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And therefore post themselves in bogs,
As th' ancient mice attacked the frogs;1
And made their mortal enemy,

The water-rat, their strict ally.

For 'tis not now, who's stout and bold?
But who bears hunger best and cold?
And he's approved the most deserving
Who longest can hold out at starving:
And he that routs most pigs and cows, is
The formidablest man of prowess.
So the Emperor Caligula,

That triumphed o'er the British Sea;
Took crabs and oysters prisoners,
And lobsters, 'stead of cuirassiers ;
Engaged his legions in fierce bustles
With periwinkles, prawns, and muscles;
And led his troops with furious gallops
To charge whole regiments of scallops,
Not like their ancient way of war,
To wait on his triumphal car;
But when he went to dine or sup,
More bravely ate his captives up;
And left all war, by his example,
Reduced to victualling a camp well.

DETACHED PASSAGES FROM HUDIBRAS.

He knew what's what, and that's as high
As metaphysic wit can fly.

Ah me! what perils do environ

The man that meddles with cold iron.

In all the trade of war, no feat
Is nobler than a brave retreat :
For those that run away, and fly,
Take place at least of th' enemy.3

For what is worth in anything

But so much money as 'twill bring?

1 Homer's Frog and Mouse War. "Water-rat," the Dutch.

2 See Suetonius, Calig. 46.

8 There is a couplet usually said to be in Hudibras

He who fights and runs away

May live to fight another day.

No such lines are in the poem: they occur in an old volume of Apophthegms translated by Nicholas Udal from Erasmus, and published in 1542:

"That same man, that rennith awaie,

Maie again fight another daie."

DETACHED PIECES.

Doubtless the pleasure is as great
Of being cheated as to cheat;
As lookers-on feel most delight
That least perceive a juggler's sleight.

He that complies against his will
Is of his own opinion still.

229

HENRY VAUGHAN.

(1614-1695.)

HENRY VAUGHAN, a quaint, but earnest, and, at times, beautiful religious poet, was a native of Brecknockshire.

He studied the law, but afterwards adopted the medical profession. His poems were first published in 1651.

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FROM THE RAINBOW."

Still young and fine, but what is still in view

We slight as old and soil'd, though fresh and new.
How bright wert thou when Shem's admiring eye
Thy burnish'd flaming arch did first descry;
When Zerah, Nahor, Haran, Abram, Lot,
The youthful world's grey fathers,1 in one knot,
Did with intentive looks watch every hour

For thy new light, and trembled at each shower!
When thou dost shine, darkness looks white and fair;
Forms turn to music, clouds to smiles and air;
Rain gently spends his honey-drops, and pours
Balm on the cleft earth, milk on grass and flowers.
Bright pledge of peace and sunshine, the sure tie
Of thy Lord's hand, the object of his eye!
When I behold thee, though my light be dim,
Distinct and low, I can in thine see Him
Who looks upon thee from his glorious throne,
And minds the covenant betwixt all and One.

ON THE DEATH OF FRIENDS.

They are all gone into the world of light!
And I alone sit lingering here!

Their very memory is fair and bright,
And my sad thoughts doth clear.

He that hath found some fledg'd bird's nest may know
At first sight if the bird be flown ;

But what fair dell or grove he sings in now,

That is to him unknown.

1 This expression has been repeated by Campbell in his verses on the Rainbow.

SIR JOHN DENHAM.
(1615-1668.)

DENHAM has been praised as a great improver and refiner of English verse. He wrote the heroic couplet with correctness and smoothness, but this had previously been done by Drummond of Hawthornden, Beaumont, and others, who possessed far higher powers of thought and imagination. Denham, however, was a pleasing descriptive poet, and his "Cooper's Hill" (first published in 1642) was a popular tribute to the fine scenery and historical associations of the river Thames.

THE THAMES.

My eye, descending from the hill, surveys,
Where Thames among the wanton valleys strays;
Thames, the most loved of all the ocean's sons

By his old sire, to his embraces runs,

Hasting to pay his tribute to the sea,

Like mortal life to meet eternity.

Though with those streams he no remembrance hold
Whose foam is amber and their gravel gold,
His genuine and less guilty wealth to explore,
Search not his bottom but survey his shore,
O'er which he kindly spreads his spacious wing
And hatches plenty for the ensuing spring,
And then destroys it with too fond a stay,
Like mothers who their infants overlay ;
Nor with a sudden and impetuous wave,
Like profuse kings, resumes the wealth he gave.
No unexpected inundations spoil

The mower's hopes, nor mock the ploughman's toil,
But godlike his unwearied bounty flows;

First loves to do, then loves the good he does.
Nor are his blessings to his banks confined,

But free or common as the sea or wind;
When he to boast or to disperse her stores,
Full of the tributes of his grateful shores,
Visits the world, and in his flying towers,

Brings home to us, and makes both Indies ours:
Finds wealth where 'tis, bestows it where it wants,
Cities in deserts, woods in cities plants;

So that to us no thing, no place is strange,
While his fair bosom is the world's exchange.

O, could I flow like thee, and make thy stream

My great example, as it is my theme!

Though deep, yet clear; though gentle, yet not dull;
Strong without rage; without o'erflowing full !

LOVELACE.

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RICHARD LOVELACE.

(1618-1658.)

The cavalier poets of the early part of the seventeenth century have often considerable richness of poetic diction and melody of versification. Their minor poems are carefully finished, though extravagant in sentiment and disfigured by conceits. Lovelace was the son of a royalist knight; he spent his fortune, fought, and suffered imprisonment in the cause of Charles I., and at length died in great poverty in London. In 1649 he published "Lucasta, Ödes, Sonnets, Songs, etc."

TO ALTHEA, FROM PRISON.

When love, with unconfinéd wings,
Hovers within my gates,

And my divine Althea brings

To whisper at my grates;
When I lie tangled in her hair,
And fetter'd with her eye,
The birds that wanton in the air
Know no such liberty.

When flowing cups run swiftly round
With no allaying Thames;

Our careless heads with roses crown'd,
Our hearts with loyal flames;
When thirsty grief in wine we steep,

When healths and draughts go free,

Fishes that tipple in the deep
Know no such liberty.

When, linnet-like confinéd, I

With shriller notes shall sing

The mercy, sweetness, majesty,
And glories of my king;

When I shall voice aloud how good

He is, how great should be,

The enlarged winds, that curl the flood,

Know no such liberty.

Stone walls do not a prison make,

Nor iron bars a cage;

Minds innocent and quiet take

That for an hermitage.
If I have freedom in my love,
And in my soul am free;
Angels alone, that soar above,
Enjoy such liberty.

COWLEY.

(1618-1667.)

IN the period of his reputation, Cowley, as well as Butler, precedes Milton; he died in the year of the publication of Paradise Lost. He was the son of a stationer in Cheapside, London, who by will left £140 to each of his six children, and the same sum to the then unborn poet. In 1636 he was enabled to enter the university of Cambridge. The perusal of Spenser's Fairy Queen in his childhood, he says himself, made him irrecoverably a poet. At the age of fifteen he published a volume of pieces, containing "Pyramus and Thisbe," written when he was ten years old, and "Constantia and Philetus," composed two years afterwards; both are productions of wonderful precocity. After the commencement of the civil war, he was ejected from Cambridge by the Parliamentary visitors; he sheltered himself amid the loyalty of Oxford. On the surrender of that city to the Parliament, he joined the court of the exiled queen in France, and was for several years employed as a confidential secretary, and in the execution of his office had the important and laborious duty of deciphering the correspondence of that princess with her husband and his party in England. Cowley returned to England in 1656, with the view, it has been said, of rendering himself useful to the exiled king; he was discovered and seized, but was ultimately released. He assumed the apparent profession of a physician, and procured from the university of Oxford the degree of M. D. This circumstance gave rise to his Latin work on Plants, in six books, partly in elegiac, partly in heroic verse.

At the Restoration, Cowley found himself, like many others whose services and sacrifices for the king had been great, neglected and unrewarded. Ultimately, however, by the kindness of powerful friends, he obtained a favourable lease of some of the queen's lands, and had before him the prospect of retirement, which he ardently desired, and of a competence equal to his unambitious wants. His solitude appears not to have yielded him the satisfaction he expected. He died at his house in Chertsey, in 1667, of a disease of the lungs caught in consequence of a neglected cold. He was interred with great magnificence in Westminster, between Spenser and Chaucer. King Charles pronounced, "that Mr. Cowley had not left behind him a better man in England." Cowley's countenance and deportment were sweet and amiable, a real index of his mind; in his manners and person there was nothing singular or affected; he had the modesty of a man of genius and the humility of a Christian."

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His poetical works consist of Miscellanies, many of the pieces being composed in his early youth; Epistles, Elegies, etc.; the Mistress, a collection of love poems; translations of Pindaric Odes; Odes in the style of Pindar (imitations of these compositions became a rage for half a century after): the Latin books "of Plants;" Anacreontics; and the Davideis, a heroic poem in rhyming couplets, which was to have been in twelve books, but the poet completed only four: the greater portion was composed while he was at the university. The Davideis evinces learning, but is heavy, and loaded with the ornaments of a false

taste.

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