed of honour and of kings.

[_Elegy on the Earl of Sandwich._] Pepys's (the first) Earl,
who perished at the fight of Solebay in 1672. The duplication
(see next piece) looks as if Flatman had had some personal
connexion with him. At any rate there are expressions which
are not the mere conventions of such writing. Line 6, and in
fact the whole vigorous triplet in which it occurs, must be
connected with the nearly certain facts that Sandwich's advice
would have prevented the most unfavourable of the conditions
under which the English fought; that the Duke of York not only
would not listen but hinted at cowardice on Sandwich's part;
and that the Earl in consequence, not only, as Mr. David
Hannay (_A Short History of the Royal Navy_, i. 423) says,
'fought the ship on this the last and most glorious day of his
life, with determined courage', but refused to attempt to save
his life by swimming, when she was grappled by a fireship and
burnt. Moreover, the last lines express the fact that the body
was only recovered after being washed ashore some days after
the battle, when it was duly buried in Westminster Abbey, 'the
bed of honour and of kings'.]

_An Epitaph on the Earl of Sandwich._

Here lies the dust of that illustrious man,
That triumph'd o'er the Ocean;
Who for his country nobly courted Death,
And dearly sold his glorious breath,
Or in a word, in this cold narrow grave
Sandwich the Good, the Great, the Brave
(Oh frail estate of sublunary things!),
Lies equal here with England's greatest kings.

_Pastoral._

I.

At break of day poor Celadon
Hard by his sheepfolds walk'd alone,
His arms across, his head bow'd down,
His oaten pipe beside him thrown,
When Thirsis, hidden in a thicket by,
Thus heard the discontented Shepherd cry.

II.

What is it Celadon has done,
That all his happiness is gone!
The curtains of the dark are drawn,
And cheerful morn begins to dawn, 10
Yet in my breast 'tis ever dead of night,
That can admit no beam of pleasant light.

III.

You pretty lambs may leap and play
To welcome the new-kindled day,
Your shepherd harmless, as are you,
Why is he not as frolic too?
If such disturbance th' innocent attend,
How differs he from them that dare offend!

IV.

Ye Gods! or let me die, or live,
If I must die, why this reprieve? 20
If you would have me live, O why
Is it with me as those that die!
I faint, I gasp, I pant, my eyes are set,
My cheeks are pale, and I am living yet.

V.

Ye Gods! I never did withhold
The fattest lamb of all my fold,
But on your altars laid it down,
And with a garland did it crown.
Is it in vain to make your altar smoke?
Is it all one, to please, and to provoke? 30

VI.

Time was that I could sit and smile,
Or with a dance the time beguile:
My soul like that smooth lake was still,
Bright as the sun behind yon hill,
Like yonder stately mountain clear and high,
Swift, soft, and gay as that same butterfly.

VII.

But now _within_ there's Civil War,
In arms my rebel passions are,
Their old allegiance laid aside,
The traitors now in triumph ride 40
That many-headed monster has thrown down
Its lawful monarch, Reason, from its throne.

VIII.

See, unrelenting Sylvia, see,
All this, and more, is 'long of thee:
For ere I saw that charming face,
Uninterrupted was my peace,
Thy glorious beamy eyes have struck me blind,
To my own soul the way I cannot find.

IX.

Yet is it not thy fault nor mine;
Heav'n is to blame, that did not shine 50
Upon us both with equal rays--
It made thine bright, mine gloomy days;
To Sylvia beauty gave, and riches store;
All Celadon's offence is, he is poor.

X.

Unlucky stars poor shepherds have,
Whose love is fickle Fortune's slave:
Those golden days are out of date,
When every turtle chose his mate:
_Cupid_, that mighty Prince, then uncontroll'd,
Now like a little negro's bought and sold. 60

[_Pastoral._] 36 that _1682_; the _1686_.]

_On the Death of Mr. Pelham Humfries._

_Pastoral Song._

Did you not hear the hideous groan,
The shrieks, and heavy moan
That spread themselves o'er all the pensive plain;
And rent the breast of many a tender swain?
'Twas for Amintas, dead and gone.
Sing, ye forsaken shepherds, sing _His_ praise
In careless melancholy lays,
Lend _Him_ a little doleful breath:
Poor Amintas! cruel Death!
'Twas _Thou_ couldst make dead words to live, 10
Thou that dull numbers couldst inspire
With charming voice and tuneful lyre,
That life to all, but to _Thyself_, couldst give;
Why couldst _Thou_ not _Thy_ wondrous art bequeath?
Poor Amintas! cruel Death!
Sing, pious shepherds, while you may,
Before th' approaches of the Fatal Day:
For you yourselves that sing this mournful song,
Alas! ere it be long,
Shall, like Amintas, breathless be, 20
Though more forgotten in the grave than _He_.

[_On the Death of Mr. Pelham Humfries._] Pelham Humfries or
Humfrey died in the year (1674) of first publication of these
Poems. He was a musician and gentleman of the Chapel Royal.]

[Line: 21 than _1682_; that _1686_.]

_The Mistake._

_SONG._

I heard a young lover in terrible pain,
From whence if he pleas'd, he might soon be releas'd,
He swore, and he vow'd again and again,
He could not outlive the turmoils of his breast;
But, alas, the young lover I found
Knew little how cold Love would prove under ground;
Why should I believe, prithee, Love, tell me why,
Where my own flesh and blood must give me the lie!
Let 'em rant while they will, and their destinies brave,
They'll find their flames vanish on this side the grave; 10
For though all addresses on purpose are made
To be _huddled to bed_,--'tisn't meant, _with a spade!_

_The Incredulous._

_SONG._

I'll ne'er believe for Strephon's sake
That Love (whate'er its fond pretences be),
Is not a slave to mutability.
The Moon and that alike of change partake:
Tears are weak, and cannot bind,
Vows, alas! but empty wind:
The greatest art that Nature gave
To th' amorous hypocrite to make him kind,
Long ere he dies will take its leave.
Had you but seen, as I have done, 10
Strephon's tears, and heard his moan,
How pale his cheek, how dim his eye,
As if with Chloris he resolv'd to die;
And when her spotless soul was fled
Heard his amazing praises of the dead;
Yet in a very little time address
His flame t' another Shepherdess,
In a few days giving his love the lie,
You'd be as great an infidel as I.

_Weeping at Parting._

_SONG._

I.

Go, gentle Oriana, go,
Thou seest the Gods will have it so;
Alas! alas! 'tis much in vain
Of their ill usage to complain,
To curse them when we want relief,
Lessens our courage, not our grief:
Dear Oriana, wipe thine eye,
The time may come that thou and I
Shall meet again, long, long to prove
What vigour absence adds to love. 10
Smile, Oriana, then, and let me see
That look again, which stole my liberty.

II.

But say that Oriana die
(And that sad moment may be nigh),
The Gods that for a year can sever,
If it please them, can part us ever;
They that refresh, can make us weep,
And into Death can lengthen sleep.
Kind Oriana, should I hear
The thing I so extremely fear, 20
'Twill not be strange, if it be said,
After a while, I too am dead.
Weep, Oriana, weep, for who does know
Whether we e'er shall meet again below?

[_Weeping at Parting._] In the Firth MS., entitled 'To Oriana
weeping at parting', and dated December 31, 1664; 'Set by Mr.
Roger Hill.' In l. 3 the MS. reads 'but' for 'much'.]

_The Desperate Lover._

I.

O mighty King of Terrors, come!
Command thy slave to his long home:
Great sanctuary Grave! to thee
In throngs the miserable flee;
Encircled in thy frozen arms,
They bid defiance to their harms,
Regardless of those pond'rous little things
That discompose th' uneasy heads of kings.

II.

In the cold earth the pris'ner lies
Ransom'd from all his miseries; 10
Himself forgotten, he forgets
His cruel creditors, and debts;
And there in everlasting peace
Contentions with their authors cease.
A turf of grass or monument of stone
Umpires the petty competition.

III.

The disappointed lover there,
Breathes not a sigh, nor sheds a tear;
With us (fond fools) he never shares
In sad perplexities and cares; 20
The willow near his tomb that grows
Revives his memory, not his woes;
Or rain, or shine, he is advanc'd above
Th' affronts of Heaven and stratagems of Love.

IV.

Then, mighty King of Terrors, come,
Command thy slave to his long home.
And thou, my friend, that lov'st me best,
Seal up these eyes that brake my rest;
Put out the lights, bespeak my knell,
And then eternally farewell. 30
'Tis all th' amends our wretched Fates can give,
That none can force a desperate man to live.

[_The Desperate Lover._] 28 'brake', if right, must mean 'used
to break' by making me behold 'Love or some other vanity'.]

_The Fatigue._

_A SONG._

Adieu, fond World, and all thy wiles,
Thy haughty frowns, and treacherous smiles,
They that behold thee with my eyes,
Thy double dealing will despise:
From thee, false World, my deadly foe,
Into some desert let me go;
Some gloomy melancholy cave,
Dark and silent as the grave;
Let me withdraw, where I may be
From thine impertinences free:
There when I hear the turtle groan, 10
How sweetly would I make my moan!
Kind Philomel would teach me there
My sorrows pleasantly to bear:
There could I correspond with none
But Heaven, and my own breast alone.

_The Resolve._

_SONG._

I.

Had Phyllis neither charms, nor graces
More than the rest of women wear,
Levell'd by Fate with common faces,
Yet Damon could esteem her fair.

II.

Good-natur'd Love can soon forgive
Those petty injuries of Time,
And all th' affronts of years impute
To her misfortune, not her crime.

III.

Wedlock puts Love upon the rack,
Makes it confess 'tis still the same 10
In icy age, as it appear'd
At first when all was lively flame.

IV.

If Hymen's slaves, whose ears are bored,
Thus constant by compulsion be,
Why should not choice endear us more
Than them their hard necessity?

V.

Phyllis! 'tis true, thy glass does run,
But since mine too keeps equal pace,
My silver hairs may trouble thee,
As much as me thy ruin'd face. 20

VI.

Then let us constant be as Heaven,
Whose laws inviolable are,
Not like those rambling meteors there
That foretell ills, and disappear.

VII.

So shall a pleasing calm attend
Our long uneasy destiny,
So shall our loves and lives expire,
From storms and tempests ever free.

[_The Resolve._] The superiority of the first stanza of this
to the rest, and the reason of that superiority (the double
rhyme 'graces' and 'faces'), are both clear enough. But what
is not clear is why Flatman--who, if no great poet, seems
usually to have been at no loss for verse or rhyme--should
have suddenly run dry of the latter in his first and third
lines. If he had not been so stingy the piece might have been
worth something. It is not quite worthless as it is.]

_Love's Bravo._

_SONG._

Why should we murmur, why repine,
Phyllis, at thy fate, or mine?
Like pris'ners, why do we those fetters shake;
Which neither thou, nor I can break?
There is a better way to baffle Fate,
If mortals would but mind it,
And 'tis not hard to find it:
Who would be happy, must be desperate;
He must despise those stars that fright
Only fools that dread the night; 10
Time and chance he must outbrave,
He that crouches is their slave.
Thus the wise Pagans, ill at ease,
Bravely chastis'd their surly Deities.

_The Expectation._

_SONG._

I.

Why did I ever see those glorious eyes
My famish'd soul to tantalize?
I hop'd for Heav'n, which I had lately seen,
But ne'er perceiv'd the gulf between:
In vain for bliss did my presumptions seek,
My love so strong
I could not hold my tongue,
My heart so feeble that I durst not speak.

II.

Yet why do I my constitution blame,
Since all my heart is out of frame? 10
'Twere better, sure, my passion to appease,
With hope to palliate my disease:
And 'twill be something like tranquillity,
To hope for that
I must not compass yet,
And make a virtue of necessity.

[_The Expectation._] In the Firth MS. entitled 'Song', and
dated July 11, 1671. It was set by Roger Hill. The chief
variants are:--

[Line: 5 presumptions] presumption.]

[Line: 8 that] yet.]

[Line: 14 hope for] think of.]

[Line: 15 must not compass] may not purchase.]

_Coridon Converted._

_SONG._

I.

When Coridon a slave did lie,
Entangled in his Phyllis' eye,
How did he sigh! how did he groan!
How melancholy was his tone!
He told his story to the woods,
And wept his passion by the floods;
Then Phyllis, cruel Phyllis, too to blame,
Regarded not his sufferings, nor his flame.

II.

Then Coridon resolv'd no more
His mistress' mercy to implore; 10
How did he laugh, how did he sing!
How did he make the forest ring!
He told his conquest to the woods,
And drown'd his passion in the floods:
Then Phyllis, gentle Phyllis, less severe,
Would have had him, but he would none of her.

[_Coridon Converted._] In the Firth MS. entitled 'Song', and
dated April 29, 1664. It was set by William Gregory. The MS.
yields some important corrections:--'conquest' and 'passion'
in ll. 13, 14, for the plural of the printed texts; and
'gentle Phyllis' in l. 15 for 'cruel Phyllis'. The plural
'woods' and 'floods' perhaps account for the former variants;
the latter is evidently an attempt to adhere strictly to the
refrain.]

_The Humourist._

_SONG._

I.

Good faith! I never was but once so mad
To dote upon an idle woman's face,
And then, alas! my fortune was so bad
To see another chosen in my place;
And yet I courted her, I'm very sure,
With love as true as his was, and as pure.

II.

But if I ever be so fond again
To undertake the second part of love,
To reassume that most unmanlike pain,
Or after shipwreck do the ocean prove; 10
My mistress must be gentle, kind, and free,
Or I'll be as indifferent as she.

[_The Humourist._]: In the Firth MS. entitled 'Song',
and dated April 29, 1664. It was set by William Gregory. In
the MS. the poem opens 'In faith'.]

_Fading Beauty._

_SONG._

I.

As poor Aurelia sate alone,
Hard by a rivulet's flow'ry side,
Envious at Nature's new-born pride,
Her slighted self she thus reflected on.

II.

Alas! that Nature should revive
These flowers, which after Winter's snow
Spring fresh again, and brighter show,
But for our fairer sex so ill contrive!

III.

Beauty, like theirs a short-liv'd thing,
On us in vain she did bestow, 10
Beauty that only once can grow,
An Autumn has, but knows no second Spring.

_A Dialogue._

CLORIS AND PARTHENISSA.

_C._ Why dost thou all address deny?
Hard-hearted Parthenissa, why?
See how the trembling lovers come,
That from thy lips expect their doom.
_P._ Cloris! I hate them all, they know,
Nay I have often told them so;
Their silly politics abhorr'd:
I scorn to make my slave my lord.
_C._ But Strephon's eyes proclaim his love
Too brave, tyrannical to prove. 10
_P._ Ah, Cloris! when we lose our pow'r
We must obey the conqueror.
_C._ Yet where a gentle Prince bears sway,
It is no bondage to obey.
_P._ But if like Nero, for awhile,
With arts of kindness he beguile;
How shall the tyrant be withstood
When he has writ his laws in blood!
_C._ Love, Parthenissa, all commands:
It fetters Kings in charming bands; 20
Mars yields his arms to Cupid's darts,
And Beauty softens savage hearts.

Chorus.

_If nothing else can pull the Tyrant down,
Kill him with kindness, and the day's your own._

[_A Dialogue._] 22 And] But _1674_.]

_A Dialogue._

ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE.

_Orpheus._

Eurydice, my fair, my fair Eurydice!
My love, my joy, my life, if so thou be
In Pluto's kingdom answer me; appear
And come to thy poor Orpheus.----

_Eur._ Oh, I hear,
I hear, dear Orpheus, but I cannot come
Beyond the bounds of dull Elysium.
I cannot----

_Orph._ And why wilt thou not draw near?
Is there within these courts a shade so dear
As he that calls thee?

_Eur._ No, there cannot be
A thing so lovely in mine eyes as thee. 10
_Orph._ Why comes not then Eurydice?

_Eur._ The Fates,
The Fates forbid, and these eternal gates,
Never unbarr'd to let a pris'ner go,
Deny me passage; nay, grim Cerberus too
Stands at the door----

_Orph. _But cannot then
They that o'er Lethe go, return again?
_Eur._ Never, oh never!----

_Orph._ Sure they may, let's try
If Art can null the Laws of Destiny.
My lays compacted Thebes, made every tree
Loosen its roots to caper; come let's see 20
What thou and I can do.

_Chor._ Perchance the throng
Of Ghosts may be enchanted with a song,
And mov'd to pity.----

_Eur._ Hark! the hinges move,
The gate's unbarr'd. I come, I come, my Love!

_Chorus amborum._

'Twas Music, only Music, could unspell
Helpless, undone Eurydice from Hell.

[_A Dialogue._] Dated in the Firth MS. September 15, 1663; it
was set to music by W. Gregory.]

_The Bachelor's Song._

Like a dog with a bottle, fast ty'd to his tail,
Like vermin in a trap, or a thief in a jail,
Like a Tory in a bog,
Or an ape with a clog:
Such is the man, who when he might go free,
Does his liberty lose
For a Matrimony noose,
And sells himself into captivity.

The dog he does howl, when his bottle does jog,
The vermin, the thief, and the Tory in vain 10
Of the trap, of the jail, of the quagmire complain.
But well fare poor Pug! for he plays with his clog;
And though he would be rid on 't rather than his life,
Yet he lugs it, and he hugs it, as a man does his wife.

[_The Bachelor's Song_]. In the Firth MS. entitled 'Song',
and dated 1670. See Introduction for the rather obvious
legend connected with this profane doggerel. As proof of its
popularity it may be noted that versions of it appear in the
_Windsor Drollery_, 1672, and the _Westminster Drollery_,
1691; in the latter there are also _The Bachelors Satyr
Related_ and _A Reply to The Bachelors Satyr Related_. These
unauthorized versions have a number of minor variants.]

[Line: 3 Like] Or like _1674-82_. 'Tory' in the original, not
the transferred sense, which latter Flatman seems himself to
have well deserved.]

[Line: 5 Such is the] Even such is a _MS._ might go] may be
_MS._]

[Line: 9 his] the _1686_.]

[Line: 10 and] _om. MS._]

[Line: 11 quagmire] bog do _MS._]

_The Second Part._

_SONG._

How happy a thing were a wedding
And a bedding,
If a man might purchase a wife
For a twelvemonth and a day;
But to live with her all a man's life,
For ever and for ay,
Till she grow as grey as a cat,
Good faith, Mr. Parson, I thank you for that.

_An Appeal to Cats in the business of Love._

_A SONG._

Ye cats that at midnight spit love at each other,
Who best feel the pangs of a passionate lover,
I appeal to your scratches and your tattered fur,
If the business of Love be no more than to purr.
Old Lady Grimalkin with her gooseberry eyes,
Knew something when a kitten, for why she was wise;
You find by experience, the love-fit's soon o'er,
_Puss! Puss!_ lasts not long, but turns to _Cat-whore!_
Men ride many miles,
Cats tread many tiles,
Both hazard their necks in the fray;
Only Cats, when they fall
From a house or a wall,
Keep their feet, mount their tails, and away!

[_An appeal to Cats._] Added in _1686_. It is a pity we do not
possess the tune to which Mr. Humfries, or somebody else, most
probably set this lively fantasy. It is quite in the style of
Dr. Blow, Humfries's friend and colleague.]

_Advice to an Old Man of sixty-three, about to Marry a Girl of sixteen._

_SONG._

I.

Now fie upon him! what is Man,
Whose life at best is but a span?
When to an inch it dwindles down,
Ice in his bones, snow on his crown,
That he within his crazy brain
Kind thoughts of Love should entertain,
That he, when harvest comes, should plow,
And when 'tis time to reap, go sow,
Who, in imagination only strong,
Though twice a child, can never twice grow young. 10

II.

Nature did those design for fools,
That sue for work, yet have no tools.
What fellow-feeling can there be
In such a strange disparity?
Old age mistakes the youthful breast,
Love dwells not there, but Interest:
Alas, good man! take thy repose,
Get ribband for thy thumbs and toes.
Provide thee flannel, and a sheet of lead,--
Think on thy Coffin, not thy Bridal Bed. 20

_The Slight._

_SONG._

I.

I did but crave that I might kiss,
If not her lip, at least her hand,
The coolest Lover's frequent bliss,
And rude is she that will withstand
That inoffensive liberty:
She (would you think it?) in a fume
Turn'd her about and left the room;
Not she, she vow'd, not she.

II.

Well, Chariessa, then said I,
If it must thus for ever be, 10
I can renounce my slavery,
And since you will not, can be free.
Many a time she made me die,
Yet (would you think 't?) I lov'd the more,
But I'll not take 't as heretofore,
Not I, I'll vow, not I.

[_The Slight._]: In the Firth MS., a first draft, dated
August, 1666, and recorded as having been set to music by
Sylvanus Taylor. The variants are important:--]

[Line: 3 frequent] hourly.]

[Lines: 4-5 Which at his wish he may command, Nay, often takes
the liberty. The copy in Rawlinson MS. D. 260 (fol. 27 verso)
has the same readings.]

_The Penitent._

_SONG._

I.

Had I but known some years ago
What wretched lovers undergo,
The tempests and the storms that rise
From their Belovèd's dangerous eyes,
With how much torment they endure
That ague and that calenture;
Long since I had my error seen,
Long since repented of my sin:
Too late the soldier dreads the trumpet's sound
That newly has receiv'd his mortal wound. 10

II.

But so adventurous was I
My fortunes all alone to try,
Needs must I kiss the burning light,
Because it shin'd, because 'twas bright.
My heart with youthful heat on fire,
I thought some God did me inspire;
And that blind zeal embold'ned me
T' attempt Althea's Deity.
Surely those happy Pow'rs that dwell above,
Or never courted, or enjoy'd their love. 20

[_The Penitent._] In the Firth MS. entitled 'Song', and dated
1671. It was set by Roger Hill.]

[Line: 9 dreads: loathes _MS._]

[Line: 15 heart: breast _MS._]

[Line: 18 The reference, if any, to the _classical_ story of
Althea is so confused and muddled that perhaps there is none.
See _The Surrender_, below.]

_The Defiance._

_SONG._

I.

Be not too proud, imperious Dame,
Your charms are transitory things,
May melt, while you at Heaven aim,
Like Icarus's waxen wings;
And you a part in his misfortunes bear,
Drown'd in a briny Ocean of despair.

II.

You think your beauties are above
The Poet's brain and Painter's hand,
As if upon the Throne of Love
You only should the world command: 10
Yet know, though you presume your title true,
There are pretenders that will rival you.

III.

There's an experienc'd rebel, Time,
And in his squadron's Poverty;
There's Age that brings along with him
A terrible artillery:
And if against all these thou keep'st thy crown,
Th' usurper Death will make thee lay it down.

[_The Defiance._] 5 misfortunes _1682_: misfortune _1686_.]

[Line: 14 'squadron's' is not apostrophated in original, but
the practice in this respect is so loose as to be of no value.
The plural would make sense, of course.]

_The Surrender._

_SONG._

I yield, I yield! Divine Althaea, see
How prostrate at thy feet I bow,
Fondly in love with my captivity,
So weak am I, so mighty thou!
Not long ago I could defy,
Arm'd with wine and company,
Beauty's whole artillery:
Quite vanquish'd now by thy miraculous charms,
Here, fair Althaea, take my arms,
For sure he cannot be of human race,
That can resist so bright, so sweet a face.

_The Whim._

_SONG._

I.

Why so serious, why so grave?
Man of business, why so muddy?
Thyself from Chance thou canst not save
With all thy care and study.
Look merrily then, and take thy repose;
For 'tis to no purpose to look so forlorn,
Since the World was as bad before thou wert born,
And when it will mend who knows?
And a thousand year hence 'tis all one,
If thou lay'st on a dunghill, or sat'st on a throne. 10

II.

To be troubled, to be sad,
Carking mortal, 'tis a folly,
For a pound of Pleasure's not so bad
As an ounce of Melancholy:
Since all our lives long we travel towards Death,
Let us rest us sometimes, and bait by the way,
'Tis but dying at last; in our race let us stay,
And we shan't be so soon out of breath.
Sit the comedy out, and that done,
When the play's at an end, let the curtain fall down. 20

_The Renegado._

_SONG._

I.

Remov'd from fair Urania's eyes
Into a village far away:
Fond Astrophil began to say,
Thy charms, Urania, I despise;
Go bid some other shepherd for thee die,
That never understood thy tyranny.

II.

Return'd at length the amorous swain,
Soon as he saw his deity,
Ador'd again, and bow'd his knee,
Became her slave, and wore her chain. 10
The Needle thus that motionless did lie,
Trembles, and moves, when the lov'd Loadstone's nigh.

[_The Renegado._] In the Firth MS. entitled 'Song', and dated
1671. 'Set by Roger Hill.']

_Phyllis withdrawn._

I.

I did but see her, and she's snatch'd away,
I find I did but happy seem;
So small a while did my contentments stay,
As short and pleasant as a dream:
Yet such are all our satisfactions here,
They raise our hopes, and then they disappear.

II.

Ill-natur'd Stars, that evermore conspire
To quench poor Strephon's flame,
To stop the progress of his swift desire,
And leave him but an aëry name; 10
Why art thou doom'd (of no pretences proud)
Ixion-like thus to embrace a cloud?

III.

Yet why should Strephon murmur, why complain,
Or envy Phyllis her delight,
Why should her pleasures be to him a pain,
Easier perhaps out of his sight?
No, Strephon, no! If Phyllis happy be,
Thou shouldst rejoice, whate'er becomes of thee.

IV.

Amidst the charming glories of the spring
In pleasant fields and goodly bowers, 20
Indulgent Nature seems concern'd to bring
All that may bless her innocent hours,
While thy disastrous Fate has tied thee down
To all the noise and tumult of the Town.

V.

Strephon that for himself expects no good
To Phyllis wishes everywhere
A long serenity without a cloud,
Sweet as these smiles of th' infant year.
May Halcyons in her bosom build their nest,
Whatever storms shall discompose my breast. 30

[_Phyllis withdrawn._] The first stanza is a good example of
the purely haphazard character of typographical peculiarities
at the time. There is not a capital in the original, though
in that original elsewhere one would find 'Contentments',
'Dream', 'Satisfactions', and 'Hopes', if not others as well.]

_The Malecontent._

_SONG._

Phyllis, O Phyllis! Thou art fondly vain,
My wavering thoughts thus to molest,
Why should my pleasure be the only pain,
That must torment my easy breast?
If with Prometheus I had stolen fire,
Fire from above,
As scorching, and as bright, as that of Love,
I might deserve Jove's ire,
A vulture then might on my liver feed,
But now eternally I bleed, 10
And yet on Thee, on Thee lies all the blame,
Who freely gav'st the fuel and the flame.

[_The Malecontent._] 5 'Stoll'n' in original, though the
valued 'èn' is indispensable for the metre.]

_The Indifferent._

_SONG._

Prithee confess for my sake and your own,
Am I the man or no?
If I am he, thou canst not do 't too soon,
If not, thou canst not be too slow.
If Woman cannot love, Man's folly's great
Your sex with so much zeal to treat;
But if we freely proffer to pursue
Our tender thoughts and spotless love,
Which nothing shall remove,
And you despise all this, pray what are you?

_The Harbour._

_SONG._

O tedious hopes! when will the storm be o'er!
When will the beaten vessel reach the shore!
Long have I striv'n with blust'ring winds and tides,
Clouds o'er my head, waves on my sides!
Which in my dark adventures high did swell,
While Heaven was black as Hell.
O Love, tempestuous Love, yet, yet at last,
Let me my anchor cast,
And for the troubles I have undergone,
O bring me to a port which I may call my own. 10

_The Unconcerned._

_SONG._

Now that the world is all in amaze,
Drums and trumpets rending heav'ns,
Wounds a-bleeding, mortals dying,
Widows and orphans piteously crying;
Armies marching, towns in a blaze,
Kingdoms and states at sixes and sevens:
What should an honest fellow do,
Whose courage, and fortunes run equally low!
Let him live, say I, till his glass be run,
As easily as he may; 10
Let the wine, and the sand of his glass flow together,
For life's but a winter's day.
Alas! from sun to sun,
The time's very short, very dirty the weather,
And we silently creep away.
Let him nothing do, he could wish undone;
And keep himself safe from the noise of gun.

[_The Unconcerned._] 1 amaze _1674_, _1676_, _1682_: a maze
_1686_.]

_The Immovable._

_SONG_.

I.

What though the sky be clouded o'er,
And Heav'us influence smile no more?
Though tempests rise, and earthquakes make
The giddy World's foundation shake?
A gallant breast contemns the feeble blow
Of angry Gods, and scorns what Fate can do.

II.

What if alarums sounded be,
And we must face our enemy,
If cannons bellow out a death,
Or trumpets woo away our breath! 10
'Tis brave amidst the glittering throng to die.
Nay, Samson-like, to fall with company.

III.

Then let the swordman domineer,
I can nor pike nor musket fear;
Clog me with chains, your envies tire,
For when I will, I can expire;
And when the puling fit of Life is gone,
The worst that cruel man can do, is done.

_The Wish._

_SONG._

I.

Not to the hills where cedars move
Their cloudy head, not to the grove
Of myrtles in th' Elysian shade,
Nor Tempe which the poets made;
Not on the spicy mountains play;
Or travel to Arabia:
I aim not at the careful Throne,
Which Fortune's darlings sit upon;
No, no, the best this fickle world can give,
Has but a little, little time to live. 10

II.

But let me soar, O let me fly
Beyond poor Earth's benighted eye,
Beyond the pitch swift eagles tower,
Above the reach of human power;
Above the stars, above the way,
Whence Phoebus darts his piercing ray.
O let me tread those Courts that are,
So bright, so pure, so blest, so fair,
As neither thou nor I must ever know
On Earth--'tis thither, thither would I go. 20

[_The Wish._] Entitled 'A Wish' in the Firth MS., and dated
September 10, 1659. It was set by Captain Taylor. The chief
variants are 'clouds' for 'stars' in l. 15 and 'the sun' for
'Phoebus' in l. 16.]

_The Cordial. In the year 1657._

_SONG._

I.

Did you hear of the News (O the News) how it thunders!
Do but see, how the block-headed multitude wonders!
One fumes, and stamps, and stares to think upon
What others wish as fast, Confusion.
One swears w' are gone, another just agoing,
While a third sits and cries,
'Till his half-blinded eyes
Call him pitiful rogue for so doing.
Let the tone be what 'twill that the mighty ones utter,
Let the cause be what 'twill why the poorer sort mutter; 10
I care not what your State-confounders do,
Nor what the stout repiners undergo;
I cannot whine at any alterations.
Let the Swede beat the Dane,
Or be beaten again,
What am I in the crowd of the Nations?

II.

What care I if the North and South Poles come together;
If the Turk or the Pope's Antichristian, or neither;
If fine Astraea be (as Naso said)
From mortals in a peevish fancy fled: 20
Rome, when 'twas all on fire, her people mourning,
'Twas an Emperor could stand
With his harp in his hand,
Sing and play, while the city was burning.

_Celadon on Delia singing._

O Delia! for I know 'tis she,
It must be she, for nothing less could move
My tuneless heart, than something from above.
I hate all earthly harmony:
Hark, hark, ye Nymphs, and Satyrs all around!
Hark, how the baffled Echo faints; see how she dies,
Look how the wingèd choir all gasping lies
At the melodious sound;
See, while she sings
How they droop and hang their wings! 10
Angelic Delia, sing no more,
Thy song's too great for mortal ear;
Thy charming notes we can no longer bear:
O then in pity to the World give o'er,
And leave us stupid as we were before.
Fair Delia, take the fatal choice,
Or veil thy beauty, or suppress thy Voice.

His passion thus poor Celadon betray'd,
When first he saw, when first he heard the lovely Maid.

_The Advice._

_SONG._

I.

Poor Celia once was very fair,
A quick bewitching eye she had,
Most neatly look'd her braided hair,
Her dainty cheeks would make you mad,
Upon her lip did all the Graces play,
And on her breasts ten thousand Cupids lay.

II.

Then many a doting lover came
From seventeen till twenty-one,
Each told her of his mighty flame,
But she, forsooth, affected none. 10
One was not handsome, t'other was not fine,
This of tobacco smelt, and that of wine.

III.

But t'other day it was my fate
To walk along that way alone,
I saw no coach before her gate,
But at the door I heard her moan:
She dropt a tear, and sighing, seem'd to say,
Young ladies, marry, marry while you may!

[_The Advice._] In the Firth MS., where it is dated December
22, 1664, and recorded to have been set by Roger Hill; and in
Rawlinson MS. D. 260 (fol. 28) of the Bodleian. The variants
are trivial. Found also in the _Westminster Drollery_, 1671,
and the _Windsor Drollery_, 1672: the latter reads 'lock'd'
for 'look'd' in l. 3. In l. 9 _1682_ reads 'her' for 'his'.]

_To Mr. Sam. Austin of Wadham Coll. Oxon, On his most unintelligible Poems._

SIR,
In that small inch of time I stole, to look
On th' obscure depths of your mysterious book,
(Heav'n bless my eyesight!) what strains did I see!
What steropegeretic Poetry!
What hieroglyphic words, what [riddles] all,
In letters more than cabalistical!
We with our fingers may your verses scan,
But all our noddles understand them can
No more, than read that dungfork, pothook hand
That in Queen's College Library does stand. 10
The cutting hanger of your Wit I can't see,
For that same scabbard that conceals your Fancy:
Thus a black velvet casket hides a jewel;
And a dark woodhouse, wholesome winter fuel;
Thus John Tradeskin starves our greedy eyes,
By boxing up his new-found rarities;
We dread Actaeon's fate, dare not look on,
When you do scower your skin in Helicon;
We cannot (Lynceus-like) see through the wall
Of your strong-mortar'd Poems; nor can all 20
The small shot of our brains make one hole in
The bulwark of your book, that fort to win.
Open your meaning's door, O do not lock it!
Undo the buttons of your smaller pocket,
And charitably spend those angels there,
Let them enrich and actuate our sphere.
Take off our bongraces, and shine upon us,
Though your resplendent beams should chance to tan us.
Had you but stol'n your verses, then we might
Hope in good time they would have come to light; 30
And felt I not a strange poetic heat
Flaming within, which reading makes me sweat,
Vulcan should take 'em, and I'd not exempt 'em,
Because they're things _Quibus lumen ademptum_.
I thought to have commended something there,
But all exceeds my commendations far:
I can say nothing; but stand still, and stare,
And cry, O wondrous, strange, profound, and rare.
Vast Wits must fathom you better than thus,
You merit more than our praise: as for us 40
The beetles of our rhymes shall drive full fast in,
The wedges of your worth to everlasting,
My much Apocalyptic friend _Sam. Austin_.

[_To Mr. Sam. Austin._] Samuel Austin the younger (his father
of the same name was a respectable divine and a writer of
sacred verse of the preceding generation) was a Wadham man,
a contemporary of Flatman's, and a common Oxford butt for
conceit and affectation. His _Panegyric on the Restoration_
appeared in 1661, and contained a statement that the author
'intended a larger book of poems according as these find
acceptance'. He had taken his degree five years earlier, and
his poetry, probably in MS., had been soon afterwards made
the subject of one of the liveliest and naughtiest of Oxford
skits, _Naps on Parnassus_ (London, 1658), where some of
Austin's own lucubrations, and more parodies and lampoons
on him, appear--side-noted with quaint and scandalous
_adversaria_. Flatman himself contributed, among others, some
kitchen-Latin leonines:

O decus Anglorum! vates famose tuorum
Cujus pars nona facit Oxenford Helicona,

&c., sometimes dropping into a sort of Macaronic, or at least
mongrel dialect:

Haec ratio non est--quid rides?--my meaning's honest.

The elder Samuel Austin, a Cornishman, of Exeter, was a very
serious person who wrote, and after difficulties got published
in 1629, _Austin's Urania, or the Heavenly Muse_, with the
most unreasonable motto _Aut perlegas aut non legas_--rendered

Whate'er thou be whose eye do chance to fall
Upon this Book, read all or none at all.

For a considerable time I obeyed the second part of this
injunction only.