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Is fairer far in May,
Although it fall and die that night;-
Call, noble Lucius, then for wine, And let thy looks with gladness shine: Accept this garland, plant it on thy head, And think, nay know, thy Morison's not dead. He leaped the present age, Possessed with holy rage
To see that bright eternal day;
Of which we priests and poets say Such truths, as we expect for happy men; And there he lives with memory and Ben.
this of him, ere he went,
Or taste a part of that full joy he meant
In this bright Asterism!
Where it were friendship's schism, Were not his Lucius long with us to tarry, To separate these twi
Lights, the Dioscuri ;
And keep the one half from his Harry.
But fate doth so alternate the design,
Whilst that in heaven, this light on earth must
And shine as you exalted are;
Two names of friendship, but one star: Of hearts the union, and those not by chance Made, or indenture, or leased out t'advance The profits for a time.
No pleasures vain did chime,
Of rhymes, or riots, at your feasts,
But simple love of greatness and of good,
This made you first to know the why
That liking; and approach so one the t'other
The copy of his friend.
You lived to be the great sir-names, And titles, by which all made claims Unto the virtue; nothing perfect done, But as a Cary, or a Morison.
And such a force the fair example had,
The good, and durst not practise it, were glad
Was left yet to mankind;
Where they might read and find Friendship, indeed, was written not in words; And with the heart, not pen,
Of two so early men,
Whose lines her rolls were, and recòrds; Who, ere the first down bloomèd on the chin, Had sowed these fruits, and got the harvest in.
TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE, THE LORD HIGH TREASURER OF ENGLAND.
AN EPISTLE MENDICANT.
Poor wretched states, pressed by extremities,
Disease, the enemy, and his engineers, Want, with the rest of his concealed compeers,
Have cast a trench about me, now five years,
And made those strong approaches by false brays, 107
Redoubts, half-moons, horn-works, and such close ways, 107
The muse not peeps out, one of hundred days;
107 Fausse braies.
But lies blocked up and straightened, nar
Fixed to the bed and boards, unlike to win Health, or scarce breath, as she had never been;
Unless some saving honor of the Crown,
TO THE KING, ON HIS BIRTHDAY.
November 19, 1632.
AN EPIGRAM ANNIVERSARY.
This is King Charles his day. Speak it, thou Tower,
Unto the ships, and they, from tier to tier, Discharge it 'bout the island in an hour, As loud as thunder, and as swift as fire. Let Ireland meet it out at sea, half-way, Repeating all Great Britain's joy, and more, Adding her own glad accents to this day,
Like Echo playing from the other shore. What drums or trumpets, or great ordnance can, The poetry of steeples, with the bells,
Three kingdoms' mirth, in light and aëry man, Made lighter with the wine. All noises else, At bonfires, rockets, fireworks, with the shouts That cry that gladness which their hearts would pray.
Had they but grace of thinking, at these routs,
On the often coming of this holy-day: And ever close the burden of the song,
Still to have such a Charles, but this Charles long.
The wish is great; but where the prince is such, What prayers, people, can you think too much!
ON THE RIGHT HONORABLE AND
Upon the day he was made Earl of Portland, February 17, 1632. TO THE ENVIOUS, 108
Look up, thou seed of envy, and still bring
Thou sluggish spawn, that canst, but wilt not see!
Feed on thyself for spite, and show thy kind,
To effect it, feel thou'st made thine own heart
108 From Clarendon's character of Lord Portland, it appears that he was not only very generally disliked and censured, but that he deserved the enmities he incurred. — B.