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Thou bring'st us an estate, yet leav'st us poor,
By clogging it with legacies before!

The joys which we entire should wed,
Come deflower'd virgins to our bed;
Good fortunes without gain imported be,
Such mighty custom's paid to thee.

For joy, like wine, kept close does better taste; If it take air before, its spirits waste.

Hope! Fortune's cheating lottery!

Where for one prize an hundred blanks there be;
Fond archer, Hope! who tak'st thy aim so far,
That still or short or wide thine arrows are!

Thin, empty cloud, which th' eye deceives
With shapes that our own fancy gives!
A cloud, which gilt and painted now appears,
But must drop presently in tears!
When thy false beams o'er Reason's light prevail,
By ignes fatui for north-stars we sail.

Brother of Fear, more gayly clad!

The merrier fool o' th' two, yet quite as mad:
Sire of Repentance! child of fond Desire!
That blow'st the chymics', and the lovers', fire,
Leading them still insensibly on

By the strange witchcraft of "anon!"
By thee the one does changing Nature, through
Her endless labyrinths, pursue;

And th' other chases woman, whilst she goes More ways and turns than hunted Nature knows.

FOR HOPE.

HOPE! of all ills that men endure,
The only cheap and universal cure!
Thou captive's freedom, and thou sick man's health!
Thou loser's victory, and thou beggar's wealth!
Thou manna, which from Heaven we eat,
To every taste a several meat!
Thou strong retreat! thou sure-entail'd estate,
Which nought has power to alienate.
Thou pleasant, honest flatterer! for none
Flatter unhappy men, but thou alone!

Hope! thou first-fruits of happiness!

Thou gentle dawning of a bright success!
Thou good preparative, without which our joy
Does work too strong, and, whilst it cures, destroy!
Who out of Fortune's reach dost stand,
And art a blessing still in hand!
Whilst thee, her earnest-money, we retain,
We certain are to gain,

Whether she her bargain break or else fulfil;
Thou only good, not worse for ending ill!

Brother of Faith! 'twixt whom and thee The joys of Heaven and Earth divided be! Though Faith be heir, and have the fixt estate, Thy portion yet in movables is great.

Happiness itself's all one

In thee, or in possession!
Only the future's thine, the present his!

Thine's the more hard and noble bliss:
Best apprehender of our joys! which hast
So long a reach, and yet canst hold so fast!

Hope! thou sad lovers' only friend! Thou Way, that may'st dispute it with the End! For love, I fear, 's a fruit that does delight The taste itself less than the smell and sight.

Fruition more deceitful is

Than thou canst be, when thou dost miss; Men leave thee by obtaining, and straight flee Some other way again to thee;

And that's a pleasant country, without doubt To which all soon return that travel out.

CLAUDIAN'S OLD MAN OF VERONA.

DE SENE VERONENSI, QUI SUBURBIUM NUNQUAM EGRESSUS EST.

FELIX, qui patriis, &c. .

HAPPY the man, who his whole time doth bound
Within th' inclosure of his little ground.
Happy the man, whom the same humble place
(Th' hereditary cottage of his race)
From his first rising infancy has known,
And by degrees sees gently bending down,
With natural propension, to that earth
Which both preserv'd his life, and gave him birth
Him no false distant lights, by fortune set,
Could ever into foolish wanderings get.
He never dangers either saw or fear'd.
The dreadful storms at sea he never heard.
He never heard the shrill alarms of war,
Or the worse noises of the lawyers' bar.
No change of consuls marks to him the year
The change of seasons is his calendar.
The cold and heat, winter and summer shows,
Autumn by fruits, and spring by flowers, he knows
He measures time by land-marks, and has found
For the whole day the dial of his ground.
A neighboring wood, born with himself, he sees,
And loves his old contemporary trees.
He 'as only heard of near Verona's name,
And knows it, like the Indies, but by fame.
Does with a like concernment notice take
Of the Red-sea, and of Benacus' lake.
Thus health and strength he to a third age enjoys
And sees a long posterity of boys.
About the spacious world let others roam,
The voyage, life, is longest made at home.

THE WISH.

WELL, then; I now do plainly see
This busy world and I shall ne'er agree;
The very honey of all earthly joy

Does of all meats the soonest cloy;
And they, methinks, deserve my pity,
Who for it can endure the stings,
The crowd, and buzz, and murmurings,
Of this great hive, the city.

Ah, yet, ere I descend to th' grave,
May I a small house and large garden have!
And a few friends, and many books, both true,
Both wise, and both delightful too!
And, since love ne'er will from me flee,
A mistress moderately fair,
And good as guardian-angels are,

Only belov'd, and loving me!

Oh, fountains! when in you shall I Myself, eas'd of unpeaceful thoughts, espy? Oh fields! oh woods! when, when shall I be made The happy tenant of your shade?

Here's the spring-head of Pleasure's flood; Where all the riches lie, that she

Had coined and stamped for good.

Pride and ambition here

Only in far-fetched metaphors appear;

Here naught but winds can hurtful murmurs scatter,

And naught but Echo flatter.

The gods, when they descended, hither From Heaven did always choose their way; And therefore we may boldly say,

That 't is the way too thither.

How happy here should I,

And one dear she, live, and embracing die!
She, who is all the world, and can exclude
In deserts solitude!

I should have then this only fear-
Lest men, when they my pleasures see,
Should hither throng to live like me,
And so make a city here.

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Ah, wretched We! poets of earth! but thou Wert living the same poet which thou'rt now; Whilst angels sing to thee their airs divine, And joy in an applause so great as thine, Equal society with them to hold,

Thou need'st not make new songs, but say the old:

And they, kind spirits! shall all rejoice to see How little less than they exalted man may be.

LIBERTY.

WHERE honor or where conscience does not bind, No other law shall shackle me;

Slave to myself I will not be:

Nor shall my future actions be confined

By my own present mind.

Who by resolves and vows engaged does stand

For days that yet belong to Fate,

Does, like an unthrift, mortgage his estate
Before it falls into his hand.

The bondman of the cloister so

All that he does receive does always owe;
And still as time comes in, it goes away,
Not to enjoy, but debts to pay.

Unhappy slave! and pupil to a bell!

Which his hour's work, as well as hours, does

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Ir mine eyes do e'er declare

They 've seen a second thing that's fair; Or ears that they have music found, Besides thy voice, in any sound;

If my taste do ever meet,

After thy kiss with aught that's sweet;

If my abused touch allow

Aught to be smooth or soft but thou!

If what seasonable springs

Or the eastern summer brings,

Do my smell persuade at all

Aught perfume but thy breath to call;

If all my senses objects be

Not contracted into thee,

And so through thee more powerful pase,

As beams do through a burning-glass;

If all things that in Nature are
Either soft, or sweet, or fair,

Be not in thee so epitomized,

That naught material's not comprised,
May I as worthless seem to thee,
As all but thou appear to me.

LOVE IN HER SUNNY EYES.

LOVE in her sunny eyes does basking play; Love walks the pleasant mazes of her hair; Love does on both her lips for ever stray, And sows and reaps a thousand kisses there; In all her outward parts Love's always seen, But, oh! he never went within.

JOHN DRYDEN.

JOHN DRYDEN was born at Aldwinckle, Northamptonshire, August 9, 1631. He was educated first at Westminster School, under Dr. Busby, and then at Cambridge, where he took the master's degree in 1657. He inherited a small estate, and went to London under the patronage of Sir Gilbert Pickering. At the age of twenty he had published an elegy and some epigrams; but his first poem that attracted attention was "Heroic Stanzas on the Death of Cromwell." | On the restoration, he changed his politics, and sang in praise of Charles II., in " Astræa Redux" and "A Panegyric on the Coronation." This cost him the friendship of Pickering, and he then became an author by profession. He wrote for the stage with considerable success. But his rhymed tragedies were deservedly ridiculed by the Duke of Buckingham in "The Rehearsal" In 1663 Dryden married Elizabeth Howard, daughter of the Earl of Berkshire, and in 1670 he was appointed poet-laureate and historiographer. In 1681 he wrote "Absalom and Achitophel," an elaborate political satire, and the next year "Mac Flecknoe," a continuation

of it. On the accession of James II. he became, with that monarch, a convert to the Roman Catholic faith, and in 1687 published his "Hind and Panther," a most absurd defence of his adopted church. His pension was now largely increased, his poems were universally read, and he seemed at the very height of prosperity. But the revolution deprived him of his laureateship, and reduced him to the necessity of writing again for bread. He produced more plays, which were put upon the stage, but are now, like his earlier ones, almost forgotten. Dryden was unlike Milton in that he did his best work in the last years of his life. The translation of Virgil was begun in 1694, and occupied two years. Soon after, appeared his "Ode on Alexander's Feast," and then he spent a year and a half in writing his "Fables." He died May 1, 1700, and was buried in Westminster Abbey. In Dryden's character and conduct as a man there is little to admire; but the student of English poetry will never cease to regret that such noble powers were so largely wasted on ephemeral and unworthy themes.

ANNUS MIRABILIS:

THE YEAR OF WONDERS, 1666.

Is thriving arts long time had Holland grown,
Crouching at home and cruel when abroad:
Scarce leaving us the means to claim our own;
Our king they courted, and our merchants aw'd.

Trade, which like blood should circularly flow,
Stopp'd in their channels, found its freedom lost:
Thither the wealth of all the world did go,
And seem'd but shipwreck d on so base a coast.

For them alone the Heavens had kindly heat;
In eastern quarries ripening precious dew:
For them the Idumæan balm did sweat,
And in hot Ceilon spicy forests grew.

The Sun but seem'd the laborer of the year;
Each waxing Moon supplied her watery store,
To swell those tides which from the line did bear
Their brim full vessels to the Belgian shore.

Thus, mighty in her ships, stood Carthage long,
And swept the riches of the world from far;
Yet stoop'd to Rome, less wealthy, but more strong:
And this may prove our second Punic war.

What peace can be, where both to one pretend? (But they more diligent, and we more strong) Or if a peace, it soon must have an end;

For they would grow too powerful were it long

Behold two nations, then, engag'd so far,

That each seven years the fitmust shake each land Where France will side to weaken us by war,

Who only can his vast designs withstand.

See how he feeds th' Iberian with delays,

To render us his timely friendship vain : And while his secret soul on Flanders preys, He rocks the cradle of the babe of Spain.

Such deep designs of empire does he lay

O'er them, whose cause he seems to take in hand And prudently would make them lords at sea, To whom with ease he can give laws by land

.

This saw our king; and long within his breast
His pensive counsels balanc'd to and fro:
He griev'd the land he freed should be oppress'd
And he less for it than usurpers do.

His generous mind the fair ideas drew

Of fame and honor, which in dangers lay; Where wealth, like fruit on precipices, grew Not to be gather'd but by birds of prev

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And now approach'd their fleet from India, fraught Happy, who never trust a stranger's will,
With all the riches of the rising Sun:
And precious sand from southern climates brought,
The fatal regions where the war begun.

Like hunted castors, conscious of their store, [bring:
Their waylaid wealth to Norway's coasts they
There first the North's cold bosom spices bore,

And Winter brooded on the eastern Spring.

Whose friendship's in his interest understood Since money given but tempts him to be ill, When power is too remote to make him good.

Till now, alone the mighty nations strove;

The rest, at gaze, without the lists did stand; And threatening France, plac'd like a painted Jove Kept idle thunder in his lifted hand.

That eunuch guardian of rich Holland's trade, Who envies us what he wants power t'enjoy; Whose noiseful valor does no foe invade,

And weak assistance will his friends destroy.

Offended that we fought without his leave,

He takes this time his secret hate to show: Which Charles does with a mind so calm receive As one that neither seeks nor shuns his foe.

With France, to aid the Dutch, the Danes unite: France as their tyrant, Denmark as their slave. But when with one three nations join to fight, They silently confess that one more brave.

Lewis had chas'd the English from his shore;
But Charles the French as subjects does invite:
Would Heaven for each some Solomon restore,
Who, by their mercy, may decide their right!

Were subjects so but only by their choice,

And not from birth did forc'd dominion take, Our prince alone would have the public voice; And all his neighbors' realms would deserts make.

He without fear a dangerous war pursues, Which without rashness he began before: As honor made him first the danger choose, So still he makes it good on virtue's score.

The doubled charge his subjects' love supplies, Who in that bounty to themselves are kind: So glad Egyptians see their Nilus rise,

And in his plenty their abundance find.

With equal power he does two chiefs create,
Two such as each seem'd worthiest when alone;
Each able to sustain a nation's fate,

Since both had found a greater in their own.

Both great in courage, conduct, and in fame,

Yet neither envious of the other's praise;
Their duty, faith, and interest too the same,
Like mighty partners equally they raise.

The prince long time had courted Fortune's love,
But once possess'd did absolutely reign:
Thus with their Amazons the heroes strove,
And conquer'd first those beauties they would gain.

The duke beheld, like Scipio, with disdain,

That Carthage, which he ruin'd, rise once more; And shook aloft the fasces of the main,

To fright those slaves with what they felt before.

Together to the watery camp they haste,

Whom matrons passing to their children show: Infants' first vows for them to Heaven are cast, And future people bless them as they go.

With them no riotous pomp, nor Asian train,
To infect a navy with their gaudy fears;
To make slow fights, and victories but vain:
But war severely like itself appears.

Diffusive of themselves, where'er they pass,
They make that warmth in others they expect:
Their valor works like bodies on a glass,
And does its image on their men project.

Our fleet divides, and straight the Dutch appear, In number, and a fam'd commander, bold: The narrow seas can scarce their navy bear,

Or crowded vessels can their soldiers hold.

The duke, less numerous, but in courage more.
On wings of all the winds to combat flies
His murdering guns a loud defiance roar,
And bloody crosses on his flag-staffs rise.

Both furl their sails, and strip them for the fight;
Their folded sheets dismiss the useless air:
'Th' Elean plains could boast no nobler sight,
When struggling champions did their bodies bare

Borne each by other in a distant line,

The sea-built forts in dreadful order move: So vast the noise, as if not fleets did join, But lands unfix'd, and floating nations strove.

Now pass'd, on either side they nimbly tack; Both strive to intercept and guide the wind: And, in its eye, morc c'csely they come back, To finish all the deaths they left behind

On high-rais'd decks the haughty Belgians ride,
Beneath whose shade our humble frigates go
Such port the elephant bears, and so defied
By the rhinoceros her unequal foe.

And as the built, so different is the fight

Their mounting shot is on our sails design'd; Deep in their hulls our deadly bullets light, And through the yielding planks a passage find

Our dreaded admiral from far they threat,

Whose batter'd rigging their whole war receives All bare, like some old oak which tempests beat, He stands, and sees below his scatter'd leaves

Heroes of old, when wounded, shelter sought; But he who meets all danger with disdain, Ev'n in their face his ship to anchor brought, And steeple-high stood propt upon the main.

At this excess of courage, all amaz'd,

The foremost of his foes awhile withdraw: With such respect in enter'd Rome they gaz'd, Who on high chairs the godlike fathers saw.

And now, as where Patroclus' body lay,

Here Trojan chiefs advanc'd, and there the Greek Ours o'er the duke their pious wings display, And theirs the noblest spoils of Britain seek.

Meantime his busy mariners he hastes,

His shatter'd sails with rigging to restore; And willing pines ascend his broken masts,

Whose lofty heads rise higher than before.

Straight to the Dutch he turns his dreadful prow More fierce th' important quarrel to decide: Like swans, in long array his vessels show, Whose crests advancing do the waves divide.

They charge, recharge, and all along the sca
They drive, and squander the huge Belgian fleet
Berkeley alone, who nearest danger lay,

Did a like fate with lost Creusa meet

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