L

O DE

IV.

ON THE UNCERTAINTY OF FORTUNE..

A TRANSLATION.

E AVE off unfit complaints, and clear

From fighs your breaft, and from black clouds:
your brow,

When the fun fhines not with his wonted cheer,
And fortune throws an adverse caft for you!
That fea which vext with Notus is,
The merry Eaft-winds will to-morrow kifs..
The fun to-day rides drowfily,
To-morrow 'twill put on a look more fair:
Laughter and groaning do alternately
Return, and tears' sports nearest neighbours are.
'Tis by the gods appointed so,

That good fare fhould with mingled dangers flow,

Who drave his oxen yesterday,

Doth now over the nobleft Romans reign,
And on the Gabii and the Cures lay

The yoke which from his oxen he had ta'en :
Whom Hesperus faw poor and low,

The morning's eye beholds him greatest now.
If Fortune knit amongst her play
But ferioufnefs, he fhall again go home
To his old country-farm of yesterday,
To fcoffing people no mean jest become ;

And

And with the crowned axe, which he
Had rul'd the world, go back and prune fome tree;
Nay, if he want the fuel cold requires,

With his own fafces he fhall make him fires.

O DE V.

IN COMMENDATION OF THE TIME WE LIVE UNDER, THE REIGN OF OUR GRACIOUS KING CHARLES.

CURS

URST be that wretch (death's factor fure) who
brought

Dire fwords into the peaceful world, and taught
Smiths (who before could only make

The fpade, the plow-fhare, and the rake)
Arts, in moft cruel wife

Man's life t' epitomize!

Then men (fond men, alas !) ride post to th' grave,
And cut those threads which yet the Fates would fave;
Then Charon fweated at his trade,

And had a larger ferry made;
Then, then the filver hair,

Frequent before, grew rare.

Then Revenge, married to Ambition,
Begat black War; then Avarice crept on;
Then limits to each field were strain'd,
And Terminus a god-head gain'd.
To men, before, was found,

Befides the fea, no bound.

In what plain, or what river, hath not been
War's ftory writ in blood (sad sory !) seen ?
This truth too well our England knows :
'Twas civil flaughter dy'd her rofe;

Nay, then her lily too

With blood's lofs paler grew.

Such griefs, nay worse than these, we now should feel,
Did not just Charles filence the rage of steel;

He to our land blest Peace doth bring,
All neighbour countries envying.
Happy who did remain

Unborn till Charles's reign!

Where, dreaming chemicks! is your pain and cost?
How is your oil, how is your labour loft!
Our Charles, bleft alchemist! (though ftrange,
Believe it, future times!) did change

The iron-age of old
Into an age of gold.

O DE VI.

UPON THE SHORTNESS OF MAN'S LIFE.

MARK

ARK that fwift arrow! how it cuts the air,
How it out-runs thy following eye!

Ufe all perfuafions now, and try

If thou canst call it back, or stay it there.
That way it went.; but thou shalt find
No tract is left behind.

Fool!

Fool! 'tis thy life, and the fond archer thou.
Of all the time thou 'ft fhot away,

I'll bid thee fetch but yesterday,
And it fhall be too hard a task to do.

Befides repentance, what canft find
That it hath left behind?

Our life is carried with too strong a tide;

A doubtful cloud our substance bears,
And is the horse of all our years.

Each day doth on a winged whirlwind ride.
We and our glafs run out, and muft
Both render up our duft.

But his paft life who without grief can fee;
Who never thinks his end too near,

But fays to fame, Thou art mine heir';
That man extends life's natural brevity –
This is, this is the only way

To out-live Neftor in a day.

AN ANSWER TO AN INVITATION TO CAMBRIDGE.

[ICHOLS, my better felf! forbear;

NICE

For, if thou tell'ft what Cambridge pleasures are,
The school-boys' fin will light on me,

Ifhall, in mind at least, a truant be.

Tell me not how you feed your mind
With dainties of philofophy;

In Ovid's nut I fhall not find
The tafte once pleased me.

O tell

O tell me not of logick's diverse cheer!
I fhall begin to loathe our cramboe here.

Tell me not how the waves appear

Of Cam, or how it cuts the learned fhire;
I fhall contemn the troubled Thames
On her chief holiday; ev'n when her streams
Are with rich folly gilded; when
The quondam dung-boat is made gay,
Just like the bravery of the men,

And graces with fresh paint that day; When th' city fhines with flags and pageants there, And fatin doublets, feen not twice a year.

Why do I stay then? I would meet

Thee there, but plummets hang upon my feet: chief wish to live with thee,

'Tis s my

But not till I deserve thy company:

Till then, we'll fcorn to let that toy,
Some forty miles, divide our hearts :
Write to me, and I shall enjoy,

Friendship and wit, thy better parts.

Though envious Fortune larger hindrance brings, We'll eafily fee each other; Love hath wings.