III.

TO THE LORD FALKLAND.

For his fafe Return from the Northern Expedition againft the ScoTS [k].

GR

REAT is thy charge, O North; be wife
and juft,

England commits her Falkland to thy truft;
Return him fafe: learning would rather choose
Her Bodley, or her Vatican, to lofe.

All things that are but writ or printed there,
In his unbounded breast engraven are.
There all the sciences together meet,
And every art does all her kindred greet,

[k] Against the Scots.] In 1639. Confequently the poet was then in his 21ft year. But the chief reafon for giving these verses to the Lord Falkland a place in the prefent collection, is, for the fake of perpetuating the memory of the author's entire friendship with that virtuous and accomplished nobleman a friendship contracted, as Dr. Sprat tells us, by the agreement of their learning and manners. It is remarkable, that we find no compliment addreffed by Mr. Cowley to the duke of Buckingham, or the earl of St. Albans. He fuppofed, without doubt, that he had done honour enough to those lords (fome will think, too much) in permitting them to be his patrons :

Enough for half the greatest of those days "To 'fcape his cenfure, not expect his praise."

POPE.

Yet

Yet juftle not, nor quarrel; but as well
Agree, as in fome common principle.
So, in an army govern'd right, we see
(Though out of several countries rais'd it be)
That all their order and their place maintain,
The English, Dutch, the Frenchmen, and the Dane.
So thousand diverfe fpecies fill the air,

Yet neither croud nor mix confus'dly there;
Beafts, houses, trees, and men together lye,
Yet enter undisturb'd into the eye,

And this great prince of knowledge is by fate
Thruft into th' noife and bufinefs of a state.
All virtues, and fome cuftoms, of the court,
Other mens labour, are at least his fport.
Whilft we, who can no action undertake,
Whom idleness itself might learned make,
Who hear of nothing, and as yet scarce know,
Whether the Scots in England be or no,

Pace dully on, oft tire, and often stay,
Yet fee his nimble Pegasus fly away.

'Tis nature's fault, who did thus partial grow,
And her eftate of wit on one bestow:
Whilft we, like younger brothers, get at best
But a small stock, and must work out the rest.
How could he answer't, should the state think fit
To queftion a monopoly of wit [7] ?

Such is the man, whom we require the fame
We lent the North; untoucht, as is his fame.

[1]-question a monopoly of wit?] As it had done many other monopolies. The allufion is not so far fetched, as it seems.

He

He is too good for war, and ought to be
As far from danger, as from fear he's free [m].
Those men alone (and thofe are useful, too)
Whose valour is the only art, they know,
Were for fad war and bloody batties born;
Let them the state defend, and he adorn.

[m]-as from fear he's free.] Yet it was, in part, to vindicate himself from the imputation of this fear, that he always put himself in the way of danger, and, in the end, threw away his valuable life at the battle of Newbury,

On

H

IV.

On the Death of Mr. JORDAN,

Second Master at Westminster-School.

ERE lies the mafter of my tender years,

The

my

The guardian of my parent's [n] hope and fears,
Whose government ne'er stood me in a tear;
All weeping was referv'd to spend it here.

He pluckt from youth the follies and the crimes,
And built up men against the future times;

For deeds of age are in their causes then,

And though he taught but boys, he made the men.
Hence 'twas, a master, in those ancient days
When men fought knowledge first, and by it praise,
Was a thing full of reverence, profit, fame ;
Father itself was but a fecond name.

And if a Mufe hereafter fmile on me,
And fay,

"Be thou a poet," men shall fee That none could a more grateful scholar have; For what I ow'd his life, I'll pay his grave [o].

[n]-my parent's] That is, of his mother's, under whofe difcipline he was bred; for he was born (Dr. Sprat tells us) after his father's death.

[o] The rest of this poem [one of those which were written, as he says, when he was very young) is fuppreffed.

V. On

V.

On the Death of Mr. WILLIAM HERVEY [p].

Immodicis brevis eft ætas, & rara fenectus. MART.

T was a difmal, and a fearful night,

Scarce could the morn drive on th'unwilling light, When fleep, death's image, left my troubled breast, By fomething, liker death, poffeft. My eyes with tears did uncommanded flow,

And on my foul hung the dull weight

Of fome intolerable fate.

What bell was that? Ah me! too much I know.

My sweet companion, and my gentle peer,
Why haft thou left me thus unkindly here,
Thy end for ever, and my life to moan;
O thou haft left me all alone!

Thy foul and body, when death's agony
Befieg'd, around, thy noble heart.

Did not with more reluctance part,
Than I, my dearest friend, do part from thee.

[p] Mr. William Hervey.] The author's beloved friend This poem came from the heart, and is therefore more natural and pleafing than most others in the collection.

3. My