And though their giftes be various, yet their sence
Speaks only this one thought, Long live the prince.
So, my best brother, if unto your name

I offer up a thin blew-burning flame,

Pardon my love, since none can make thee shine,
Vnlesse they kindle first their torch at thine.
Then as inspir'd, they boldly write, nay that,
Which their amazed lights but twinkl'd at,
And their illustrate thoughts doe voice this right,
Lucasta held their torch; thou gav'st it light.

FRANCIS LOVELACE, Col.

AD EUNDEM.

N

puer Idalius tremulis circumvolat alis, Quem propè sedentem1 castior2 uret amor. Lampada sic videas circumvolitare Pyraustā,3

Cui contingenti est flamma futura rogus.
Ergo procul fugias, Lector, cui nulla placebunt
Carmina, ni fuerint turpia, spurca, nigra.
Sacrificus Romæ lustralem venditat undam:
Castior est illâ Castalis unda mihi:
Limpida, et exxgins, nullâ putredine spissa,
Scilicet ex puro defluit illa jugo.

Ex purâ veniunt tam dîa poemata mente,
Cui scelus est Veneris vel tetigisse fores.
THOMAS HAMERSLEY, Eques Auratus.

1 Old ed. sidentem.

2 Old ed. cartior.

3 See Scheller's Lex. Tot. Lat, voce Pyrausta and Pyralis.

ON THE POEMS.

OW humble is thy muse (Deare) that can
daign

Such servants as my pen to entertaine!
When all the sonnes of wit glory to be
Clad in thy muses gallant livery.

I shall disgrace my master, prove a staine,
And no addition to his honour'd traine;
Though all that read me will presume to swear
I neer read thee: yet if it may appear,

I love the writer and admire the writ,

I my owne want betray, not wrong thy wit.
Did thy worke want a prayse, my barren brain
Could not afford it: my attempt were vaine.
It needs no foyle: All that ere writ before,
Are foyles to thy faire Poems, and no more.
Then to be lodg'd in the same sheets with thine,
May prove disgrace to
yours, but grace to mine.

NORRIS JEPHSON, Col.

TO MY MUCH LOVED FRIEND, RICHARD

LOVELACE Esq.

Carmen Eroticum.

EARE Lovelace, I am now about to prove
I cannot write a verse, but can write love.
On such a subject as thy booke I coo'd

Write books much greater, but not half so good.

But as the humble tenant, that does bring
A chicke or egges for's offering,

Is tane into the buttry, and does fox1
Equall with him that gave a stalled oxe:
So (since the heart of ev'ry cheerfull giver
Makes pounds no more accepted then a stiver),2
Though som thy prayse in rich stiles sing, I may
In stiver-stile write love as well as they.

I write so well that I no criticks feare;

For who❜le read mine, when as thy booke's so neer,
Vnlesse thy selfe? then you shall secure mine
From those, and Ile engage my selfe for thine.
They'l do't themselves; the this allay you'l take,
I love thy book, and yet not for thy sake.

JOHN JEPHSON, Col. 3

1 To for usually means to intoxicate. To fox oneself is to get drunk, and to fox a person is to make him drunk. The word in this sense belongs to the cant vocabulary. But in the present case, fox merely signifies to fare or to feast.

2 A Dutch penny. It is very likely that this individual had served with the poet in Holland.

3 Three members of this family, or at least three persons of this name, probably related, figure in the history of the present period, viz., Colonel John Jephson, apparently a military associate of Lovelace; Norris Jephson, who contributed a copy of verses to Lucasta, and to the first folio edition of Beaumont and Fletcher's plays, 1647; and William Jephson, whose name occurs among the subscribers to the Solemn League and Covenant, 1643.

TO MY NOBLE AND MOST INGENIOUS FRIEND, COLONEL RICHARD LOVELACE,

UPON HIS "LUCASTA."

O from the pregnant braine of Jove did rise
Pallas, the queene of wit and beautious

eyes,

As faire Lucasta from thy temples flowes,
Temples no lesse ingenious then Joves.
Alike in birth, so shall she be in fame,
And be immortall to preserve thy Name.

ANOTHER, UPON THE POEMS.

N

Now

OW, when the wars augment our woes and fears,

And the shrill noise of drums oppresse our

ears;

peace and safety from our shores are fled To holes and cavernes to secure their head; Now all the graces from the land are sent,

And the nine Muses suffer banishment;

Whence spring these raptures? whence this heavenly rime,

So calme and even in so harsh a time?

Well might that charmer his faire Cælia1 crowne,

1 Many poets have celebrated the charms of a Calia; but I apprehend that the writer here intends Carew.

And that more polish't Tyterus 1 renowne
His Sacarissa, when in groves and bowres
They could repose their limbs on beds of flowrs:
When wit had prayse, and merit had reward,
And every noble spirit did accord

To love the Muses, and their priests to raise,

And interpale their browes with flourishing bayes;
But in a time distracted so to sing,

When peace is hurried hence on rages wing,
When the fresh bayes are from the Temple torne,
And every art and science made a scorne;
Then to raise up, by musicke of thy art,
Our drooping spirits and our grieved hearts;
Then to delight our souls, and to inspire

Our breast with pleasure from thy charming lyre;
Then to divert our sorrowes by thy straines,
Making us quite forget our seven yeers paines
In the past wars, unlesse that Orpheus be
A sharer in thy glory: for when he
Descended downe for his Euridice,

He stroke his lute with like admired art,
And made the damned to forget their smart.

JOHN PINCHBACKE, Col.