The Unconcerned.

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,10O bring me to a port which I may call my own.

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,

10O bring me to a port which I may call my own.

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,10As easily as he may;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.

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,

10As easily as he may;

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 amaze1674,1676,1682: a maze1686.

SONG.

I.What though the sky be clouded o'er,And Heav'us influence smile no more?Though tempests rise, and earthquakes makeThe giddy World's foundation shake?A gallant breast contemns the feeble blowOf 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,10Or trumpets woo away our breath!'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.

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

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,10Or trumpets woo away our breath!'Tis brave amidst the glittering throng to die.Nay, Samson-like, to fall with company.

What if alarums sounded be,

And we must face our enemy,

If cannons bellow out a death,

10Or trumpets woo away our breath!

'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.

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.

SONG.

I.Not to the hills where cedars moveTheir cloudy head, not to the groveOf 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,10Has but a little, little time to live.II.But let me soar, O let me flyBeyond 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 know20On Earth—'tis thither, thither would I go.

Not to the hills where cedars moveTheir cloudy head, not to the groveOf 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,10Has but a little, little time to live.

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,

10Has but a little, little time to live.

II.

But let me soar, O let me flyBeyond 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 know20On Earth—'tis thither, thither would I go.

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

20On Earth—'tis thither, thither would I go.

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.

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 uponWhat others wish as fast, Confusion.One swears w' are gone, another just agoing,While a third sits and cries,'Till his half-blinded eyesCall him pitiful rogue for so doing.Let the tone be what 'twill that the mighty ones utter,10Let the cause be what 'twill why the poorer sort mutter;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)20From mortals in a peevish fancy fled:Rome, when 'twas all on fire, her people mourning,'Twas an Emperor could standWith his harp in his hand,Sing and play, while the city was burning.

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 uponWhat others wish as fast, Confusion.One swears w' are gone, another just agoing,While a third sits and cries,'Till his half-blinded eyesCall him pitiful rogue for so doing.Let the tone be what 'twill that the mighty ones utter,10Let the cause be what 'twill why the poorer sort mutter;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?

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,

10Let the cause be what 'twill why the poorer sort mutter;

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)20From mortals in a peevish fancy fled:Rome, when 'twas all on fire, her people mourning,'Twas an Emperor could standWith his harp in his hand,Sing and play, while the city was burning.

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)

20From mortals in a peevish fancy fled:

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.

O Delia! for I know 'tis she,It must be she, for nothing less could moveMy 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 liesAt the melodious sound;See, while she sings10How they droop and hang their wings!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.

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

10How they droop and hang their wings!

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.

His passion thus poor Celadon betray'd,

When first he saw, when first he heard the lovely Maid.

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 cameFrom seventeen till twenty-one,Each told her of his mighty flame,10But she, forsooth, affected none.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 fateTo 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!

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.

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

Then many a doting lover came

From seventeen till twenty-one,

Each told her of his mighty flame,

10But she, forsooth, affected none.

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 fateTo 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!

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 theWestminster Drollery, 1671, and theWindsor Drollery, 1672: the latter reads 'lock'd' for 'look'd' in l. 3. In l. 91682reads 'her' for 'his'.

Sir,In that small inch of time I stole, to lookOn 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 canNo more, than read that dungfork, pothook hand10That in Queen's College Library does stand.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 wall20Of your strong-mortar'd Poems; nor can allThe small shot of our brains make one hole inThe 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 might30Hope in good time they would have come to light;And felt I not a strange poetic heatFlaming within, which reading makes me sweat,Vulcan should take 'em, and I'd not exempt 'em,Because they're thingsQuibus 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,40You merit more than our praise: as for usThe beetles of our rhymes shall drive full fast in,The wedges of your worth to everlasting,My much Apocalyptic friendSam. Austin.

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

10That in Queen's College Library does stand.

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

20Of your strong-mortar'd Poems; nor can all

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

30Hope in good time they would have come to light;

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 thingsQuibus 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,

40You merit more than our praise: as for us

The beetles of our rhymes shall drive full fast in,

The wedges of your worth to everlasting,

My much Apocalyptic friendSam. 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. HisPanegyric on the Restorationappeared 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 scandalousadversaria. Flatman himself contributed, among others, some kitchen-Latin leonines:O decus Anglorum! vates famose tuorumCujus 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 mottoAut perlegas aut non legas—renderedWhate'er thou be whose eye do chance to fallUpon this Book, read all or none at all.For a considerable time I obeyed the second part of this injunction only.Naps on Parnassushas some important variants and some corrections of the present text. Omitting minor changes, these are:—2 obscure] abstruse.5 what all] what riddles? all (Clearly the right text).After 16 is the couplet:There were Philosophers content to beRenown'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 mightHope 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'.4 The blessed word 'stero (it should be 'sterro' or 'stereo') -pegeretic' (a rather erratic compound fromπήγνυμι) is very likely Austin's own for 'strongly put together'.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'sLife and Times, i. 498 (Oxford Historical Society).15 John Tradeskin] John Tradescant the second (1608-1662), original collector of the Ashmolean Museum.27 bongraces] Sun-bonnets.

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

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 mottoAut perlegas aut non legas—rendered

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

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.

Naps on Parnassushas some important variants and some corrections of the present text. Omitting minor changes, these are:—

2 obscure] abstruse.

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

After 16 is the couplet:

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

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 mightHope in good time to see them come to light.

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.

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'.

4 The blessed word 'stero (it should be 'sterro' or 'stereo') -pegeretic' (a rather erratic compound fromπήγνυμι) is very likely Austin's own for 'strongly put together'.

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'sLife and Times, i. 498 (Oxford Historical Society).

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

27 bongraces] Sun-bonnets.

Should I attempt an elogy, or frameA paper-structure to secure thy name,The lightning of one censure, one stern frownMight 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,10Kind to the present, and succeeding age.That hand, whose curious art prolongs the dateOf frail mortality, and baffles FateWith 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 save20From dull oblivion, and a gaping grave.

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,

10Kind to the present, and succeeding age.

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

20From dull oblivion, and a gaping grave.

To my Ingenious Friend Mr. William Faithorne.] TheelderFaithorne (v. sup.,p. 278). The younger, his son and namesake, was but eighteen when Flatman first published. The lines first appeared inThe Art of Graveing and Etching ... Published by WillmFaithorne. And Sold at his Shop next to yeSigne of yeDrake without Temple Barre, 1662.1 'elogy' is no doubt here merely an equivalent for 'eulogy', and rather fromélogethanelogium. But it is a pity that it has not been kept in English as an equivalent for the Latin.5 that fruitless] my slender1662. Other important variants are:— Lines 9, 10 read:—Thine ingenuity reveals, and soBy making plain, thou dost illustrious grow.14 lasting] stately.

1 'elogy' is no doubt here merely an equivalent for 'eulogy', and rather fromélogethanelogium. But it is a pity that it has not been kept in English as an equivalent for the Latin.

5 that fruitless] my slender1662. Other important variants are:— Lines 9, 10 read:—

Thine ingenuity reveals, and soBy making plain, thou dost illustrious grow.

Thine ingenuity reveals, and so

By making plain, thou dost illustrious grow.

14 lasting] stately.

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 haveTo need the praises vulgar chaplets crave:His own bold hand, what it durst write, durst do,10Grappled with enemies, and oblivion too;Hew'd his own monument, and grav'd thereonIts deep and durable inscription.To you, Sir, whom the valiant Author owesHis 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 industryObliges all the world, can be oblig'd by me.

To the Worthy Translator,Charles Cotton, Esq.

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 haveTo need the praises vulgar chaplets crave:His own bold hand, what it durst write, durst do,10Grappled with enemies, and oblivion too;Hew'd his own monument, and grav'd thereonIts deep and durable inscription.To you, Sir, whom the valiant Author owesHis 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 industryObliges all the world, can be oblig'd by me.

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,

10Grappled with enemies, and oblivion too;

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'sPoems.

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 allowTime for our eating directory now:Though I must needs confess, I think my rulesWould prove Pythagoras and Plato fools.Hor.Grave Sir,I must acknowledge,'tis a crimeTo interrupt at such a nick of time;Yet stay a little,Sir,it is no sin;10You're to say Grace ere dinner can begin;Since you at food such virtuoso are,Some precepts to an hungry poet spare.Ca.I grant you, Sir, next pleasure ta'en in eatingIs 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,20We ne'er name authors, only what they say.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 areworse 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,30'And impale corpse on spit as soon as dead;'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 these40'Shall hurt his stomach less than Cheshire cheese.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 unlock50'Thy body's trunk, and give a vent to nock.'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,60'There's no such crawlers in the Ocean.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;70'There's Machiavel in th'ménageof a supper.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,80'Be wise, and in the first place carve a wing.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,90'Set it abroad all night, and 'twill refine,'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 ye100'To feed courageously on good anchovy.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 tup110'There may you see the green herbs boiling up,'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 thisHoganfish,120'Pepper and salt enamelling the dish.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,130'And yet how much they cost one in a year!28. 'Wouldst thou rub alabaster with hands sable,'Or spread a diaper cloth on dirty table?'More cost, more worship: Come: beà la mode;'Embellish treat, as thou would do an ode.'Hor.O learnèd Sir,how greedily I hearThis elegantDiatribaof good cheer!Now by all that's good,by all provant you love,By sturdyChine of Beef,and mightyJove;I do conjure thygravity,let me see140The man that made thee thisDiscovery;For he that sees th'Original'smore happyThan him that draws by an ill-favour'dCopy.O bring me to the man I so admire!TheFlintfrom whence brake forth these sparks of fire.What satisfaction would the Vision bring?If sweet the stream,much sweeter is the spring.

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;

10You're to say Grace ere dinner can begin;

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,

20We ne'er name authors, only what they say.

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 areworse 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,

30'And impale corpse on spit as soon as dead;

'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

40'Shall hurt his stomach less than Cheshire cheese.

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

50'Thy body's trunk, and give a vent to nock.

'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,

60'There's no such crawlers in the Ocean.

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;

70'There's Machiavel in th'ménageof a supper.

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,

80'Be wise, and in the first place carve a wing.

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,

90'Set it abroad all night, and 'twill refine,

'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

100'To feed courageously on good anchovy.

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

110'There may you see the green herbs boiling up,

'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 thisHoganfish,

120'Pepper and salt enamelling the dish.

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,

130'And yet how much they cost one in a year!

28. 'Wouldst thou rub alabaster with hands sable,

'Or spread a diaper cloth on dirty table?

'More cost, more worship: Come: beà la mode;

'Embellish treat, as thou would do an ode.'

Hor.O learnèd Sir,how greedily I hear

This elegantDiatribaof good cheer!

Now by all that's good,by all provant you love,

By sturdyChine of Beef,and mightyJove;

I do conjure thygravity,let me see

140The man that made thee thisDiscovery;

For he that sees th'Original'smore happy

Than him that draws by an ill-favour'dCopy.

O bring me to the man I so admire!

TheFlintfrom 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'sShakesperian Punctuation, pp. 94-5.57 Wall-fleet1674-82; Wain-fleet1686.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 hisEastern England(ii. 10) may be trusted, the place was not so very long ago excellent for cockles.60 The ocean 'crawlers' are at any rate bigger than those of the Kennet.75-6 This is a libel.104 Ram-alley] The constantly cited street of coarse cook-shops.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.114 It would be a pity not to keep the form 'costard-monger'.119 'Hogan' of course = 'Dutch'. This, the only positiverecipein 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 ingeniousArt of Cookeryin prose and verse (to be found in the ninth volume of Chalmers) some thirty years later.125-6. If 'within 's' be extended to 'withinis' we shall have in 'to-make' a pleasant Hudibrastic rhyme to 'stomach', which otherwise comes in but ill.127 What the special use of Dutch tiles was I can only guess. For tankard stands?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'.

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

57 Wall-fleet1674-82; Wain-fleet1686.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 hisEastern England(ii. 10) may be trusted, the place was not so very long ago excellent for cockles.

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

75-6 This is a libel.

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

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.

114 It would be a pity not to keep the form 'costard-monger'.

119 'Hogan' of course = 'Dutch'. This, the only positiverecipein 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 ingeniousArt of Cookeryin prose and verse (to be found in the ninth volume of Chalmers) some thirty years later.

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

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

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'.

Pindaric Ode.

StanzaI.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 hear10What 'twas my passions had to say,To find the reason of that uproar there,And calmly, if I could, to end the fray:No sooner was my resolution knownBut 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,20Like th' formless embryo of the unborn world,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 artTo vent the overflowings of their heart;They without trouble live, without disorder die,30Regardless of Eternity.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 thoughtHow few have practis'd what they gravely taught,(Tho' 'tis but folly to complain)40I judg'd it worth a generous disdain,And brave defiance in Pindaric song.

StanzaI.

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 hear10What 'twas my passions had to say,To find the reason of that uproar there,And calmly, if I could, to end the fray:No sooner was my resolution knownBut 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,20Like th' formless embryo of the unborn world,Just as it's rousing from eternal night,Before the great Creator said,Let there be Light.

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

10What 'twas my passions had to say,

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,

20Like th' formless embryo of the unborn world,

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 artTo vent the overflowings of their heart;They without trouble live, without disorder die,30Regardless of Eternity.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 thoughtHow few have practis'd what they gravely taught,(Tho' 'tis but folly to complain)40I judg'd it worth a generous disdain,And brave defiance in Pindaric song.

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,

30Regardless of Eternity.

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)

40I judg'd it worth a generous disdain,

And brave defiance in Pindaric song.

The Disappointed.] In 1674 and in Contents of 1686The Disappointment.21 as] at1674.27 unhappy] happy1682.29 without disorder die,1682.

The Disappointed.] In 1674 and in Contents of 1686The Disappointment.

21 as] at1674.

27 unhappy] happy1682.

29 without disorder die,1682.

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 mayAround her snowy bosom play,Cherish with gentle heat that noble breast10Which so much innocence has blest,Such innocence, as hitherto ne'er knewWhat mischief Venus or her son could do.Then from this hallow'd placeLet the profane and wanton eye withdraw,For Virtue clad in scarlet strikes an aweFrom the tribunal of a lovely face.

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.

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 mayAround her snowy bosom play,Cherish with gentle heat that noble breast10Which so much innocence has blest,Such innocence, as hitherto ne'er knewWhat mischief Venus or her son could do.

Ye envied waters that with safety may

Around her snowy bosom play,

Cherish with gentle heat that noble breast

10Which so much innocence has blest,

Such innocence, as hitherto ne'er knew

What mischief Venus or her son could do.

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

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.

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 doThan in disdain to say, Thou foolish world, adieu!II.10There was a time, fool that I was! when IBeliev'd there might be something here below.A seeming cordial to my drooping heartThat might allay my bitter smart:I call'd itFriend:—but O th' inconstancyOf 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,20False Musidore, thy formal alter'd face,When thou betray'dst my seeming happiness,And coldly took'st my kind address:But know that I will live; for in thy placeHeaven has provided for me nowA constant friend, that dares not break a vow;That friend will I embrace,And never more my overweening love misplace.

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.

10There was a time, fool that I was! when IBeliev'd there might be something here below.A seeming cordial to my drooping heartThat might allay my bitter smart:I call'd itFriend:—but O th' inconstancyOf 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.

10There was a time, fool that I was! when I

Believ'd there might be something here below.

A seeming cordial to my drooping heart

That might allay my bitter smart:

I call'd itFriend:—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,20False Musidore, thy formal alter'd face,When thou betray'dst my seeming happiness,And coldly took'st my kind address:But know that I will live; for in thy placeHeaven has provided for me nowA constant friend, that dares not break a vow;That friend will I embrace,And never more my overweening love misplace.

I saw thy much-estrangèd eyes, I saw,

20False Musidore, thy formal alter'd face,

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.

epitaph.

Brave Youth, whose too too hasty fateHis glories did anticipate,Whose active soul had laid the great designTo emulate those Heroes of his line!He show'd the world how great a manMight be contracted to a span;How soon our teeming expectations fail,How little tears and wishes can prevail:Could life hold out with these supplies10He'd liv'd still in his parents' eyes,And this cold stone had ne'er said,Here he lies.

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

10He'd liv'd still in his parents' eyes,

And this cold stone had ne'er said,Here he lies.

epitaph.

'Tis thus——and thus farewell to allVain 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 prizeAre soonest ravish'd from our eyes.

'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,andWilliam, 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.

Sed jam nec Domus accipiet te laeta, nec UxorOptima,nec dulces occurrent oscula natiPraeripere,et tacita pectus dulcedine tangent.

Sed jam nec Domus accipiet te laeta, nec Uxor

Optima,nec dulces occurrent oscula nati

Praeripere,et tacita pectus dulcedine tangent.

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 theeBy 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?

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?

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 unfoldA cargo swoln with diamonds and gold.With indefatigable travels, theyThe trading world, the learnèd you, survey;And for renown with great Columbus vie,10In subterranean cosmography.

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,

10In subterranean cosmography.

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. HisTravelswere first printed in 1682.

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 sentFrom those we call the ragged regiment:Sure guide to everlasting peace above,Thou dost th' impediments remove;Th' unnecessary loads of wealth and state,10Which make men swell too big for the strait gate.II.Thou happy port! where we from storms are free,And need not fear (false world!) thy piracy.Hither for ease and shelter did retireThe 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 appearWhere monarchs reformadoes were?Why should men call that state of life forlorn,20Which God approves of, and which kings have borne?III.Mad Luxury! what do thy vassals reapFrom 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 comeWhen he is gone to his long home,The prodigal youth for whom he took such pains30Shall be thy slave, and wear thy loathèd chains.IV.Fair handmaid to Devotion, by whose aidOur souls are all disrob'd, all naked laid,In thy true mirror men themselves do seeJust 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,40And pant, and breathe for immortality.

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,

10Which make men swell too big for the strait gate.

II.

Thou happy port! where we from storms are free,And need not fear (false world!) thy piracy.Hither for ease and shelter did retireThe 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 appearWhere monarchs reformadoes were?Why should men call that state of life forlorn,20Which God approves of, and which kings have borne?

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,

20Which God approves of, and which kings have borne?

III.

Mad Luxury! what do thy vassals reapFrom 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 comeWhen he is gone to his long home,The prodigal youth for whom he took such pains30Shall be thy slave, and wear thy loathèd chains.

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

30Shall be thy slave, and wear thy loathèd chains.

IV.

Fair handmaid to Devotion, by whose aidOur souls are all disrob'd, all naked laid,In thy true mirror men themselves do seeJust 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,40And pant, and breathe for immortality.

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,

40And pant, and breathe for immortality.

On Poverty.] 14 Charles] Of course Charles the Fifth. Casimire] John Casimir of Poland, who had abdicated in 1668 and died in 1672.18 'Reformadoes'] Lit. officers of a disbanded company, who retained their rank and received half-pay.31-40 A stanza added in 1686.

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

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

31-40 A stanza added in 1686.

a dream.

In a soft vision of the night,My Fancy represented to my sightA goodly gentle shade;Methought it mov'd with a majestic grace,But the surprising sweetness of its faceMade 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,10Is then my Parthenissa dead, said I?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?20Ah speak to thy Urania!Oh envious Death! nothing but thee I fear'd,No other rival could estrangeHer 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.

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,

10Is then my Parthenissa dead, said I?

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?

20Ah speak to thy Urania!

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.

Pastoral.

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