TY

O DE III.

TO HIS MISTRESS.

YRIAN dye why do you wear,
You whofe cheeks beft fcarlet are?

Why do you fondly pin

Pure linen o'er your skin,
(Your skin that's whiter far)
Cafting a dusky cloud before a star?

Why bears your neck a golden chain?
Did Nature make your hair in vain,
Of gold moft pure and fine?

With gems why do you thine?

They, neighbours to your eyes,

Shew but like Phosphor when the fun doth rife

I would have all my miftrefs' parts,

Owe more to nature than to arts;

I would not wooe the dress,

Or one whofe nights give less
Contentment than the day.

She 's fair, whose beauty only makes her gay.

For 'tis not buildings make a court,

Or pomp, but 'tis the king's refort:

If Jupiter down pour
Himself, and in a shower

Hide fuch bright majesty,

Lefs than a golden one it cannot be,

ODE

L

O DE

IV.

ON THE UNCERTAINTY OF FORTUNE.
A TRANSLATION.

E AVE off unfit complaints, and clear

From fighs your breast, and from black clouds
your brow,

When the fun fhines not with his wonted cheer,
And fortune throws an adverfe caft for you !
That fea which vext with Notus is,
The merry Eaft-winds will to-morrow kiss..
The fun to-day rides drowsily,
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 noblest 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 seriousness, he shall again go home
To his old country-farm of yesterday,
To fcoffing people no mean jet 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.

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 spade, the plow-fhare, and the rake)
Arts, in most cruel wife

Man's life t' epitomize!

Then men (fond men, alas!) ride poft 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 ftrain'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 story writ in blood (sad story!) seen?
This truth too well our England knows :
'Twas civil flaughter dy'd her rose;

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 coft ?
How is your oil, how is your labour lost!
Our Charles, bleft alchemift! (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.

M

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 ftrong a tide

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

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

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

But fays to fame, Thou art mine heirs
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 CAMBRIDGET

ICHOLS, my better felf! forbear;

NICE

For, if thou tell'st 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 philosophy;

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