Chapter XIX: Introduction: To Thomas Flatman (4)

_Naps on Parnassus_ has some important variants and some
corrections of the present text. Omitting minor changes, these
are:--

[Line: 2 obscure] abstruse.

[Line: 5 what all] what riddles? all (Clearly the right text).

After line 16 is the couplet:

There were Philosophers content to be
Renown'd, and famous in obscurity.

Line 18 has a marginal note on 'scower'--'But when he does so,
he verifies the Proverb, viz. Æthiopem lavat.'

Lines 29, 30 read:

O were your verses stol'n, that so we might
Hope in good time to see them come to light.

After line 36 is the couplet:

I hope some wit when he your honour hears,
Will praise your mother's eyes' turpentine tears.

In line 42 is printed 'everlastin' with the note '[g] aufertur
in fine, per Apocopen'.]

[Line: 4 The blessed word 'stero (it should be 'ste_rr_o'
or 'ste_re_o') -pegeretic' (a rather erratic compound from
[Greek: pêgnymi]) is very likely Austin's own for 'strongly
put together'.]

[Line: 10 ['The Devil's handwriting in Queen's College Library
at Oxford.' Note in orig.] This interesting autograph is still
preserved, and a photograph of it may be seen in Mr. Andrew
Clark's Anthony à Wood's _Life and Times_, i. 498 (Oxford
Historical Society).]

[Line: 15 John Tradeskin] John Tradescant the second
(1608-1662), original collector of the Ashmolean Museum.]

[Line: 27 bongraces] Sun-bonnets.]

_To my ingenious Friend Mr. William Faithorne on his Book of Drawing, Etching, and Graving._

Should I attempt an elogy, or frame
A paper-structure to secure thy name,
The lightning of one censure, one stern frown
Might quickly hazard that, and thy renown.
But this thy book prevents that fruitless pain.
One line speaks purelier thee, than my best strain.
Those mysteries (once like the spiteful mould,
Which bars the greedy Spaniard from his gold)
Thou dost unfold in every friendly page,
Kind to the present, and succeeding age. 10
That hand, whose curious art prolongs the date
Of frail mortality, and baffles Fate
With brass and steel, can surely potent be,
To rear a lasting monument for thee:
For my part I prefer (to guard the dead)
A copper-plate beyond a sheet of lead.
So long as brass, so long as books endure,
So long as neat-wrought pieces, thou'rt secure.
A [_Faithorne sculpsit_] is a charm can save
From dull oblivion, and a gaping grave. 20

[_To my Ingenious Friend Mr. William Faithorne._] The _elder_
Faithorne (_v. sup._, p. 278). The younger, his son and
namesake, was but eighteen when Flatman first published. The
lines first appeared in _The Art of Graveing and Etching ...
Published by Will^{m} Faithorne. And Sold at his Shop next to
y^{e} Signe of y^{e} Drake without Temple Barre, 1662._]

[Line: 1 'elogy' is no doubt here merely an equivalent for
'eulogy', and rather from _éloge_ than _elogium_. But it is a
pity that it has not been kept in English as an equivalent for
the Latin.]

[Line: 5 that fruitless] my slender _1662_. Other important
variants are:-- Lines 9, 10 read:--

Thine ingenuity reveals, and so
By making plain, thou dost illustrious grow.
]

[Line: 14 lasting] stately.

_On the Commentaries of Messire Blaize de Montluc._

To the Worthy Translator,
CHARLES COTTON, Esq.

He that would aptly write of warlike men,
Should make his ink of blood, a sword his pen;
At least he must their memories abuse,
Who writes with less than Maro's mighty Muse:
All, Sir, that I could say of this great theme
(The brave Montluc) would lessen his esteem;
Whose laurels too much native verdure have
To need the praises vulgar chaplets crave:
His own bold hand, what it durst write, durst do,
Grappled with enemies, and oblivion too; 10
Hew'd his own monument, and grav'd thereon
Its deep and durable inscription.
To you, Sir, whom the valiant Author owes
His second life, and conquest o'er his foes--
Ill-natur'd foes, Time and Detraction,--
What is a stranger's contribution!
Who has not such a share of vanity,
To dream that one, who with such industry
Obliges all the world, can be oblig'd by me.

[_On the Commentaries of Messire Blaize de Montluc._] Cotton's
translation of the admirable Gascon appeared in the same year
(1674) with Flatman's _Poems._]

_A Character of a Belly-God._

CATIUS AND HORACE.

HORACE.

_Whence_, _Brother Case_, _and whither bound so fast?_
CA. O, Sir, you must excuse me, I'm in haste.
I dine with my (Lord Mayor) and can't allow
Time for our eating directory now:
Though I must needs confess, I think my rules
Would prove Pythagoras and Plato fools.
HOR. _Grave Sir_, _I must acknowledge_, _'tis a crime_
_To interrupt at such a nick of time_;
_Yet stay a little_, _Sir_, _it is no sin_;
_You're to say Grace ere dinner can begin_; 10
_Since you at food such virtuoso are_,
_Some precepts to an hungry poet spare_.
CA. I grant you, Sir, next pleasure ta'en in eating
Is that (as we do call it) of repeating;
I still have kitchen systems in my mind,
And from my stomach's fumes a brain well lin'd.
HOR. _Whence, pray, Sir, learnt you those ingenuous arts_,
_From one at home, or hir'd from foreign parts_?
CA. No names, Sir (I beseech you), that's foul play,
We ne'er name authors, only what they say. 20
1. 'For eggs choose long, the round are out of fashion,
'Unsavoury and distasteful to the nation:
'E'er since the brooding Rump, they're addle too,
'In the long egg lies Cock-a-doodle-doo.
2. 'Choose coleworts planted on a soil that's dry,
'Even they are _worse for th' wetting_ (verily).
3. 'If friend from far shall come to visit, then
'Say thou wouldst treat the wight with mortal hen,
'Don't thou forthwith pluck off the cackling head,
'And impale corpse on spit as soon as dead; 30
'For so she will be tough beyond all measure,
'And friend shall make a trouble of a pleasure.
'Steep'd in good wine let her her life surrender,
'O then she'll eat most admirably tender.
4. 'Mushrooms that grow in meadows are the best;
'For aught I know, there's poison in the rest.
5. 'He that would many happy summers see,
'Let him eat mulberries fresh off the tree,
'Gather'd before the sun's too high, for these
'Shall hurt his stomach less than Cheshire cheese. 40
6. 'Aufidius (had you done so 't had undone ye)
'Sweet'ned his morning's draughts of sack with honey;
'But he did ill, to empty veins to give
'Corroding potion for a lenitive.
7. 'If any man to drink do thee inveigle in,
'First wet thy whistle with some good metheglin.
8. 'If thou art bound, and in continual doubt,
'Thou shalt get in no more till some get out,
'The mussel or the cockle will unlock
'Thy body's trunk, and give a vent to nock. 50
'Some say that sorrel steep'd in wine will do,
'But to be sure, put in some aloes too.
9. 'All shell-fish (with the growing Moon increast)
'Are ever, when she fills her orb, the best:
'But for brave oysters, Sir, exceeding rare,
'They are not to be met with everywhere.
'Your Wall-fleet oysters no man will prefer
'Before the juicy grass-green Colchester.
'Hungerford crawfish match me, if you can,
'There's no such crawlers in the Ocean. 60
10. 'Next for your suppers, you (it may be) think
'There goes no more to 't, but just eat and drink;
'But let me tell you, Sir, and tell you plain,
'To dress 'em well requires a man of brain:
'His palate must be quick, and smart, and strong,
'For sauce, a very critic in the tongue.
11. 'He that pays dear for fish, nay though the best,
'May please his fishmonger, more than his guest,
'If he be ignorant what sauce is proper;
'There's Machiavel in th' _ménage_ of a supper. 70
12. 'For swines-flesh, give me that of the wild boar,
'Pursu'd and hunted all the forest o'er;
'He to the liberal oak ne'er quits his love,
'And when he finds no acorns, grunts at Jove.
'The Hampshire hog with pease and whey that's fed
'Sty'd up, is neither good alive nor dead.
13. 'The tendrils of the vine are salads good,
'If when they are in season understood.
14. 'If servants to thy board a rabbit bring,
'Be wise, and in the first place carve a wing. 80
15. 'When fish and fowl are right, and at just age,
'A feeder's curiosity t' assuage,
'If any ask, who found the mystery,
'Let him inquire no further, I am he.
16. 'Some fancy bread out of the oven hot:
'Variety's the glutton's happiest lot.
17. 'It's not enough the wine you have be pure,
'But of your oil as well you ought be sure.
18. 'If any fault be in the generous wine,
'Set it abroad all night, and 'twill refine, 90
'But never strain 't, nor let it pass through linen,
'Wine will be worse for that, as well as women.
19. 'The vintner that of Malaga and Sherry
'With damn'd ingredients patcheth up Canary,
'With segregative things, as pigeons' eggs,
'Straight purifies, and takes away the dregs.
20. 'An o'er-charg'd stomach roasted shrimps will ease,
'The cure by lettuce is worse than the disease.
21. 'To quicken appetite it will behove ye
'To feed courageously on good anchovy. 100
22. 'Westphalia ham, and the Bologna sausage,
'For second or third course will clear a passage,
'But lettuce after meals! fie on 't, the glutton
'Had better feed upon Ram-alley mutton.
23. ''Twere worth one's while in palace or in cottage,
'Right well to know the sundry sorts of pottage;
'There is your French pottage, Nativity broth,
'Yet that of Fetter-lane exceeds them both;
'About a limb of a departed tup
'There may you see the green herbs boiling up, 110
'And fat abundance o'er the furnace float,
'Resembling whale-oil in a Greenland boat.
24. 'The Kentish pippin's best, I dare be bold,
'That ever blue-cap costard-monger sold.
25. 'Of grapes, I like the raisins of the sun.
'I was the first immortal glory won,
'By mincing pickled herrings with these raisin
'And apples; 'twas I set the world a-gazing,
'When once they tasted of this _Hogan_ fish,
'Pepper and salt enamelling the dish. 120
26. ''Tis ill to purchase great fish with great matter,
'And then to serve it up in scanty platter;
'Nor is it less unseemly, some believe,
'From boy with greasy fist drink to receive,
'But the cup foul within 's enough to make
'A squeamish creature puke and turn up stomach.
27. 'Then brooms and napkins and the Flanders tile,
'These must be had too, or the feast you spoil,
'Things little thought on, and not very dear,
'And yet how much they cost one in a year! 130
28. 'Wouldst thou rub alabaster with hands sable,
'Or spread a diaper cloth on dirty table?
'_More cost, more worship_: Come: be _à la mode_;
'Embellish treat, as thou would do an ode.'
Hor. _O learnèd Sir_, _how greedily I hear_
_This elegant_ Diatriba _of good cheer!_
_Now by all that's good_, _by all provant you love_,
_By sturdy_ Chine of Beef, _and mighty_ Jove;
_I do conjure thy_ gravity, _let me see_
_The man that made thee this_ Discovery; 140
_For he that sees th'_ Original's _more happy_
_Than him that draws by an ill-favour'd_ Copy.
_O bring me to the man I so admire!_
_The_ Flint _from whence brake forth these sparks of fire_.
_What satisfaction would the Vision bring?_
_If sweet the stream_, _much sweeter is the spring_.

[Line: 3 I had struck out the brackets, but replaced them.
For some obsolete uses of the mark see Mr. Percy Simpson's
_Shakesperian Punctuation_, pp. 94-5.]

[Line: 57 Wall-fleet _1674-82_; Wain-fleet _1686._ Wainfleet
is in Lincolnshire, famous as the birthplace of the founder
of Magdalen College, Oxford. I never heard Wainfleet oysters
specially quoted, but if Walter White in his _Eastern England_
(ii. 10) may be trusted, the place was not so very long ago
excellent for cockles.]

[Line: 60 The ocean 'crawlers' are at any rate bigger than
those of the Kennet.]

[Lines: 75-6 This is a libel.]

[Line: 104 Ram-alley] The constantly cited street of coarse
cook-shops.]

[Line: 107 'Nativity' is no doubt 'Christmas', as in
'Nativity-_pie_'. The reference is to 'plum-broth', the old
Christmas dish, made of beef, prunes, raisins, currants, white
bread, spices, wine, and sugar.]

[Line: 114 It would be a pity not to keep the form
'cost_ard_-monger'.]

[Line: 119 '_Hogan_' of course = 'Dutch'. This, the
only positive _recipe_ in the poem, would be a sort of
salmagundy--not bad, but rather coarse, like most of the
cookery of the time. Flatman, had he cared, might evidently
have anticipated the earlier Dr. (not Bishop) King, who
published his ingenious _Art of Cookery_ in prose and verse
(to be found in the ninth volume of Chalmers) some thirty
years later.]

[Lines: 125-6. If 'within 's' be extended to 'within _is_'
we shall have in 'to-make' a pleasant Hudibrastic rhyme to
'stomach', which otherwise comes in but ill.]

[Line: 127 What the special use of Dutch tiles was I can only
guess. For tankard stands?]

[Lines: 141-2 The plagiarism-hunters may, if they like, accuse
Sam Weller of stealing from Flatman when he observed, 'I'm
very glad I've seen the 'rig'nal, cos it 's a gratifyin' sort
of thing, and eases one's mind so much'.]

_The Disappointed._

PINDARIC ODE.

_Stanza_ I.

Oft have I ponder'd in my pensive heart,
When even from myself I've stol'n away,
And heavily consider'd many a day,
The cause of all my anguish and my smart:
Sometimes besides a shady grove
(As dark as were my thoughts, as close as was my Love),
Dejected have I walk'd alone,
Acquainting scarce myself with my own moan.
Once I resolv'd undauntedly to hear
What 'twas my passions had to say, 10
To find the reason of that uproar there,
And calmly, if I could, to end the fray:
No sooner was my resolution known
But I was all confusion.
Fierce Anger, flattering Hope, and black Despair,
Bloody Revenge, and most ignoble Fear,
Now altogether clamorous were;
My breast a perfect chaos grown,
A mass of nameless things together hurl'd,
Like th' formless embryo of the unborn world, 20
Just as it's rousing from eternal night,
Before the great Creator said, _Let there be Light._

II.

Thrice happy then are beasts, said I,
That underneath these pleasant coverts lie,
They only sleep, and eat, and drink,
They never meditate, nor think;
Or if they do, have not th' unhappy art
To vent the overflowings of their heart;
They without trouble live, without disorder die,
Regardless of Eternity. 30
I said, I would like them be wise,
And not perplex myself in vain,
Nor bite th' uneasy chain,
No, no, said I, I will Philosophise!
And all th' ill-natur'd World despise:
But when I had reflected long,
And with deliberation thought
How few have practis'd what they gravely taught,
(Tho' 'tis but folly to complain)
I judg'd it worth a generous disdain, 40
And brave defiance in Pindaric song.

[_The Disappointed._] In 1674 and in Contents of 1686 _The
Disappointment._]

[Line: 21 as] at _1674_.]

[Line: 27 unhappy] happy _1682_.]

[Line: 29 without disorder die, _1682_.]

_On Mrs. E. Montague's Blushing in the Cross-Bath._

A TRANSLATION.

I.

Amidst the Nymphs (the glory of the flood)
Thus once the beauteous Aegle stood,
So sweet a tincture ere the Sun appears,
The bashful ruddy morning wears:
Thus through a crystal wave the coral glows,
And such a blush sits on the virgin rose.

II.

Ye envied waters that with safety may
Around her snowy bosom play,
Cherish with gentle heat that noble breast
Which so much innocence has blest, 10
Such innocence, as hitherto ne'er knew
What mischief Venus or her son could do.

Then from this hallow'd place
Let the profane and wanton eye withdraw,
For Virtue clad in scarlet strikes an awe
From the tribunal of a lovely face.

[_On Mrs. E. Montague, &c._] This, though I do not know
exactly who the lady was, may be taken with the Sandwich
epicedes as evidence of Flatman's acquaintance with the
Montague family. It is odd that Pepys does not mention him,
especially as he does record buying the 'Montelion' Almanack
for 1661, which has been attributed to our poet. The
Cross-Bath is of course the famous one at Bath itself, which
was then the most fashionable, and was visited and used
by Pepys himself. It is now 'drawn to the dregs of a
democracy'--a cheap public swimming-bath, at a penny entrance
or twopence with towel. Flatman's comparison of a blushing
cheek to a judge on the bench is worthy of Cleveland, or even
of Benlowes. But the extravagance was doubtless, in part at
least, conscious.]

_Il Infido._

I.

I breathe, 'tis true, wretch that I am, 'tis true;
But if to live be only not to die,
If nothing in that bubble, Life, be gay,
But all t' a tear must melt away;
Let fools and Stoics be cajol'd, say I:
Thou that lik'st Ease and Love, like me,
When once the world says, Farewell both, to thee,
What hast thou more to do
Than in disdain to say, Thou foolish world, adieu!

II.

There was a time, fool that I was! when I 10
Believ'd there might be something here below.
A seeming cordial to my drooping heart
That might allay my bitter smart:
I call'd it _Friend_:--but O th' inconstancy
Of human things! I tried it long,
Its love was fervent, and, I fancied, strong:
But now I plainly see,
Or 'tis withdrawn, or else 'twas all hypocrisy.

III.

I saw thy much-estrangèd eyes, I saw,
False Musidore, thy formal alter'd face, 20
When thou betray'dst my seeming happiness,
And coldly took'st my kind address:
But know that I will live; for in thy place
Heaven has provided for me now
A constant friend, that dares not break a vow;
That friend will I embrace,
And never more my overweening love misplace.

_Il Immaturo._

EPITAPH.

Brave Youth, whose too too hasty fate
His glories did anticipate,
Whose active soul had laid the great design
To emulate those Heroes of his line!
He show'd the world how great a man
Might be contracted to a span;
How soon our teeming expectations fail,
How little tears and wishes can prevail:
Could life hold out with these supplies
He'd liv'd still in his parents' eyes, 10
And this cold stone had ne'er said, _Here he lies._

_On Mrs. Dove, Wife to the Reverend Dr. Henry Dove._

EPITAPH.

'Tis thus----and thus farewell to all
Vain mortals do perfection call;
To Beauty, Goodness, Modesty,
Sweet temper, and true Piety.
The rest an Angel's pen must tell:
Long, long, belovèd Dust, farewell.
Those blessings which we highliest prize
Are soonest ravish'd from our eyes.

[_On Mrs. Dove, &c._] Dr. Henry Dove was a divine of some
mark, chaplain (it must have been rather in the Vicar of
Bray line) to Charles, James, _and_ William, Archdeacon
of Richmond, and a strongly recommended candidate for
the Mastership of Trinity, when young John Montague, Lord
Sandwich's son, got it--_iure natalium_, apparently, as he had
previously got his M.A. degree.]

_Lucretius._

_Sed jam nec Domus accipiet te laeta, nec Uxor_
_Optima_, _nec dulces occurrent oscula nati_
_Praeripere_, _et tacita pectus dulcedine tangent_.

_Paraphrased._

When thou shalt leave this miserable life,
Farewell thy house, farewell thy charming wife,
Farewell for ever to thy soul's delight,
Quite blotted out in everlasting night!
No more thy pretty darling babes shall greet thee
By thy kind name, nor strive who first shall meet thee.
Their kisses with a secret pleasure shall not move thee!
For who shall say to thy dead clay, I love thee?

_On the Eminent Dr. Edward Browne's Travels._

Thus from a foreign clime rich merchants come,
And thus unlade their rarities at home:
Thus undergo an acceptable toil,
With treasures to enrich their native soil.
They for themselves, for others you unfold
A cargo swoln with diamonds and gold.
With indefatigable travels, they
The trading world, the learnèd you, survey;
And for renown with great Columbus vie,
In subterranean cosmography. 10

[_On Dr. Edward Browne's Travels._] Edward Browne, Sir
Thomas's eldest son, returned in 1673 from five years'
wandering, and Flatman must have written on some of his
papers. His _Travels_ were first printed in 1682.]

_On Poverty._

I.

O poverty! thou great and wise-man's school!
Mistress of Arts! and scandal to the fool!
Heav'n's sacred badge, which th' heroes heretofore
(Bright caravans of saints and martyrs) wore!
To th' Host Triumphant valiant souls are sent
From those we call the ragged regiment:
Sure guide to everlasting peace above,
Thou dost th' impediments remove;
Th' unnecessary loads of wealth and state,
Which make men swell too big for the strait gate. 10

II.

Thou happy port! where we from storms are free,
And need not fear (false world!) thy piracy.
Hither for ease and shelter did retire
The busy Charles, and wearied Casimire;
Abjur'd their thrones, and made a solemn vow,
Their radiant heads to thee should ever bow.
Why should thy tents so terrible appear
Where monarchs reformadoes were?
Why should men call that state of life forlorn,
Which God approves of, and which kings have borne? 20

III.

Mad Luxury! what do thy vassals reap
From a life's long debauch, but late to weep!
What the curs'd miser, who would fain ape thee,
And wear thy livery, Great Poverty!
The prudent wretch for future ages cares,
And hoards up sins for his impatient heirs!
Full little does he think the time will come
When he is gone to his long home,
The prodigal youth for whom he took such pains
Shall be thy slave, and wear thy loathèd chains. 30

IV.

Fair handmaid to Devotion, by whose aid
Our souls are all disrob'd, all naked laid,
In thy true mirror men themselves do see
Just what they are, not what they seem to be.
The flattering world misrepresents our face,
And cheats us with a magnifying-glass;
Our meanness nothing else does truly show,
But only Death, but only thou,
Who teach our minds above this Earth to fly,
And pant, and breathe for immortality. 40

[_On Poverty._] 14 Charles] Of course Charles the Fifth.
Casimire] John Casimir of Poland, who had abdicated in 1668
and died in 1672.]

[Line: 18 'Reformadoes'] Lit. officers of a disbanded company,
who retained their rank and received half-pay.]

[Lines: 31-40 A stanza added in 1686.]

_Urania to her Friend Parthenissa._

A DREAM.

In a soft vision of the night,
My Fancy represented to my sight
A goodly gentle shade;
Methought it mov'd with a majestic grace,
But the surprising sweetness of its face
Made me amaz'd, made me afraid:
I found a secret shivering in my heart,
Such as friends feel that meet or part:
Approaching nearer with a timorous eye,
Is then my Parthenissa dead, said I? 10
Ah Parthenissa! if thou yet are kind,
As kind as when, like me, thou mortal wert,
When thou and I had equal share in either's heart,
How canst thou bear that I am left behind!
Dear Parthenissa! O those pleasant hours,
That blest our innocent amours!
When in the common treasury of one breast,
All that was thine or mine did rest.
Dear Parthenissa!--Friend! what shall I say?
Ah speak to thy Urania! 20
Oh envious Death! nothing but thee I fear'd,
No other rival could estrange
Her soul from mine or make a change.
Scarce had I spoke my passionate fears,
And overwhelm'd myself in tears:
But Parthenissa smil'd, and then she disappear'd.

_On the Death of the Earl of Rochester._

PASTORAL.

I.

As on his death-bed gasping Strephon lay,
Strephon the wonder of the plains,
The noblest of th' Arcadian swains;
Strephon the bold, the witty, and the gay:
With many a sigh and many a tear he said,
Remember me, ye Shepherds, when I'm dead.

II.

Ye trifling glories of this world, adieu,
And vain applauses of the age;
For when we quit this earthly stage,
Believe me, shepherds, for I tell you true; 10
Those pleasures which from virtuous deeds we have,
Procure the sweetest slumbers in the grave.

III.

Then since your fatal hour must surely come,
Surely your heads lie low as mine,
Your bright meridian sun decline;
Beseech the mighty Pan to guard you home,
If to Elysium you would happy fly,
Live not like Strephon, but like Strephon die.

[_On the Death of the Earl of Rochester._] Flatman, it will be
observed, makes no reference to Burnet's notorious publication
as to Rochester's death-bed repentance. As to the Latin
version, he strains the term 'leonine', which ought properly
to be used only of lines correctly metred, or intended for
metre, but rhymed at middle and end. (He had actually written
such: _v. sup._, p. 353). But these verses, added in 1686,
are not uninteresting examples of Latin, metred on English
principles and rhymed in stanza, of the same class as Sir F.
Kynaston's _Troilus_, though in different form.

MS. versions are in Bodley, in Aubrey MS. 6, fol. 56 (with the
variant 'head' in l. 14), and a worthless copy in MS. Add. B.
105, fol. 19.]

_In obitum illustrissimi ingeniosissimique Joannis, Comitis Roffensis,_

_Carmen Pastorale Versu Leonino redditum._

I.

_Lecto prostratus Strephon moribundus_,
_Planitierum Strephon decus_,
_Princeps curantium pecus_,
_Audax, facetus, Strephon et jucundus_,
_Lugens pastoribus sic est affatus_,
_Memimini mei cum migratus_.

II.

_Honores mundi futiles valete_,
_Plaudite aevi et fucata_,
_Mortali scenâ nam mutatâ_,
_Fidem veriloquo adhibete_, 10
_Voluptas profluens ex virtute_
_Solâ obdormiscit cum salute_.

III.

_Cum nulla in mortem sit medela_,
_In terram capita cuncta incurvabunt_,
_Soles micantes declinabunt_,
_Pan supplicetor pro tutelâ_
_Beatorum ut recipiant chori:_
_Strephon non doceat vivere sed mori_.

_On Dr. Woodford's Paraphrase on the Canticles._

I.

Well! since it must be, so let it be,
For what do resolutions signify,
When we are urg'd to write by destiny?

II.

I had resolv'd, nay, and I almost swore,
My bedrid Muse should walk abroad no more:
Alas! 'tis more than time that I give o'er.

III.

In the recesses of a private breast
I thought to entertain your charming guest,
And never to have boasted of my feast.

IV.

But see, my friend, when through the world you go, 10
My lackey-verse must shadow-like pursue,
Thin and obscure, to make a foil for you.

V.

'Tis true, you cannot need my feeble praise,
A lasting monument to your name to raise,
Well known in Heav'n by your angelic lays.

VI.

There in indelible characters they are writ,
Where no pretended heights will easy sit,
But those of serious consecrated wit.

VII.

By immaterial defecated Love,
Your soul its heavenly origin does approve, 20
And in least dangerous raptures soars above.

VIII.

How could I wish, dear friend! unsaid agen
(For once I rank'd myself with tuneful men)
Whatever dropp'd from my unhallow'd pen!

IX.

The trifling rage of youthful heat once past,
Who is not troubled for his wit misplac'd!
All pleasant follies breed regret at last.

X.

While reverend Donne's and noble Herbert's flame
A glorious immortality shall claim,
In the most durable records of Fame, 30

XI.

Our modish rhymes, like culinary fire,
Unctuous and earthy, shall in smoke expire;
In odorous clouds your incense shall aspire.

XII.

Let th' Pagan-world your pious verse defy,
Yet shall they envy when they come to die,
Your wiser projects on eternity.

[_On Dr. Woodford's Paraphrase._] See above, p. 306. These
lines appeared before _A Paraphrase upon the Canticles_,
1679, and were headed 'To my dear Old Friend, the Reverend Dr.
Samuel Woodford, On his Sacred Poems'.]

[Line: 21 approve _1679_, _1682_: prove _1686_.]

[Lines: 25-7 Referring to the comic touches noted above.]

_Laodamia to Protesilaus._

ONE OF OVID'S EPISTLES TRANSLATED.

THE ARGUMENT.

_Protesilaus lying windbound at Aulis in the Grecian fleet design'd for the Trojan war, his wife Laodamia sends this following Epistle to him._

Health to the gentle man of war, and may
What Laodamia sends the Gods convey.
The wind that still in Aulis holds my dear,
Why was it not so cross to keep him here?
Let the wind raise an hurricane at sea,
Were he but safe and warm ashore with me.
Ten thousand kisses I had more to give him,
Ten thousand cautions, and soft words to leave him:
In haste he left me, summon'd by the wind,
(The wind to barbarous mariners only kind). 10
The seaman's pleasure is the lover's pain,
(Protesilaus from my bosom ta'en!)
As from my faltering tongue half speeches fell,
Scarce could I speak that wounding word _Farewell_,
A merry gale (at sea they call it so)
Fill'd every sail with joy, my breast with woe,
There went my dear Protesilaus----
While I could see thee, full of eager pain,
My greedy eyes epicuris'd on thine,
When thee no more, but thy spread sails I view, 20
I look'd, and look'd, till I had lost them too;
But when nor thee, nor them I could descry,
And all was sea that came within my eye,
They say (for I have quite forgot), they say
I straight grew pale, and fainted quite away;
Compassionate Iphiclus, and the good old man,
My mother too to my assistance ran;
In haste cold water on my face they threw,
And brought me to myself with much ado.
They meant it well, to me it seem'd not so, 30
Much kinder had they been to let me go;
My anguish with my soul together came,
And in my heart burst out the former flame:
Since which, my uncomb'd locks unheeded flow,
Undrest, forlorn, I care not how I go;
Inspir'd with wine, thus Bacchus' frolic rout
Stagger'd of old, and straggled all about.
Put on, put on, the happy ladies say,
Thy royal robes, fair Laodamia.
Alas! before Troy's walls my dear does lie, 40
What pleasure can I take in Tyrian dye?
Shall curls adorn my head, an helmet thine?
I in bright tissues, thou in armour shine?
Rather with studied negligence I'll be
As ill, if not disguisèd worse than thee.
O Paris! rais'd by ruins! mayst thou prove
As fatal in thy war, as in thy love!
O that the Grecian Dame had been less fair,
Or thou less lovely hadst appear'd to her!
O Menelaus! timely cease to strive, 50
With how much blood wilt thou thy loss retrieve?
From me, ye Gods, avert your heavy doom,
And bring my dear, laden with laurels, home:
But my heart fails me, when I think of war,
The sad reflection costs me many a tear:
I tremble when I hear the very name
Of every place where thou shalt fight for fame;
Besides, th' adventurous ravisher well knew
The safest arts his villany to pursue;
In noble dress he did her heart surprise, 60
With gold he dazzled her unguarded eyes,
He back'd his rape with ships and armèd men,
Thus storm'd, thus took the beauteous fortress in.
Against the power of Love and force of arms
There's no security in the brightest charms.
Hector I fear, much do I Hector fear,
A man (they say) experienc'd in war,
My dear, if thou hast any love for me,
Of that same Hector prithee mindful be;
Fly him be sure, and every other foe, 70
Lest each of them should prove an Hector too.
Remember, when for fight thou shalt prepare,
Thy Laodamia charg'd thee, Have a care;
For what wounds thou receiv'st are giv'n to her.
If by thy valour Troy must ruin'd be,
May not the ruin leave one scar on thee;
Sharer in th' honour, from the danger free!
Let Menelaus fight, and force his way
Through the false ravisher's troops t' his Helena.
Great be his victory, as his cause is good. 80
May he swim to her in his enemies' blood.
Thy case is different.--Mayst thou live to see
(Dearest) no other combatant but me!
Ye generous Trojans, turn your swords away
From his dear breast, find out a nobler prey;
Why should you harmless Laodamia slay?
My poor good-natur'd man did never know
What 'tis to fight, or how to face a foe;
Yet in Love's field what wonders can he do!
Great is his prowess and his fortune too; 90
Let them go fight, who know not how to woo.
Now I must own, I fear'd to let thee go,
My trembling lips had almost told thee so.
When from thy father's house thou didst withdraw,
Thy fatal stumble at the door I saw,
I saw it, sigh'd, and pray'd the sign might be
Of thy return a happy prophecy!
I cannot but acquaint thee with my fear,
Be not too brave,--Remember,--Have a care,
And all my dreads will vanish into air. 100
Among the Grecians some one must be found
That first shall set his foot on Trojan ground;
Unhappy she that shall his loss bewail,
Grant, O ye Gods, thy courage then may fail.
Of all the ships be thine the very last,
Thou the last man that lands; there needs no haste
To meet a potent and a treacherous foe;
Thou'lt land I fear too soon, tho' ne'er so slow.
At thy return ply every sail and oar,
And nimbly leap on thy deserted shore. 110
All the day long, and all the lonely night,
Black thoughts of thee my anxious soul affright:
Darkness, to other women's pleasures kind,
Augments, like Hell, the torments of my mind.
I court e'en dreams, on my forsaken bed
False joys must serve, since all my true are fled.
What's that same airy phantom so like thee!
What wailings do I hear, what paleness see?
I wake, and hug myself, 'tis but a dream.--
The Grecian altars know I feed their flame, 120
The want of hallow'd wine my tears supply,
Which make the sacred fire burn bright and high.
When shall I clasp thee in these arms of mine,
These longing arms, and lie dissolv'd in thine?
When shall I have thee by thyself alone,
To learn the wondrous actions thou hast done?
Which when in rapturous words thou hast begun
With many and many a kiss, prithee tell on,
Such interruptions grateful pauses are,
A kiss in story's but an halt in war. 130
But, when I think of Troy, of winds and waves,
I fear the pleasant dream my hope deceives:
Contrary winds in port detain thee too,
In spite of wind and tide why wouldst thou go?
Thus, to thy country thou wouldst hardly come,
In spite of wind and tide thou went'st from home.
To his own city Neptune stops the way,
Revere the omen, and the Gods obey.
Return, ye furious Grecians, homeward fly,
Your stay is not of Chance, but Destiny: 140
How can your arms expect desir'd success,
That thus contend for an adulteress?
But, let not me forespeak you, no,--set sail,
And Heav'n befriend you with a prosperous gale!
Ye Trojans! with regret methinks I see
Your first encounter with your enemy;
I see fair Helen put on all her charms,
To buckle on her lusty bridegroom's arms;
She gives him arms, and kisses she receives,
(I hate the transports each to other gives.) 150
She leads him forth, and she commands him come
Safely victorious, and triumphant home;
And he (no doubt) will make no nice delay,
But diligently do whate'er she say.
Now he returns!--see with what amorous speed
She takes the pond'rous helmet from his head,
And courts the weary champion to her bed.
_We women, too too credulous, alas!_
_Think what we fear will surely come to pass_.
Yet, while before the leaguer thou dost lie, 160
Thy picture is some pleasure to my eye;
That, I caress in words most kind and free,
And lodge it on my breast, as I would thee.
There must be something in it more than Art,
'Twere very thee, could it thy mind impart;
I kiss the pretty Idol, and complain,
As if (like thee) 'twould answer me again.
By thy return, by thy dear self, I swear,
By our Love's vows, which most religious are,
By thy belovèd head, and those gray hairs 170
Which time may on it snow in future years,
I come, where'er thy Fate shall bid thee go,
Eternal partner of thy weal and woe,
So thou but live, tho' all the Gods say No.
Farewell,--but prithee very careful be
Of thy belovèd Self (I mean) of me.

[Line: 129 grateful] graceful _1682_.]

_To the Excellent Master of Music, Signior Pietro Reggio, on His Book of Songs._

Tho' to advance thy fame, full well I know
How very little my dull pen can do;
Yet, with all deference, I gladly wait,
Enthrong'd amongst th' attendants on thy state:
Thus when Arion, by his friends betray'd,
Upon his understanding Dolphin play'd,
The scaly people their resentments show'd
By pleas'd levoltoes on the wond'ring flood.
Great Artist! thou deserv'st our loudest praise
From th' garland to the meanest branch of bays; 10
For poets can but _Say_, thou mak'st them _Sing_,
And th' embryo-words dost to perfection bring;
By us the Muse conceives, but when that's done,
Thy midwif'ry makes fit to see the Sun;
Our naked lines, drest and adorn'd by thee,
Assume a beauty, pomp, and bravery;
So awful and majestic they appear,
They need not blush to reach a Prince's ear.
Princes, tho' to poor poets seldom kind,
Their numbers turn'd to air with pleasure mind 20
Studied and labour'd tho' our poems be,
Alas! they die unheeded without thee,
Whose art can make our breathless labours live,
Spirit and everlasting vigour give.
Whether we write of _Heroes and of Kings_,
_In Mighty Numbers, Mighty Things_,
Or in a humble Ode express our sense
Of th' happy state of ease and innocence;
A country life where the contented swain
Hugs his dear peace, and does a crown disdain; 30
Thy dext'rous notes with all our thoughts comply,
Can creep on Earth, can up to Heaven fly;
In heights and cadences, so sweet, so strong,
They suit a shepherd's reed, an angel's tongue.
----------------But who can comprehend
The raptures of thy voice, and miracles of thy hand?

[_To Signior Pietro Reggio._] First printed in _Songs of
Signior Pietro Reggio_, folio undated (but issued in 1680);
Shadwell and Ayres also contributed to it. It had an engraved
title-page of Arion on a Dolphin (cf. l. 5), and was dedicated
to the king (cf. l. 18).]

[Line: 8 Levoltoes _1682_: levaltoes _1686_--both variants of
the form 'lavolta'.]

Epitaph on the Incomparable Sir John King in the Temple-Church.

_Heic juxta jacet_
_Johannes King Miles_,
_Serenissimo Carolo Secundo_
_In Legibus Angliae Consultus_,
_Illustrissimo Jacobo Duci Eboracensi_
_Sollicitator Generalis._

_Qualis, Quantusve sis, Lector_,
_Profundum obstupesce;_
_Labia digitis comprime_,
_Oculos lachrymis suffunde_. 10
_En! ad pedes tuos_
_Artis et Naturae suprema Conamina_,
_Fatorum Ludibria!_
_Non ita pridem_
_Erat Iste Pulvis omnifariam Doctus_,
_Musarum Gazophylacium_,
_Eloquentiam calluit, claram, puram, innocuam_,
_Legibus suae Patriae erat instructissimus_,
_Suis charus, Principibus gratus, Omnibus urbanus_,
_Sui saeculi_ 20
_Ornamentum illustre_, _Desiderium irreparabile_.
_Hinc disce Lector_,
_Quantilla Mortalitatis Gloria_
_Splendidissimis decoratae Dotibus_.

_Dulcem soporem agite_
_Dilecti_, _Eruditi_, _Beati Cineres!_

Obiit _Junii 29_, _1677_.
Aetat. 38.

[_Epitaph on the Incomparable Sir John King._] This
'incomparable' was an Etonian and a Cambridge (Queens'
College) man, who became K.C. and Attorney-General to the Duke
of York.

A first draft is in the Ashmole MS. 826 (fol. 50) of the
Bodleian. Ll. 1-6 are at the end of the epitaph, and add
a touch of bathos--'Et Interioris Templi Socius'--and the
date--'Obiit tercio Calendarum Julii, Anno Æræ Christianæ',
1677; Ætatis 38'. In l. 8 the reading is 'obmutesce'. The
1682 has the simple heading 'In the Temple Church', and reads
'decorata' in l. 24.]

_On the Death of my dear Brother Mr. Richard Flatman._

PINDARIC ODE.

_Stanza_ I.

Unhappy Muse! employ'd so oft
On melancholy thoughts of Death,
What hast thou left so tender, and so soft
As thy poor master fain would breath
O'er this lamented hearse?
No usual flight of fancy can become
My sorrows o'er a brother's tomb.
O that I could be elegant in tears,
That with conceptions, not unworthy thee,
Great as thy merit, vigorous as thy years, 10
I might convey thy elegy
To th' grief and envy of posterity!
A gentler youth ne'er crown'd his parents' cares,
Or added ampler joy to their grey hairs:
Kind to his friends, to his relations dear,
Easy to all.--Alas! what is there here
For man to set his heart upon,
Since what we dote on most is soonest gone?
Ai me! I've lost a sweet companion,
A friend, a brother all in one! 20

II.

How did it chill my soul to see thee lie
Struggling with pangs in thy last agony!
When with a manly courage thou didst brave
Approaching Death, and with a steady mind
(Ever averse to be confin'd)
Didst triumph o'er the Grave.
Thou mad'st no womanish moan,
But scorn'dst to give one groan:
He that begs pity is afraid to die,
Only the brave despise their destiny. 30
But, when I call to mind how thy kind eyes
Were passionately fix'd on mine,
How, when thy falt'ring tongue gave o'er
And I could hear thy pleasing voice no more;
How, when I laid my cheek to thine,
Kiss'd thy pale lips, and press'd thy trembling hand,
Thou, in return, smil'dst gently in my face,
And hugg'dst me with a close embrace;
I am amaz'd, I am unmann'd.
Something extremely kind I fain would say, 40
But through the tumult of my breast,
With too officious love opprest,
I find my feeble words can never force their way.

III.

Belovèd youth! What shall I do!
Once my delight, my torment now!
How immaturely art thou snatch'd away!
But Heaven shines on thee with many a glorious ray
Of an unclouded and immortal day,
Whilst I lie grovelling here below
In a dark stormy night. 50
The blust'ring storm of Life with thee is o'er,
For thou art landed on that happy shore,
Where thou canst hope or fear no more;
Thence with compassion thou shall see
The plagues, the wars, the fires, the scarcity,
The devastations of an enemy,
From which thy early fate has set thee free;
For when thou went'st to thy long home,
Thou wert exempt from all the ills to come,
And shall hereafter be 60
Spectator only of the tragedy
Acted on frail mortality.
So some one lucky mariner
From shipwreck sav'd by a propitious star,
Advanc'd upon a neighb'ring rock looks down,
And sees far off his old companions drown.

IV.

There in a state of perfect ease,
Of never interrupted happiness,
Thy large illuminated mind
Shall matter of eternal wonder find; 70
There dost thou clearly see how, and from whence
The stars communicate their influence,
The methods of th' Almighty Architect,
How He consulted with Himself alone
To lay the wondrous corner-stone,
When He this goodly fabric did erect.
There, thou dost understand
The motions of the secret hand,
That guides th' invisible wheel,
Which here, we ne'er shall know, but ever feel; 80
There Providence, the vain man's laughing-stock,
The miserable good-man's stumbling-block,
Unfolds the puzzling riddle to thy eyes,
And its own wise contrivance justifies.
What timorous man wouldn't be pleas'd to die,
To make so noble a discovery?

V.

And must I take my solemn leave
Till time shall be no more!
Can neither sighs, nor tears, nor prayers retrieve
One cheerful hour! 90
Must one unlucky moment sever
Us, and our hopes, us and our joys for ever!--
Is this cold clod of Earth that endear'd Thing
I lately did my Brother call?
Are these the artful fingers that might vie
With all the sons of harmony
And overpower them all!
Is this the studious comprehensive head
With curious arts so richly furnished!
Alas! thou, and thy glories all are gone, 100
Buried in darkness, and oblivion.
'Tis so--and I must follow thee,
Yet but a little while, and I shall see thee,
Yet but a little while I shall be with thee,
Then some kind friend perhaps may drop one tear for me.

[_On the death of Mr. Richard Flatman._] I know nothing
of Richard Flatman. He would seem to have been a younger
brother.]

[Line: 4 breath] Cf. p. 315, note.]

[Line: 19 Ai _1682_--a form found on p. 313, l. 32, and p.
315, l. 41: Ah _1686_]

_Coridon on the death of his dear Alexis, ob. Jan. 28, 1682/3._

PASTORAL SONG. Set by Dr. BLOW.

Alexis! dear Alexis! lovely boy!
O my Damon! O Palaemon! snatch'd away,
To some far distant region gone,
Has left the miserable Coridon
Bereft of all his comforts, all alone!
Have you not seen my gentle lad,
Whom every swain did love,
Cheerful, when every swain was sad,
Beneath the melancholy grove?
His face was beauteous as the dawn of day, 10
Broke through the gloomy shades of night:
O my anguish! my delight!
_Him_ (ye kind shepherds) I bewail,
Till my eyes and heart shall fail.
Tis _He_ that's landed on that distant shore,
And you and I shall see him here no more.
Return, Alexis! O return!
Return, return, in vain I cry;
Poor Coridon shall never cease to mourn
Thy too untimely, cruel destiny. 20
Farewell for ever, charming boy!
And with _Thee_, all the transports of my joy!
Ye powers above, why should I longer live,
To waste a few uncomfortable years,
To drown myself in tears,
For what my sighs and pray'rs can ne'er retrieve?

[_Coridon &c._] This and the following poems (pp. 375-407)
were added in the collected edition of 1686. Alexis is no
doubt the Thomas Flatman whose epitaph, by his father, is
printed on p. 414. This and the following poem were sent to
Sancroft, with the accompanying letter, preserved in Tanner
MS. xxxiv (fol. 235) of the Bodleian:--

My Lord

The first Page of the enclosed Paper is the result of his
Mai^{tie's}, and yo^{r} Grace's Commaunds; & the Second of my
owne uneasy thoughts on the Death of my beloved Child, who
carried yo^{r} Grace's blessing with him into the other World.
The severity of the Wether ha's delay'd Both much longer than
became the bounden Duty of

My Lord
Yo^{r} Grace's most obedient Servant
January 9 & meanest Kinsman
1683/4 THOMAS FLATMAN.

The autograph copies of the two poems are in Tanner MS. 306,
folios 391 and 392. The variants in this poem are:--

[Line: 11 Broke] Sprung.

[Line: 13 _Him_ [ye] 'Tis He.

[Line: 19 shall] can.

After the poem Flatman has quoted 'Immodicis brevis est aetas,
& rara Senectus'.]

_A Song on New-Year's-day before the King, Car. 2._

_Set by_ DR. BLOW 1682/3.

My trembling song! awake! arise!
And early tell thy tuneful tale,
Tell thy great Master, that the Night is gone;
The feeble phantoms disappear,
And now the New-Year's welcome Sun
O'erspreads the eastern skies;
He smiles on every hill, he smiles on every vale.
His glories fill our hemisphere;
Tell Him Apollo greets Him well,
And with his fellow Wanderers agrees 10
To reward all His labours, and lengthen His days,
In spite of the politic follies of Hell,
And vain contrivance of the destinies.
Tell Him, a Crown of Thorns no more
Shall His sacred temples gore,
For all the rigours of His life are o'er.
Wondrous Prince! design'd to show
What noble minds can bravely undergo,
You are our wonder, you our love;
Earth from beneath, Heaven from above, 20
Call loud for songs of triumph and of praise,
Their voices and their souls they raise;
IO PAEAN do we sing,
Long live, long live the King!
Rise, mighty Monarch, and ascend the Throne,
'Tis yet, once more your own,
For Lucifer and all his legions are o'erthrown:
Son of the Morning, first-born Son of Light,
How wert thou tumbled headlong down,
Into the dungeons of eternal night! 30
While th' loyal stars of the celestial quire
Surrounded with immortal beams,
Mingle their unpolluted flames,
Their just Creator to admire.
With awful reverence they adore Him,
Cover their faces, and fall down before Him;
And night and day for ever sing
_Hosannah_, _Hallelujah to th' Almighty King!_

[_A Song._] 10 'Wanderers' after 'Apollo' may give a moment's
pause. Then one translates the English into Greek and the
Greek into English, obtaining 'Planets' and 'Sun'.]

[Line: 13 Not in the early autograph copy sent to Sancroft
(see previous poem).]

[Line: 14 A little risky in its loyalty. Expressions in the
piece suggest the Rye-House Plot and its failure; but this was
in the March _after_ New-Year's Day, 1682/3.]

[Line: 16 all] now _MS._ life] Fate _MS._]

[Line: 23 'And IÖ PAEAN jointly sing' _MS._]

[Line: 32 immortal] augmented _MS._]

_On the King's return to White-hall, after his Summer's Progress, 1684._

_SONG. Set by_ MR. HENRY PURCELL.

From those serene and rapturous joys
A country life alone can give,
Exempt from tumult and from noise,
Where Kings forget the troubles of their reigns,
And are almost as happy as their humble swains,
By feeling that _they_ live:
Behold th' indulgent Prince is come
To view the conquests of His mercy shown
To the new Proselytes of His mighty town,
And men and angels bid Him welcome home. 10
Not with an helmet or a glitt'ring spear
Does He appear;
He boast[s] no trophies of a cruel conqueror,
Brought back in triumph from a bloody war;
But with an olive-branch adorn'd,
As once the long expected Dove return'd.
Welcome as soft refreshing show'rs,
That raise the sickly heads of drooping flow'rs:
Welcome as early beams of light
To the benighted traveller, 20
When he descries bright Phosphorus from afar,
And all his fears are put to flight.
Welcome, more welcome does He come
Than life to Lazarus from his drowsy tomb,
When in his winding-sheet, at his new birth,
The strange surprising word was said--Come forth!
Nor does the Sun more comfort bring,
When he turns Winter into Spring,
Than the blest advent of a peaceful King.

_Chorus._

With trumpets and shouts we receive the World's Wonder, 30
And let the clouds echo His welcome with thunder,
Such a thunder as applauded what mortals had done,
When they fix'd on His brows His Imperial Crown.

_To Mr. Isaac Walton, on his Publication of Thealma_

Long had the bright _Thealma_ lain obscure,
Her beauteous charms that might the world allure,
Lay like rough diamonds, in the mine, unknown,
By all the sons of folly trampled on,
Till your kind hand unveil'd her lovely face,
And gave her vigour to exert her rays:
Happy old man, whose worth all mankind knows,
Except thyself, who charitably shows
The ready road to Virtue and to Praise,
The way to many long and happy days; 10
The noble art of generous Piety,
And how to compass an Euthanasy!
Hence did he learn the skill of living well,
The bright _Thealma_ was his oracle;
Inspir'd by Her, he knows no anxious cares
In near a century of happy years;
Easy he lives, and easy shall he lie
On the soft bosom of Eternity.
As long as Spenser's noble flames shall burn,
And deep devotion shall attend his urn; 20
As long as Chalkhill's venerable name
With humble emulation shall enflame
Posterity, and fill the rolls of fame,
Your memory shall ever be secure,
And long beyond our short-liv'd praise endure;
As Phidias in Minerva's shield did live,
And shar'd that immortality he alone could give.

[_To Mr. Isaac Walton._] For _Thealma_ [_and Clearchus_]
itself, and the problems attending it, see vol. ii.]

[Line: 7 Walton published the poem in his ninetieth year and
died soon after.]

[Line: 19 Chalkhill was, said Izaak, an 'acquaintant' of
Spenser.]

_Pastoral Dialogue._

CASTARA AND PARTHENIA.

_Parthenia._

My dear Castara, t'other day
I heard an ancient shepherd say,
Alas for me! my time draws nigh,
And shortly, shortly I must die!
What meant the man? for lo! apace
Torrents of tears ran down his face.

_Castara._

Poor harmless maid! why wouldst thou know
What, known, must needs create thee woe?
'Twill cloud the sunshine of thy days,
And in thy soul such trouble raise, 10
Thou'lt grieve, and tremble, and complain,
And say that all thy beauty's vain.

_Parthenia._

Ah me! sure 'tis some dreadful thing
That can so great disorder bring,
Yet tell me, prithee tell me, do,
For 'tis some ease the worst to know.

_Castara._

To die, Parthenia, is to quit
The World, and the Sun's glorious light,
To leave our flocks and fields for ever,
To part, and never meet again, O never! 20
After that cruel hideous hour,
Thou and I shall sing no more;
In the cold Earth they will thee lay,
And what thou dot'st on shall be clay.

_Parthenia._

Alas! why will they use me so,
A virgin that no evil do?

_Castara._

Roses wither, turtles die,
Fair, and kind as thou and I.

_Chorus amb._

Then, since 'tis appointed to the dust we must go,
Let us innocently live, and virtuously do; 30
Let us love, let us sing, 'tis no matter, 'tis all one,
If our lamps be extinguish'd at midnight or noon.

_Castabella Going to Sea._

_SONG. Set by_ MR. JAMES HART.

I.

Hark, hark! methinks I hear the seamen call,
The boist'rous seamen say,
Bright Castabella, come away!
The wind sits fair, the vessel's stout and tall,
Bright Castabella, come away!
For Time and Tide can never stay.

II.

Our mighty Master Neptune calls aloud,
The Zephyrs gently blow,
The Tritons cry, You are too slow,
For every Sea-nymph of the glittering crowd 10
Has garlands ready to throw down
When you ascend your wat'ry throne.

III.