Interest in all his actions was discern'd ;
Blore learn'd than honest, more a wit thanlearn'd.
Or forcd by fear, or by his profit led,
Or both conjoin'd, his native clime he fled ;
But brought the virtues of his heaven along,
A fair behaviour, and a fluent tongue.
And yet with all his arts he could not thrive ;
The most unlucky parasite alive.
Loud praises to prepare his paths he sent.
And then himself pursued his compliment ;
But, by reveise of fortune, chas'd away,.
His gifts no longer then their author stay :
He shakes the dust against the' ungrateful race,
And leaves the stench of ordures in the place.
Oft has he flatter'd and blasphem'd the same ;
For, in his rage, he spares no sovereign's name ;
The hero and the tyrant change their style,
By the same measure that they frown or smile.
When well receiv'd by hospitable foes.
The kindness he returns â€” is to expose :
For courtesies, though undeserv'd and great, ~\
No gratitude in felon-minds beget ; v
As tribute to his wit the churl receives the treat, y
His praise of foes is venomously nice ; -\
So touch'd, it turns a virtue to a vice : ^
' A Greek, and bountiful, forewarns us twice.' j
Seven sacraments he wisely does disown,
Because he knows confession stands for one :
Part 3. THR HIND AND PANTHER. 189
Where sins to sacred silence are convey'd,
And not for fear, or love, to be betray'd :
But he, uncall'd, his patron to control,
Diviilg'd the secret whispers of his soul ;
Stood forth the' accusing Satan of his crimes,
And ofFer'd to the Moloch of the times.
Prompt to assail, and careless of defence,
Invulnerable in his impudence.
He dares the world ; and, eager of a name,
He thrusts about, and justles into fame.
Frontless, and satire-proof, he scowers the streets,
And runs an Indian-muck at all he meets :
So fond of loud report, that not to miss ^
Of being known, (his last and utmost bliss) '
He rather would be known for what he is. y
" Such was, and is, the captain of the Test, -^
Though half his virtues are not here express'd ; \
The modesty of Fame conceals the rest. j
The spleenful Pigeons never could create
A prince more proper to revenge their hate :
Indeed, more proper to revenge than save;
A king, whom in his wrath the' Almighty gave ;
For all the grace the landlord had allow'd, ^
But made the Buzzard and the Pigeons proud ; /
Gave time to fix their friends, and to seduce the /
They long their fellow-subjects to enthral, ~\
Their patron's promise into question call, [all. >
And vainly think he meant to make 'em lords of 3
" False fears their leaders fail'd not to suggest,
As if the Doves were to be dispossess'd ;
Nor sighs, nor groans, nor goggling eyes did want ;
For now the Pigeons too had learn'd to cant.
The house of prayer is stock'd with large increase,
Nor doors nor windows can contain the press :
190 THE HIND AND PANTHER. Part 3.
For birds of every feather fill the' abode:
E'en atheists, out of envy, own a God ;
And, reeking from the stews, adulterers come,
Like Goths and Vandals, to demolish Rome.
That Conscience, which to all their crimes was
Now calls aloud, and cries to persecute ;
No rigour of the laws to be releas'd,
And much the less, because it was their lord'*
They thought it great their sovereign to control,
And nam'd their pride â€” Nobility of soul.
" 'Tis true, the Pigeons, and their prince-elect,
Were short of power their purpose to effect ;
But with their quills did all the hurt they could,
And cuff'd the tender chickens from their food;
And much the Buzzard in their cause did stir, -^
Though naming not the patron, to infer, V
With all respect, he was a gross idolater. 5
" But when the' imperial owner did espy
That thus they turn'd his grace to villany,
Not suffering wrath to discompose his mind, -^
He strove a temper for the' extremes to find, v
So to be just, as he might still be kind ; J
Then, all maturely weigh'd, pronounc'd a doom
Of sacred strength for every age to come.
By this the Doves their wealth and state possess,
No rights infring'd, but license to oppress :
Such power have they as factious lawyers long
To crowns ascrib'd, that kings can do no wrong :
But since his own domestic birds have tried
The dire effects of their destructive pride.
He deems that proof a measure to the rest, -^
Concluding well within his kingly breast, ^
His fowls of Nature too unjustly were opprest. }
Parts. THE HIND AND PANTHER. j9J
He therefore makes all birds of every sect \
Free of his farm, with promise to respect >
Their several kinds alike, and equally protect. J
His gracious edict the same franchise yields
To all the w^ild increase of woods and fields,
And who in rocks aloof, and who in steeples
To Crows the like impartial grace affords,
And Choughs and Daws, and such republic birds :
Secur'd with ample privilege to feed,
Each has his district and his bounds decreed ;
Combin'd in common interest with his own,
But not to pass the Pigeons' Rubicon.
" Here ends the reign of his pretended Dove, ^
All prophecies accomplish'd from above ; v
For Shiloli comes, the sceptre to remove. 3
Reduc'd from her imperial high abode,
Like Dionysius to a private rod %
The passive church, that with pretended grace ")
Did her distinctive mark in duty place, ^
Now touch'd, reviles her Maker to his face. 3
" What after happen'd is not hard to guess : >Â»
The small beginnings had a large increase, f
And arts and wealth succeed, the sacred spoils i
of peace. J
'Tis said the Doves repented, though too late,
Become the smiths of their own foolish fate ;
Nor did their owner hasten their ill hour.
But, sunk in credit, they decreas'd in pow'r :
Like snows in warmth, that mildly pass away,
Dissolving in the silence of decay.
" The Buzzard, not content with equal place.
Invites the feather'd Nimrods of his race
16 Dionysius the younger, being expelled from Syracuse,
became a schoolmaster at Corinth.
192 THE HIND AND PANTHER. Part S.
To hide the thinness of their flock from sight,
And all together make a seeming goodly flight.
But each have separate interests of their own ;
Two Czars are one too many for a throne :
Nor can the' usurper long abstain from food ;
Already he has tasted Pigeons' blood,
And may be tempted to his former fare, [pair.
When this indulgent lord shall late to Heaven re-
Bare-benting times, and moulting mouths may
When, lagging late, they cannot reach their home ;
Or rent in schism (for so their fate decrees)
Like the tumultuous college of the bees.
They flght their quarrel, by themselves oppress'd,
The tyrant smiles below, and waits the falling feast."
Thus did the gentle Hind her fable end,
Nor would the Panther blame it, nor commend ;
But, with affected yawnings, at the close,
Seem'd to require her natural repose:
For now the streaky light began to peep,
And setting stars admouish'd both to sleep.
The Dame withdrew, and, wishing to her guest
The peace of Heaven, betook herself to rest.
Ten thousand angels on her slumbers wait,
With glorious visions of her future state.
END OF VOL. If.
Printed by C. WHITTI.NGHAM, Cliiswick.
j ^\1lell JiiVal slriK-k lh< <â€¢ liowl
I>rmwn ty JUM Â« m^itoi? Jl.t
Â£t^mtrtd fyr .inth^ Girdtyn .
COLLATED WITH THE BEST EDITIONS:
THOMAS PARK, ESQ. F.S.A.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
Printeu at tljc ^tan1)ope Pregisi,
BY C. WHITTINGHAM;
rOR JOHN SHARPE, PICCADILLY ; SUTTABY, EVANCE,
AND FOX, STATIONERS' COURT; AND TAYLOR AND
HESSEY, FLEET STREET.
To my Friend, Mr. John Hoddesdon. 1650. 9
To my honoured Friend, Sir Robert Howard,
on his excellent Poems. 1660 JO
To Lord-Chancellor Hyde, presented on New-
year's Day. 1662 13
To my honoured Friend, Dr. Charleton, on his
learned and useful Works ; but more par-
ticularly his Treatise ofStone-Henge, by
him restored to the true Founder 18
To the Lady Castlemaine, upon her encourag-
ing his first Play 20
To her Royal Highness the Duchess, on the
memorable Victory gained by the Duke
over the Hollanders, June 3, 1665 ; and
on her Journey afterwards into the North 22
To Mr. Lee, on his ' Alexander the Great.'
To the Earl of Roscommon, on his excellent
Essay on Translated Verse. 1680 .... 26
To Sir George Etherege ,>9
To the Duchess of York, on her return from
Scotland in the Year 1682 31
To my Friend Mr. John Northleigh, Author
of * The Parallel :' on his Triumph of the
British Monarchy. I680 33
To Mr. Southern, on his Comedy called ' The
Wives' Excuse.' 1692 34
To Henry Higden, Esq. on his Translation of
the Tenth Satire of Juvenal 35
To my dear Friend, Mr. Congreve, on his Co-
medy called ' The Double Dealer.' 1694 36
To Mr. Granville, on his excellent Tragedy
called ' Heroic Love.' 1698 39
To my Friend, iMr. Motteux, on his Tragedy
called 'Beauty in Distress.' 1698 .... 40
To my honoured Kinsman, John Dryden, of
Chesterton, in the County of Hunting-
don, Esq 42
To Sir Godfrey Kneller, principal Painter to
his Majesty 49
Spoken the first Day of the King's-House
acting after the Fire 55
Spoken at the opening of the New-House,
March 26, 1674 56
To the University of Oxford. 1674 58
To Circe. By Dr. Davenant. 1675 60
To Caesar Borgia. By N. Lee. 1680 .... 61
To Sophonisba. At Oxford. 1680 62
To the University of Oxford, 1681 64
To his Royal Highness, upon his tirst Appear-
ance at the Duke's Theatre, after his
return from Scotland. 1682 66
To the Earl of Essex. By J. Banks. 1682.
Spoken to the King and Queen, at their
coming to the House Q7
To the Loyal Brother. By Southern. 1682 69
To the Duke of Guise. 1683 71
To the University of Oxford 72
To Ditto 74
To Ditto 75
To the Disappointment. By Southern. 1684 77
To the King and Queen, upon the Union of
the two Companies ia 1686 79
To the Princess of Cieves. By N. Lee. 1689 81
To the Widow Ranter. ByMrs.Behn. 1690 82
To Arviragus and Philicia. Revived by Lodo-
wic Carlell, Esq 83
To the Prophetess. By Beaumont and
Fletcher. Revived by Dryden 84
To the Mistakes. By Joseph Harris. 1690 86
To Albumazar 89
To the Pilgrim. By Beaumont and Fletcher.
Revived for our Author's benefit. 1700 91
For the Women, when they acted at the Old
Theatre in Lincoln's-Iun-Fields 9o
Spoken at the Opening of the New-House,
March 26, 1674 94
Intended to have been spoken by the Lady
Hen. Mar. Wentworth, when Calisto was
acted at Court 95
To the Man of Mode. By Sir George Ethe-
rege. 1676 97
To IMithridates, King of Pontiis. By N. Lee.
To the Tragedy of Tamerlane. By Saunders 99
For the King's House 100
To the Loyal Brother. 1682 101
To the Duke of Guise. 1683 103
To the University of Oxford 105
Spoken at Oxford. By Mrs. Marshall .... 106
To Coustantine the Great. By N.Lee. 1684 107
To the King and Queen, upon the Union of
the two Companies. 1686 109
To the Priucess of Cleves. 1689 Ill
To Henry II. By Mountfort. 1693 112
To the Husband his own Cuckold 114
To the Pilgrim 116
elegies and epitaphs.
On the Death of Lord Hastings. 1649 ... 133
To the Memory of Mr. Oldham. 1683 ... 135
To the pious Memory of the accomplished
young Lady, Mrs. Anne Killigrew. 1685 136
UpontheDeathof the Earl of Dundee. 1689 143
Dedication. Inscribed to Eleonora, the Earl
of Abingdon, &c. 1692 144
Eleonora. A panegyrical Poem. To the Me-
mory of the late Couute?s of Abingdon 151
On the Death of Amyntas. A pastoral Elegy 16;^
On the Death of a veiy young Gentleman . . i6o
Upon young Master Rogers of Gloucester-
On the Death of Mr. Purcell ib.
Epitaph on the Lady Whitmoie 169
on Sir Pahnes Fairbone's Tomb iu
Westminster- Abbey ib.
Under Milton's Picture, before his Paradise
On the Monument of a fair maiden Lady, who
died at Bath, and is there interred .... 171
Epitaph on Mrs. Margaret Paston, of Bur-
ningham in Norfolk . 172
On the Monument of the Marquis of Win-
chester. 1674 173
Alexander's Feast 174
Veni Creator Spiritus, paraphrased .../... 180
TO MY FRIEND, '
31 R. JOHN HODDESDON,
ON HIS DIVINE EPIGRA^IS^
Thou hast inspir'd me with thy soul, and I,
Who ne'er before could ken of poetry.
Am grown so good proficient, I can lend
A line in commendation of my friend.
Yet 'tis but of the second hand ; if aught
There be in this, 'tis from thy fancy brought.
Good thief, who dar'st, Proraetheus-like, aspire,
And fill thy poems with celestial fire :
Enliven'd by these sparks divine, their rays
Add a bright lustre to thy crown of bays.
Young eaglet, who thy nest thus soon forsook,
So lofty and divine a course hast took.
As all admire, before the down begin
To peep, as yet, upon thy smoother chin ;
And making Heaven thy aim, hast had the grace
To look the Sun of righteousness i'th' face.
What may we hope, if thou go'st on thus fast?
Scriptures at first, enthusiasms at last !
1 TLese were entitled "Siou and Parnassus; or Epigrams
on several Texts of tiie Old and New Testament," and pub-
lished in 1650 ; wheu Drydea was at Trinity-College.
VOL. in. V,
Thou hast commenc'd, betimes, a saint! â€” go on,
Mingling diviner streams with Helicon,
That they who vie\v what Epigrams here be,
May learn to make like, in just praise of thee. â€”
Reader, I've done, nor longer will withhold
Thy greedy eyes; looking on this pure gold
Thou'lt know adulterate copper, which, like this,
Will only serve to be a foil to his.
TO MY HONOURED FRIEND,
SIR ROBERT HOWARD,
ON HIS EXCELLENT POEMS. 1660.
As there is music, uniuform'd by art.
In those wild notes, which with a merry heart,
The birds in unfrequented shades express.
Who, better taught at home, yet please us less ;
So in your verse a native sweetness dwells,
Which shames composure, and its art excels.
Singing no more can your soft numbers grace,
Than paint adds charms unto a beauteous face.
Yet as, when mighty rivers gently creep,
Their even calmness does suppose them deep,
Such is your Muse : no metaphor swell'd higb,
AVith dangerous boldness, lifts her to the sky :
Those mounting fancies, when they fall again,
Show sand and dirt at bottom do remain.
So firm a strength, and yet withal so sweet,
Did never but in Samson's riddle meet.
'Tis strange each line so great a weight should bc.ir,
And yet no sign of toil, no sweet appear.
Either your art hides art, as stoics feign
Then least to feel when most they suffer pain,
And we, dull souls, admire, but cannot see
What hidden springs within the engine be ;
Or 'tis some happiness that still pursues
Each act and motion of your graceful Muse.
Or is it Fortune's work, that in your head
The curious net that is for fancies spread
Lets through its meshes every meaner thought,
While rich ideas there are only caught?
Sure, that's not all ; this is a piece too fair
To be the child of Chance, and not of Care,
No atoms casually together hurl'd
Could e'er produce so beautiful a world.
Nor dare I such a doctrine here admit,
As would destroy the providence of Wit.
'Tis your strong genius, then, which does not feel
Those weights would make a weaker spirit reel.
To carry weight, and run so lightly too,
Is what alone your Pegasus can do.
Great Hercules himself could ne'er do more,
Than not to feel those heavens and gods he bore.
Your easier Odes, which for delight were penn'd,
Yet our instruction make their second end :
We're bothenrich'd and pleas'd, like them that woo
At once a beauty and a fortune too.
Of moral knowledge Poesy was queen,
And still she might, had wanton wits not been,
Who, like ill guardians, liv'd themselves at large.
And, not content with that, debauch'd their charge :
Like some brave captain, your successful pen
Restores the exil'd to her crown again;
And gives us hope that, having seen the days
When nothing flourish'd but fanatic bays,
All will at length in this opinion rest,
' A sober prince's government is best.'
This is not all; your art the %vay has found
To make the' improvement of the richest ground ;
That soil which those immortal laurels bore,
That once the sacred Maro's temples wore.
Eliza's griefs are so express'd by you,
They are too eloquent to have been true.
Had she so spoke, ^Eneas had obey'd
What Dido, rather than what Jove, had said.
If funeral rights can give a ghost repose,
Your Muse so justly has dischaiged those,
Eliza's shade may now its wandering cease.
And claim a title to the fields of Peace.-
But if jEneas be oblig'd, no less
Your kindness great Achilles doth confess ;
Who, dress'd by Statins in too bold a look,
Did ill become those virgin robes he took.
To understand how much we owe to you,
We must your numbers, with your authors, view ;
Then we shall see his work was lamely rough,
Each figure stifi^, as if design'd in buff;
His colours laid so thick on every place,
As only show'd the paint, but hid the face.
But as in perspective we beauties see,
Which in the glass, not in the picture, be;
So here our sight obligingly mistakes
That wealth, which his your bounty only makes :
Thus vulgar dishes are, by cooks disguis'd.
More for their dressing, than their substance, priz'd.
Your curious notes so search into that age,
When all was fable but the Sacred page.
That, since in that dark night we needs must stray.
We are at least misled in pleasant way.
But what we most admire, your verse no less
The prophet than the poet doth confess.
Ere our weak eyes discern'd the doubtful streak
Of light, you saw great Charles's morning break.
So skilful seamen ken the land from far,
Which shows like mists to the dull passenger.
To Charles your muse first pays her duteous love,
As still the ancients did begin from Jove.
With Monk you end, whose name preser v'd shall be,
As Rome recorded Rufus' memory ;
Who thought it greater honour to obey
His country's interest, than the world to sway.
But to write worthy things of worthy men.
Is the peculiar talent of your pen :
Yet let me take your mantle up, and I
Will venture, in your right, to prophesy :
* This work, by merit first of fame secure,
Is likewise happy in its geniture : [throne.
For since 'tis born when Charles ascends the
It shares, at once, his fortune, and its own."
TO LORD-CHANCELLOR HYDE.
PRESENTED ON NEW-YEAR'S DAY, 1662.
While flattering crowds oflRciously appear,
To give themselves, not you, an happy year;
And by the greatness of their presents prove
How much they hope, but not how well they love ;
The Muses, who your early courtship boast.
Though now your flames are with their beauty lost,
Yet watch their time, that if yon have forsrot
They were your mistresses, the world may not:
Decay'd by time and wars, they only prove
Their former beauty by your former love,
And now present, as ancient ladies do,
That courted long, at length are forc'd to woo :
For still they look on you with such kind eyes,
As those that see the church's sovereign rise,
From their own order chose, in whose high state
They think themselves the second choice of Fate.
When our great Monarch into exile went,
Wit and religion suffer'd banishment :
Thus once, when Troy was wrap'd in tire and smoke,
The helpless gods their burning shrines forsook ;
They with the vanquish'd prince and party go,
And leave their temples empty to the foe.
At length the Muses stand, restord again
To that great charge which Nature did ordain ;
And their lov'd druids seem reviv'd by Fate,
While you dispense the laws and guide the state.
The nation's soul, our monarch, does dispense
Through you to us his vital influence;
You are the channel where those spirits flow,
And work them higher, as to us they go.
In open prospect nothing bounds our eye,
Until the earth seems join'd unto the sky :
So in this hemisphere our utmost view
Is only bounded by our King and you.
Our sight is limited where you are join'd,
And beyond that no farther Heaven can find.
So well your virtues do with his agree,
That, though your orbs of difterent greatness be,
Yet both are for each other's use dispos'd.
His to inclose, and yours to be inclos'd :
Nor could another in your room have been,
Except an emptiness had come between.
Well may he then to you his cares impart,
And share his burden where he shares his heart.
In you his sleep still wakes; his pleasures find
Their sha;e of business in your labouring mind.
So when the weary Sun his place resigns,
He leaves his light, and by reflection shines.
Justice, that sits and frowns where public laws
Exclude soft mercy from a private cause,
In your tribunal most herself does please ;
There only smiles, because she lives at ease;
And, like young David, finds her strength the more,
When disencumber'd from those arms she wore.
Heaven would our royal master should exceed
Most in that virtue, which we most did need;
And his mild father (who too late did find
All mercy vain but what with power was join'd)
His fatal goodness left to fitter times,
Not to increase, but to absolve our crimes :
But when the heir of this vast treasure knew
How large a legacy was left to you,
(Too great for any subject to retain)
He wisely tied it to the crown again :
Yet, passing through your hands, it gathers more,
As streams, through mines, bear tincture of their
While emp'ric politicians use deceit, [ore
Hide what they give, and cure but by a cheat.
You boldly show that skill which they pretend,
And work by means as noble as your end ;
Which should you veil, we might unwind the clue,
As men do Nature, till we came to you.
And as the Indies were not found, before
Those rich perfumes which, from the happy shore,
The winds upon their bakny wings convey'd,
Whose guilty sweetness first their world betray 'd;
So, by your counsels, we are brought to view
A rich and undiscover'd world in you.
By you our monarch does that fanie assure.
Which kings must have, or cannot live secure:
For prosperous princes gain their subjects' heart,
Who love that praise in which themselves have part.
By you he fits those subjects to obey ;
As Heaven's eternal Monarch does convey
His power unseen, and man to his designs
By his bright ministers, the stars, inclines.
Our setting sun, from his declining seat.
Shot beams of kindness on you, not of heat :
And, when his love was bounded in a few.
That were unhappy that they might be true,
Made you the favourite of his last sad times.
That is, a sufferer in his subjects' crimes.
Thus those first favours you receiv'd were sent,
Like Heaven's rewards, in earthly punishment.
Yet Fortune, conscious of your destiny.
E'en then took care to lay you softly by ;
And wrap'd your fate among her precious things.
Kept fresh to be unfolded with your King's.
Shown all at once you dazzled so our eyes.
As new-born Pallas did the gods surprise, [wound.
When, springing forth from Jove's new-closing
She struck the warlike spear into the ground ;
Which sprouting leaves did suddenly inclose.
And peaceful olives, shaded as they rose.
How strangely active are the arts of peace,
Whose restless motions less than wars do cease !
Peace is not freed from labour, but from noise j
And war more force, but not more pains, employs.
Such is the mighty swiftness of your mind,
That, like the earth, it leaves our sense behind,
While you so smoothly turn and roll our sphere,
That rapid motion does but rest appear.
For, as in Nature's swiftness, with the throng
Of flying orbs while ours is borne along,
All seems at rest to the deluded eye,
Mov'd by the soul of the same harmony :
So, carried on by your unwearied care.
We rest in peace, and yet in motion share.
Let Envy, then, those crimes within you see.
From which the happy never must be free :
Envy, that does with Misery reside,
The joy and the revenge of ruin'd pride.
Think it not hard if, at so cheap a rate,
You can secure the constancy of Fate,
Whose kindness sent, what does their malice seem,
By lesser ills the greater to redeem.
Nor can we this weak shower a tempest call.
But drops of heat, that in the sunshine fall.
You have already wearied Fortune so.
She cannot farther be your friend or foe ;