'T was Nature taught you this rare art, Who, all the good she did impart If, as the ancients did not doubt to sing, For that's the posy This difference only will remain- But your unweary'd wit is always new. 'Tis said that conjurers have an art found out To carry spirits confin'd in rings about: The wonder now will less appear, When we behold your magic here. And, the strong witchcraft full to make, Love, the great devil, charm'd to those circles, dwells. They who above do various circles find, When heaven shall be adorn'd by thee (Which then more Heaven than 't is will be), Though the sun pass through 't twice a year; The sun, who is esteem'd the god of wit. Happy the hands which wear thy sacred rings, Let them want no noble stone, Yet shall thy rings give place to none, PROLOGUE TO THE GUARDIAN: BEFORE THE PRINCE. WHO says the times do learning disallow ? And scorn no less their censure than their praise: Our Muse, blest Prince! does only' on you rely; THE EPILOGUE. THE play, great Sir! is done; yet needs must fear, Though you brought all your father's mercies here, may offend your Highness; and we 'ave now It Three hours done treason here, for aught we know. ON THE DEATH OF MR. WILLIAM HERVEY. "Immodicis brevis est ætas, & rara senectus." MART. IT was a dismal and a fearful night, [light, Scarce could the morn drive on th' unwilling When sleep, death's image, left my troubled breast, By something liker death possest. My eyes with tears did uncommanded flow, And on my soul hung the dull weight Of some intolerable fate. What bell was that? ah me! too much I know. My sweet companion, and my gentle peer, Did not with more reluctance part, Than I, my dearest friend! do part from thee. My dearest friend, would I had dy'd for thee! If once my griefs prove tedious too. Silent and sad I walk about all day, As sullen ghosts stalk speechless by Alas! my treasure's gone! why do I stay? He was my friend, the truest friend on earth; By friendship given of old to fame. None but his brethren he and sisters knew, For much above myself I lov'd them too. Say, for you saw us, ye immortal lights, We spent them not in toys, in lusts, or wine; Wit, Eloquence, and Poetry, Arts which I lov'd, for they, my friend, were thine. Ye fields of Cambridge, our dear Cambridge, say Was there a tree about which did not know Henceforth, ye gentle trees, for ever fade; Or your sad branches thicker join, Dark as the grave wherein |